"10"

Well, it took around 23 years, but today I finally did 10 chin-ups. Pay up, Daddy-O.

According to www.measuringworth.com, 300 pesos in 1985 was worth approximately...$2 US. You owe me a cinnamon-crunch bagel from Panera next time I'm in town. Deal?

How much do you spend?

I'm curious. There was this email forward going around with different shots of families around the world with all the food they would eat for a week laid out on a table in front of them. Above each picture there was a total for how much they spent. I tracked it down and you can check it out at www.time.com and it appears to have come from the book, "Hungry Planet". The same author's previous book, 'Material World' was fascinating and I'd like to get this one as well.

Anyways, it lists the country with the highest food bill per week as Germany, with a total of 375.39 euros. At today's rate, that is equivalent to over $570 for food every week. I calculate that in groceries (not including cleaning supplies) we spend about 125 euros/week and then if you add in eating out, we probably spend 35 euros/week for a total on food of 160 euros. That is equivalent to about $240 for a family of five.

Anyone else want to weigh in? How much do you spend?

Nonfolumile

I learn language like I learned to play the piano - by ear. I play with grammar, but I really learn by listening and mimicking what I hear. I'll be walking down the street and hear someone use a word or phrase and I'll begin repeating it and try working it into my conversations (when appropriate, of course).

The other day I was on my way to meet the boys at the Bar Amendola for our staff meeting and I walked past two men and a woman and overheard a snippet of their conversation. The woman kiddingly accused one of the men of pretending to be humble. In response, the man replied, "nonfolumile." Now say that fast. All together. No spaces.

Classic anconetano dialect. That is a four word, complete sentence, smashed into a word that could almost pass as a mono-syllabic grunt. Want to know what it means?

nonfolumile = "Non faccio l'umile."

non - not
faccio - I do (or in this case, 'I pretend to be')
l' - the
umile - humble one

There you go. Now you know your first phrase in dialect. Just add a dash of hand gestures. Next time you come visit and someone accuses you of pretending to be full when they bring out the coniglio arrosto, you can pull out the 'nonfolumile.'

Almost Nine

I started jogging last August - I mean really jogging. I've 'jogged' in the past, but really just played at it, giving up after a couple of weeks because, come on, jogging is not fun! But I started jogging more seriously with my teammate Brian and we've stuck with it now for seven months, averaging two times a week. Over that period of time we've increased how long we've jogged and tried adding different things to keep building up our strength, to keep our weight loss going and basically to just be manly.

We jog at the Cittadella (which means literally 'city of the' but really means, the Citadel) which is an old Napoleonic fort-turned-park which has an incredible view and a pretty aggressive jogging track. Half of it is paved and the other half is gravel. The differential between the highest and lowest point on the track is about 50 feet which means we have a couple of inclines and slopes. The sharpest of these is actually a set of wooden, slippery stairs, at the base of which is a worn, triple set of chin-up bars.

Now, let me take you to the past, when I was about 10, living in Santiago. We had just received a swing set for Christmas and my dad, in some inspired moment of fathering genius, challenged me and my younger brother Chris with this proposal. Ten chin-ups would receive a 300 peso reward. (I think that was the deal, but come to think of it, 300 pesos wasn't very much...)

Try as we might, we could never do it. We tried all kinds of different ways, but just could not do it. Chris has always been more athletic and muscular than I am, so he may have done it in the meantime, but I, over 20 years later, have never done it. (Mock if you will, but go out and try it sometime.) So it is with a dual-vision that I began glancing at these chin-up bars each time we jogged around this track. One - for the money. Two - for the manliness-proving show.

So I started. Here were my rules. I had to have a jogging-buddy witness. I could do them under-handed. They had to be full chin-ups, my arms have to lock all the way when I'm down. And absolutely no using my legs to pump. It had to be all muscle. The first time I tried I think I got 3 and my arms were angry. A few days later, 4. Then 5 and 6.

Yesterday I went jogging with Josh and I went all out. I got to 8 and was pulling up for the ninth but got to where my nose was even with the bar and could not pull myself up another millimeter. So, almost nine.

I'm getting close, Dad. Get ready to make the international bank transfer.

In the meantime, where's Jacob? He's almost ten. I have a little proposition for him...

Fog

Eight years ago today, Heather, Jacob, Dan, Amy and I got off a plane in Rome and stumbled, dazed, scared, excited into the Eternal City. That first night we left our hotel and walked a couple of blocks until we found a little trattoria and ordered some food. I remember looking at each other across the table, through some hazy, cultural fog and breaking down in tears.

Eight years and the fog still comes and goes. Teammates have come and gone. Interns have come and gone. Visiting groups have come and gone. Italian believers have come and gone. Models and programs have come and gone. And the foghorn still calls out, loud and strong, calling ships into port.

Today I took Harrison to the park. Heather was in the Prayer Room and the big kids were in school. I sat on a concrete bench while Harrison played. I watched the fog roll through. Surreal. Like some ghostly sprite, it washed over the park and across the street. I could see wisps of its cloak trailing, flying past. And I reflected on the spiritual fog I've felt this week.

Our team seems tired, worn out. Kids are struggling with the language in school. Homesick - wish we could see our newborn nephew and the rest of our family. Massi, who became a part of our church community this last summer was checked into the hospital, his bone marrow disorder getting worse and causing other health problems. He finishes a round of chemo tomorrow and will be in the hospital two weeks to see what its effects will be...still waiting the transplant donor to work out. Then Sunday night Heather miscarried. Not sure how far along she was - four, five, six weeks. We'll see a doctor Wednesday but are left with a grieving, wounded spirit, lots of questions, lots of doubts. And the fog keeps rolling.

I got up at 1:30 this morning to come down and take a shift in the prayer room. Josh is in there right now and I'm sitting out in the main room studying, worshiping along with Shane & Shane, watching the thick fog roll past the street lamp. Shouts erupt downstairs and we run to the window to see half a dozen people in an all-out brawl, a real bru-ha-ha. A guy gets kicked in the face. Another lands a punch on a face and you can hear the hard, slapping sound from two floors up even though the fog muffles it.

Eight years and we grow accustomed to the fog and the slow, steady calling of the foghorn. This morning on the way to school with the kids our neighbor commented on how she couldn't sleep all night because of the foghorn. At least she still hears it. Others don't notice anymore. In spite of all this, we continue to hope. Today there have been 29 different people in the prayer room crying out to God, carving out an hour to pray, to reflect, to worship. Tomorrow morning our little community will gather to worship, to sing the words Marcus translated:

We are a moment, You are forever
Lord of the Ages, God before time
We are a vapor, You are eternal
Love everlasting, reigning on high

Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb Who was slain
Highest praises, honor and glory
Be unto Your name, be unto Your name

We are the broken, You are the healer
Jesus, Redeemer, mighty to save
You are the love song we'll sing forever
Bowing before You, blessing Your name

We'll worship together. A mom who is grieving. Another expecting. One woman leaving her fiance' in a hospital bed for a couple of hours. Another couple struggling. Two other couples who work too much and are persistently tired. Another man struggling to truly hand himself over to God. Out of the fog, God calls us and in some sort of imperfect way we come together and we worship, we love on each other and encourage one another.

Eight years ago we landed in Rome, with a plan to be here five to seven. Seems like ages ago. I don't know how much longer it will take, but we cling to the Father and are grateful for how far he's brought us and for the church that He is calling up in this place. To all of you who have been a part of this journey with us, thank you. In times like this, it is good to know we're not alone.

24/2 Ancona Prayer Room

It's that time again. Friday morning at 11:00 begins our next period of time set aside to spend in prayer before the Father. Please keep us in your prayers as we prepare ourselves logistically, spiritually and relationally. Pray that God would move in our hearts and that we would see his face. Go to our church site and click on the prayer link to watch as the slots fill up!

False Alarm

Well, our landlord called and said, 'Fals'allarme'. His son figured out another solution so we can stay. Aw shucks. We were starting to get excited. But thanks for the roller-coaster ride, Enrico!