Ode to the Veterans

One of the factors motivating Team Expansion to begin recruiting teams to plant churches in Italy was a request by resident, veteran missionaries knowing that they were getting older and that new teams and younger recruits were needed.

Just months before leaving for the field, in 1999, Heather, Jacob and I visited Chuck Phipps who lived less than an hour's drive from Joplin where we were living. Chuck had served as a missionary for years in Italy. A kinder, wiser man is hard to meet. He gently and

warmly encouraged us and challenged us that day as we prepared to leave for Italy. Before leaving his home he handed me a worn and intricately decorated, leather-bound Italian Bible which I still have. Charles passed away in 2001 here in Italy while back visiting.

Another of the veterans was Jessie Lee Troyer who just passed away this week. We had the chance this last June to stop in and visit with Jessie Lee in her apartment in Bari (see picture at right) on our way home from a national gathering of Christian Church brothers and sisters. Always hospitable and sharp of mind to the very end, she was another one of the pillars that saw the current movement of Restoration churches off and running. She sent us off that day, the kids' tummies full of ice-cream, and our car crammed with a heavy box full of kid's Bible lessons.

Times, they are a-changing. Missionaries come and go and we're about to add our name to that list. But as I think about the news of Jessie Lee's death and the effect it has on the work in Italy, two things come to mind:

1. Thank you to all those who have gone before us, selflessly giving of themselves, pouring themselves into relationships, discipling, preaching, organizing, translating, publishing, editing, encouraging, disciplining, praying, leading and serving. We wouldn't be where we are today without you.

2. Lord, please strengthen those who continue on. Protect them, guide them and open up doors for Kingdom growth. Please take the seeds they have planted and watered and bring the Harvest. Please send more workers to the field. Raise up men and women to go and raise up churches to send and sustain them.

Amen.

Living Without Mary

A little over a year ago I began volunteering at the local Catholic mensa which is essentially a soup kitchen for the poor and homeless only instead of soup, they serve a two-course Italian feast of donated-because-they-are-nearly-expired-but-still-delicious-food. I began volunteering, having been convicted of not walking the talk, and I have learned. So. Much.

The mensa serves up to 68 ospiti, or guests, a day. About half of the ospiti are foreigners and all of them are colorful and unique. One of them is Mary. Not Maria. He goes by Mary. Mary is my age and most often wears skirts and short dresses. He wears big sunglasses over big, puffy lips and his hair is almost always a different length and color. Lots of jewelry and accessories make up the

rest of his outfit. Mary’s mood varies, but he often seems impatient, like he has somewhere else to be. For a little over a year, I see Mary every Tuesday. He shows up and sits quietly in the front office and waits.

Suor Francesca, one of the nuns that runs the kitchen, told me that he doesn’t eat upstairs with the rest of the ospiti because they make fun of him. So without fail they pack him a lunch to go in little, white containers, tucked in a little, white bag with a hunk of bread nestled on a neat, white napkin. He always thanks me when I hand it to him. I smile, which he returns and proceeds to walk off in boots or high heels.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned from the nuns and volunteers at the mensa doesn’t have to do with their delicious recipes or their incredible organizational skills, it isn’t even kindness, for at times they have to be downright mean and loud and direct to get things done. It is grace. It is the living out of Jesus’ words to throw open the doors to everyone. It is the ability to set down a plate of piping hot pasta in front of the Tunisian Muslim just as easily as before the Italian Catholic or the Pakistani Hindu.

None of the volunteers criticize Mary. No one makes him feel bad. They don’t judge him. They ask him to share his story. They give him concrete, tangible expressions of love and acceptance. They protect him. They allow him to simply belong as they give him hope and help him succeed at living.

Mary died last month. The headlines announced in very black-and-white terms that Ancona’s first trans-sexual died on the street, trying to catch a bus to the hospital. Just like that, one of the city’s most unique personalities, what most would consider an eyesore or an embarrassment, is gone and he leaves a void behind in a culture where centuries of tradition are clashing with post-modern ideas about gender roles and sexuality.

And now Tuesdays come and go, almost the same: a sea of faces coming in from the cold for a warm meal; names in a dozen languages, many I can’t even pronounce. Mary’s void simply and yet loudly takes the shape of an empty chair and it reminds me to accept people as they are, to look them in the eyes and see their worth and their need and love them like Jesus did. Only He can give them life and yet we are the vessels he works through. Thanks Mary for helping me see things a little more clearly.

Decisions...

It is decision time in Ancona. Let’s start off with the exciting one, shall we?

Some eight years ago while hosting a short-term group from the U.S., one of the students invited a tall, lanky Romanian construction worker they met at a park to come to an English party there were hosting. That worker, maybe 20 years old at the time, began attending various activities that our team hosted and we formed a friendship and found in him an openness, a sincerity, and a hard-working spirit that continues to impress us to this day. During the course of the last eight years, he got married to Simona and just recently celebrated the birth of their firstborn, Emanuel, this year. You may remember from previous updates that I’m talking about Daniel.

Daniel has grown in so many ways over the years and been our most faithful participant even though he had never made a public decision to follow Christ. He has been great at inviting others to come check out our gatherings and events. He has shown a natural knack and passion for calling and checking on people. When he sees a physical need he will do everything he can to see it gets taken care of, including getting others to chip in. And most recently, he has helped our community see the need to give and support those in need outside our beautiful Adriatic Ancona area by taking care of a very needy family in Romania.

Last Easter, I believe, was crucial for Daniel. While it is normal for Orthodox believers, even nominal ones, to make it to Mass on Christmas and Easter, Daniel made a decision for his little family. “We’re not going,” he said. He told me that evening that they see things differently and they aren’t going to just keep doing the same religious things because that’s what people tell them to do. He drew a line.

Whenever we talked to them about their walk with Christ, Simona was the one to put on the brakes. Daniel was ready a long time ago but wanted to be baptized together. Simona had doubts and questions. She wanted to be good and mature before deciding. This summer they returned to Romania to visit family and to satisfy their family they had Emanuel sprinkled in the Orthodox Church. As she was at the church she was going to ask her priest what he thought about her getting baptized but as she waited for him she realized she didn’t need anyone’s permission. This was something she needed to do for herself and didn’t have to do with religion or family, but herself before God. She drew a line.

Simona told this story to me and to Brian around their little dining room table Friday night. The Sunday before we had been talking about the characteristics of a disciple and the question was thrown out: have you ever made that public decision to follow Jesus and chosen to make him your Lord? Simona told us she wanted to talk about it which brought us to that conversation on Friday in their home. It was clear that they were ready so we called up the pool and set everything up. Sunday morning at 11:30, Daniel & Simona drew a line together. They confessed Jesus as their Lord and were baptized into Him. It was a beautiful moment, one that validates so much of what we’ve been talking about, one that confirms that disciple-making in Europe requires, to quote our friend Brett Seybold, tenacious patience.

Please pray for them as they continue their walk, that we will disciple them well and teach them to disciple others and that they will continue to find ways to use their gifts to build up the church in Ancona and beyond.

As a family we have also made a decision regarding our future. For a couple of years now, I have felt the Lord releasing us and preparing us to move away from our direct leadership and involvement with the first church plant in Ancona. In the process we have prayed about where God would have us go next. We have drawn this process out for a long time, for several reasons. We desire to honor God with our lives and be where he wants us. We desire to seek his blessing and find a sense of peace about where we head next. We desire to thoughtfully and carefully evaluate our family’s needs. We desire to evaluate the options before us and consider each cautiously and yet courageously. We desire to transition away from the team and church-planting effort well. We desire to be good stewards of what God has given us and taught us.

In the end, after prayer, reflection, tears, and conversations with advisors we have decided to move back to the United States. I will be working with Heather’s father in New Braunfels, Texas and we will spend the next few years processing our experience in Italy, furthering our studies, getting our kids caught up and boosted forward in their education (and specifically addressing Jacob’s special need for educational therapy) and finding ways to use our gifts and experience in the local church there. We are in the process of figuring out how we can continue being a support and encouragement to our co-church-planters here in Italy and hope to continue the relationships we’ve formed after these 10+ years here.

Our hearts are heavy at the idea of leaving this place which has become home. I’ve never lived anywhere as long as I’ve lived here, in this apartment, in this city. For me, growing up without many geographical roots, I find myself confused and somewhat afraid to pull them up, having found much strength in them. Leaving teammates who have become close friends and brothers and saying goodbye to our Italian and Romanian brothers and sisters is something that brings more sadness. Saying goodbye to this culture and this city is hard to even imagine. All this is tempered by a sense of peace that we know does not come from any earthly source. As painful as it may be, as surprising as it might seem, we know that we take this step of faith with the Lord’s blessing.

Please know that we take this step with eyes wide open for God’s leading. Please know that we take this step fully aware and very grateful for your partnership all this time. (Somewhat ironically and yet completely unrelated, just in the two months prior to our decision, three of our key supporting families and churches informed us that for financial and policy reasons they would have to stop our support – this totals $900/month as of the end of this year.) Please know that the team we leave in Ancona is moving forward with both ability and confidence under Brian Rotert’s leadership, committed to see this church community grow and wean itself from any American lifeline. Though they are sad we are leaving, I think it is important you know that they support our decision and the transition has been better than we could have dreamed. Please know that the other two teams (in Verona and Rome), though at the very beginning of their journeys, are also moving forward.

We will continue working with the team until the end of December and spend the month of January packing and saying last goodbyes. February and March will involve much travel as we visit supporters and Team Expansion’s International Services in Louisville. We will also spend a week at MTI’s Debriefing and Renewal program in Colorado. We humbly ask that you continue your financial support while we are getting settled until the end of June. For those of you that are able, we have some extra expenses like airfare and shipping that we could use help with. Please keep the team and church here in Ancona and in Italy in your prayers through this process. And from the entire family, thank you for the part you’ve played in all of this. We really, literally couldn’t have done any of this without you.

For Christ and for Italy,

Jason, Heather, Jacob, Haven, Harrison and Jenova

Church on the Beach or Beach Church...

I held Jenova and walked around the group quietly, sometimes wandering further off, at other times staying close. I kept a fresh cracker in her hand and her binky in my pocket to keep her quiet. It was a beautiful thing. I honestly don't know why we didn't try it sooner. Here we are trying to plant an indigenous church, praying about and attempting to dissect through the culture around us and in us, helping the believers choose appropriate forms to fulfill the functions of being a church. We've danced around it, oh, we've danced. We moved 'Church' from homes to a rented facility. We've moved it from morning to evening. We've played with formats: shorter, longer, with or without discussion, with or without a meal together afterwards. Maurizio, who is a slowly-growing Jesus follower who was baptized several years ago, has been suggesting it for years. Well, we finally tried it and yesterday, as our Church gathered at the beach I watched several threads of my life come together.

One has to do with language. Ever since 1997 when I did my apprenticeship with a church in Santiago, Chile, I've begun asking questions about Church and the various forms it takes. This has taken me on a fun, crazy ride into studying, reading and traveling to see Church at work in all kinds of contexts. I've loved this. Seeing the northern L.A. believers gather in movie

theaters, the southern Texas believers meet in a horse show barn (complete with iced tea and a country music worship band - and a pulpit made from horseshoes!), getting to visit Italy's only mega-church in Palermo, Sicily (a cell church) and hearing the stories from members of boiler rooms in Europe have been part of this. Reading about cell churches, house churches and the organic church have caused me to think and wonder. Being at the helm of a young team of excited, green church-planters has allowed me the thrill (for me - likely much eye-rolling and lessons in patience for them) of attempting to put some of these lessons and questions to real life tests.

Language. Here I'm not talking about whether we call it Church or Iglesia or Chiesa although that does play a part. I'm talking on a broader scope about how we talk about it. I really believe how we talk about anything defines what we believe about it. Thanks, in part, to Brad Kallenberg for helping me with this. For a long time I've stayed away from using the expression "go to church" as this seems to me to encourage the idea that church is something you get in your car and drive to. Instead I've tried talking about when and where the church will gather, attempting to encourage the idea that the church, in any given week, meets at different places and times, both in ways spontaneous and planned.

The classic, 3-self view of a church (self-supporting, self-governing, self-propagating) is helpful and still captures (I think) what any restoration movement church-planter hopes to see, but it does so in a very American way while claiming to be simply pulling out a very linear, formulaic outline from the letters and stories of Paul and friends.

Working in a part of the world that is spiritually 'hard' has also caused me to think lots about the church and its relation to Kingdom, Big-C Church versus little-c church and especially about the way we measure things. Here, Joe Myers in 'Organic Community' really helps out. In his book he suggests the readers adopt an organic order to things. On his chapter on Measurement he talks about moving from bottom-line to story. He uses the example of baseball cards to show how black and white numbers and statistics don't always accurately measure effectiveness or success, that story has to be what we use to measure. He says that it helps us "measure the life of our communities."

The thread, then, that I am following from yesterday's experience has to do with what we've been working so hard to build (or if you want to use the organic language: to plant, to see grow). Lately, on Saturdays, several members of our little community have joined us on our most-of-the-day beach excursions. The Casey family, often joined by the Rotert family head to Numana to hang out on its beautiful, free beach (about a 20 minute drive away). Lately, Matteo, Silvia, Maurizio, Silla, Cristina, Simone, Mariana and Alex have joined us as well and it turns into this informal gathering, meal sharing time of fellowship and fun. Encouragement takes place and sometimes discouragement. Sometimes we pray and challenge each other. Other times we talk about what we're reading. Sometimes we just dunk each other in the water or throw pebbles at each other.

The jump we made yesterday: merging our informal Saturday gathering with our Sunday evening Gathering seemed to be a natural, beautiful experience. Instead of this isolated gathering in a hot, rented room, we were out in the world, surrounded by beauty and nature with all to walk by and see. The girls took some pieces of wood a fisherman had left by his boat and formed a stage and cross. We sat in a circle on towels and took communion off a plastic plate set on a cooler. Friends who were invited came to visit when they haven't before. Everyone gathered at the shore to watch Brian & Heidi baptize their eldest daughter, Chloe, into Christ. And all of this was preceded by hours of sunbathing, relaxing, swimming, talking and playing. No rented facility necessary. No powerpoint. No electricity.

Language. How we talk about things reveals so much about what we believe about those same things. Yesterday the church gathered at the beach. God was worshipped. The body was built up and encouraged. Stories were shared. We remembered Jesus' sacrifice for us and challenged each other to see Him daily in our lives. There was fellowship. And some of this, yes, some of this, happened between the hours of 19 and 20.

From June to September, most of Ancona spends their Sundays (and lots of other days as well) at the beach. Is there any better way to make this gathering indigenous and contextualized than doing what we did last night?

More on this thread and others to come...

From my journal, Saturday, April 17th, 13:37 pm "Volcanic Ash"

Wow – what a 24 hours it has been! 24 hours ago I was winding my way through the little Dutch towns of Udem and Veghel, picturing how different it would have been for the 101^st Airborne some 66 years before. Hell’s Highway – I actually drove down the modern version. Crazy. I parked, looked through a grocery store and walked around town looking for a place to eat. I found a little fresh seafood place where you could take stuff home or they would prepare something for you. They made me this delicious plate of fried Tilapia with French fries and two sauces. I chose a mini bottle of Rosè to go with it. Delicious. I spilled half the bottle – but still managed to enjoy the experience. I then wandered back to the car, considered picking up some tulips for Heather but figured they would be destroyed or not permitted on the airplane so opted not to.

It was around 13:00 so I decided to head back to the Dusseldorf-Weeze airport, about an hour away since I needed to check in around 14. The Dutch are meticulous – incredible houses, manicured yards (and trees like I’ve never seen – pruned to grow together in a flat line) and their speed limits and laws are very severe and regulated. As I got on the highway that would take me the last few miles to Weeze, I passed the border back into Germany and before I knew what was going on, a plain brown car flew past me and then got in front of me and put on its breaks. I almost whipped around to pass him but then noticed a little electronic sign in his back window – the kind with scrolling red letters. It read ‘Polizei’ and what I could only guess meant – follow me.

My heart beating madly, I did. I was going between 140 and 150 at the time which isn’t speeding, but I figured I must have missed a sign or something. The car exited and made sure I was following. It pulled off on a little area and I pulled up behind it. Two guys, in plain clothes, jump out and come back toward me very quickly and aggressively. As they do, I notice a second unmarked car pulls up behind me so I can’t get out. Two guys get out of that car as well and stand at either side of my car behind me so I can’t see them. The driver of the front car was standing at my window motioning for me to lower the window. I did and he asked me for my I.D. and license. I told him I didn’t speak German, but was fumbling as I did for my passport. I hesitated before handing it to him, motioning for him to calm down. He flashed his I.D. at me, but it looked worn and I couldn’t really tell it was real.

What was I to do though? Four guys had me pinned. I went along. The two guys from the front car proceed to open both of my front doors and I’m told to shut the car off. I comply. The main guy begins asking me where I’ve been. I mumble and stumble, trying to think of the name of the town. “Uden.” The whole time I’m looking around, watching my things and my passport in his hand.

“Why?” he asks me.

“To eat lunch.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Dusseldorf to catch a flight.”

“And you drove to Uden to eat lunch – of all the places you could go? Did you buy drugs?”

Now it started to make a little sense. The guy on my right grabbed the can of Mountain Dew that was on the floor and check to see if it had a false top or bottom.

He then asked me, “You are nervous, yes?”

Inside I was screaming, ‘Of course I am!’ but I said audibly, “yes.”

I explained that I had been working on an air force base and showed him my pass. I told him that I enjoy reading about World War II history. He asked me if there were historical things to see in Uden. I told him there were.

He then asked me to get out of the car and open the trunk. I did. I opened up the suitcase and showed them the contents. They all looked at each other, shrugged, gave me my passport back and wished me luck. They said that all flights out of Germany were cancelled because of the volcanic ash.

I had checked that morning and my flight was still showing as on time but they insisted that they had all been cancelled as the day went on.

The got back in their cars and sped off to scare the daylights out of some other innocent American who crossed the border to eat some Dutch fish and see the WWII sights. I took a couple of minutes to calm down and then headed on to the airport.

They were right. All flights cancelled. I got in line and waited to get a ticket reissued. The soonest was Monday afternoon – a full three days later. I went ahead and had them issue it and decided to look into the train option. The car rental was still valid for a few hours so I sped off to what the GPS told me was the nearest station.

It took me back across the Dutch border (which is just a few miles away). It took me through a national park, through a little town and as I left the town and went over a little rise, what do I see before me but a wide channel or river with no bridge. A ferry is sitting there with one car already on it. Across the water there are half a dozen cars and several bicycles waiting. I look at the GPS screen which clearly shows the path crossing the water. I gulp and pull the car onto the little boat and pay the guy 1.80 euros. Three minutes later I’m across and back on my way. Five minutes after that, I pull up to a set of train tracks with a sign and a little computer machine to buy tickets – but the tickets are just for little nearby towns.

Back in the car, I head back to the airport and realize it is taking me back to the same highway where I got pulled over so I try to retrace my steps and find the little ferry guy who takes me across. I race back to Weeze, where I had stayed the night and park outside the hotel where I stayed, getting just a sliver of their free WiFi. I used it to call back to the States to see if Heather’s dad’s office can help me find out about the train. It seems all of Europe is rushing to the train stations to get home. I decide to back to the airport to see what I can find out there after Heidi, who was online, saw something about a train that left from there.

Back to the airport. The lady at the information desk tells me my best bet is to pay the 12 euros for the 30 minute shuttle to Duisburg where I can catch more trains. I consider my options, throw the rental car key on the desk and rush off to catch the shuttle. It’s me, a businessman and the German driver – a tall, lanky Scrappy-kind-of guy. We’re in this huge van and he takes off like a madman. Not only that, but I’m sitting directly behind him and I start to observe that, as he’s speeding down the autobahn, he’s either falling asleep and jerking back awake or he’s got some pretty unnerving ticks and shakes. One of the longest, scariest 30 minutes of my life. The businessman was either busy reading or trying to ignore it.

In the end, he gets us to Duisburg safely and I race into the train station to look for the ticket office. I find it easily after rearranging my wallet and phone – pretty scary place. When I get up to the desk, the guy is not hopeful – saying everyone is buying tickets and that to get all the way to Ancona was not likely. I told him any combination would work.

He found a combination that included seven separate trains with six changes over 18 hours that would take me across Germany, through Switzerland back into Italy. I booked it and grabbed a tuna Subway (not what I ordered, but was in a hurry) and found my platform. I stood in a sea of people waiting for the train – in the 30 minutes I stood there, eating, waiting, five trains came and went on my track – I had to pay close attention. So many colorful characters including a guy in a full-length black robe, big black boots. Around his neck hung a goat’s horn. He wore studded black leather greaves on his arm and at his waist hung a long, silver dagger. The crowd spread out to let he and his similarly-dressed girl companion get through. Finally, my train came.

Duisburg – Mannheim. (2 hours) I got lucky and picked a seat that was reserved for someone else but when we got to Koln, they didn’t show up so I got to sit the whole time.

Mannheim – Basel. (2+ hours) I honestly, as I write this in a tired haze, can’t remember a single thing about this train.

Basel – Olten. (30 minutes) Into Switzerland. This train is filled with teenagers and I doze off and wake in time to get off. 45 minutes to kill at the station here. I got a cappuccino to wake me and then stood in the cold, grateful I had thrown in my long-johns and sweatshirt just in case.

Olten – Bern. (30 minutes) Quick, comfortable ride. The train station, however, was scary. Friday night at 2 a.m. in Bern – not my place to be. People shouting, fighting, stumbling around drunk. I walked around nervously. I didn’t have any Francs to pay to use the bathroom so wandered, looking for a hotel I could rent a room for the four hour layover. I found only one and they wanted 110 euros. I held it. As I walked back to the station, I ran into one of the guys that was on the last couple of trains with me and he said several of the Italians had gotten onto the train that we would be taking at 6 a.m. to sleep. I headed that way. Sure enough, there was a nice, big train sitting there and I could see a few people inside sleeping. I found someone else that was getting on and asked if this was the right train or if this one was going somewhere else earlier. I DID NOT want to wake up with the train heading off who knows where. Instead, he made me a proposal. He said he had found a taxi that would drive him to Milan immediately. He had already found 5 guys and needed a sixth. Price: 80 euros. I declined and decided to risk sleeping on the train. I made sure no one was looking and got on, found a nice little corner on the upstairs part (it was a double decker train). The bathroom was locked and I needed to go. I had just finished a liter and a half bottle of cranberry juice. I’ll save you the details – but tried to refill the empty bottle but chickened out. Again, I held it and camped out, fastening my bags to my clothes, hiding my shoes. I slept in fits, woke up every time someone else got on the train. At six, the regular passengers got on and we were off.

Bern – Brig (1 hour) I slept through this ride although I woke at one point to see the Alps through the fog as the sun was rising. Crazy. At the Brig station I had 30 minutes so grabbed another cappuccino and an incredible cream-cherry pastry. I thought the next train would be kind of empty. I was wrong.

Brig – Milan (2.5 hours) I stood the entire time by the door. A poor lady in a wheelchair was stuck next to me because she couldn’t fit down the aisle to her spot. Breathtaking scenery though – Google Image ‘Stresa’ for a glimpse. Crossed the border into Italy and I could now begin using my phone without paying extra.

Milan – Ancona (4 hours) I had 15 minutes to run to my train in Milan. Television crews were there to capture the madness – it actually wasn’t that bad though. Fortunately I had a reserved seat on this train and am now sitting with five others in my little room as we head East and South toward Ancona, toward home…Jenova started walking while I was gone…it figures!

Hungary Trip: Day 7

Conference Day 5/Travel to Budapest

Just a quick update. The morning included breakfast and dropping the kids off at their classes. The adults had a worship time and then we prayed for our kids. So cool.

We had to be out of our room by 11:00 so we packed quickly and made it in time for the last main session by Dr. Egeler - very moving stories. I was challenged by the thought that the health of our family is the hub of our 'ministry' wheel - and that the healthier it is, the further reach we have. Too often we wrestle with balancing family and ministry when the balancing act is not only useless, it is unhealthy. Family comes first - and out of that comes ministry.

All the kids (not teens) setting up for the performance.

Then it was time for the kids to put on a final performance for the parents - very neat - a final slideshow of the professional pictures taken during the week and a group photo. We ate one final lunch together and connected with an Australian family that made us wish we had had more time! We said goodbye to everyone and the kids, sadly, loaded up in the van and we took off.

Jacob and his rapping buddy.

It took us about three hours to get to Budapest and we followed the GPS instructions to the address of the apartment we are sharing with my brother and sister-in-law only to find out that there are over a dozen districts in the city, each with the name of this street we were on! After some asking around and creative investigation, we finally found it and were able to throw our arms around Chris & Aubri after nearly a year of not seeing them.

The kids are so happy to see them. We unloaded our stuff into a beautiful (and cheap) apartment and then headed out to eat some very authentic Hungarian KFC. The kids are now asleep and we just wrapped up a long session of talking and catching up and are headed to bed.

Thanks so much for your prayers this week. It was more than what we were hoping for - our hearts are light, our heads are full, our spirits are high. God is so good. We move forward into this chapter of our lives confident He will lead us and that He loves our kids even more than we do.

Hungary Trip: Day 6

Conference Day 4

Last full day of conference started like the others, with a nice Hungarian breakfast buffet. Very grateful. Very good. Very much missing some good coffee though. The kids ran off to their classes and we dropped Jenova off at the nursery and then met up with Cheryl for Jacob’s

consultation – the primary reason we made this whole trip. Going into this meeting our prayer was this: Lord, let Jacob’s be a clear diagnosis.

Cheryl reminds me, physically, of an Italian lady in our ecumenical group named Raimonda. She asked us some background questions based on her time with him. She did the 3-hour

cognitive diagnostic with him the second day. She was very positive, encouraging and yet honest, encouraging us to help him learn to process information better and to reinforce visual as well as audio input of information. She was able to point us to several good resources and put some practical steps into our hands. It was just what we prayed for – thank you Lord!

Heather and I sat in the bar area afterwards, processing and Cheryl came back over to give us

a last minute thought and pray with us (she had had to run make an announcement in the auditorium).

The main session was very emotional. Dr. Egeler spoke on how we handle life’s disappointments and ‘soul pain.’ The man is a good story teller. He reminded us of the

importance of not shying from pain and suffering as it is in these moments we are closest to our Father, that He is working the most on us and with us.

Lunch was good – we got to know a family heading to Siberia – wow. They talked about the Ukrainian culture, where they are studying language, and how they don’t place a high value on taste in their food. Thank you Lord for sending me to Italy, where perhaps the value placed on taste is TOO high.

After lunch there was an Open House of all the kids’ classrooms where we got to meet their teachers and see the space-themed projects they had been working on all week. I had to skip out on part of it to pick up Haven’s achievement test results (she did great!).

It cracks me up when some of our friends have called this trip a ‘vacation’. Yes, it does require staying in a hotel. Yes, it does mean eating out some. Yes, it does mean seeing a part of Europe we’ve never experienced before. Yes, it does imply spending a lot of time as a family. BUT, this is one of the reasons I love my ‘JOB’. This kind of trip is part of it. But, we are mentally and emotionally exhausted.

We climbed back up to our room and crashed yesterday afternoon. There was nothing scheduled so we rested. Jacob and Haven swam. I took Jenova and Harrison for a walk. We then took the kids to McDonald’s to celebrate (and for a break from summer sausage sandwiches!). Then, as has been the norm, to bed early. Tomorrow is the last day of conference. It ends at lunchtime.