Life Starts Over

I fully intended on writing one last blog from Amsterdam, but there was just never a great time to do it. Now it's time for the last few days, a summation of my trip, and a change in heart about my very first heartfelt post.

Tuesday we decided to take a canal tour, furthering our knowledge of the city and its history to better understand how to approach the city and become more familiar with the place we'd been ministering in for the last few weeks. It was a nice ride, and we learned some interesting facts. I think that the strain of the whole trip was beginning to take toll however, as the gentle rocking of the canal boat was starting to put people to sleep.

In the evening, we had planned on going to the C4 youth group after dinner. Problem was, we still had dinner clean up, and a train to catch at the same time. Ryan and I asked if they could ask for more volunteers to help us clean up so we could catch our train, but the kitchen manager wasn't there and the people left in charge were not very helpful. They told us they had ministry as well and that we didn't give them enough notice. It ended up being a bunch of bologna because as I was running down the hall later that night to catch our train, I saw majority of the same people standing around a computer laughing at some YouYube video. Go Team. Moving right along...

Arto was kind enough to drive four of our team to the youth group, leaving the rest to the train. When clean up wasn't done yet and the train was coming for us, it was decided that the guys riding with Arto (Ryan, Cam, Bert, Manker) would finish up the cleaning and the rest would run, literally, to the train. Shey met us, and the five of us tried to get as fast as we could to the train station. C4 had decided to pay for the trip, but had given me cash which the ticket machines at the station don't accept. Once we finally got our tickets, we raced to the board that has the departure times, ran to the platform, and jumped on our train with about a minute to spare. I hate trains! After the train ride, we had to take a bus to the church. Only problem was, we had just barely missed the bus we should have taken, and as we were checking to see when the next one was coming, we saw it driving up to the stop. Once again, we ran down the road, up some stairs (I was in sandals, it had been hot earlier in the day but was now raining), and Shey had managed to keep the bus there. Only problem was that now my sandals were wet and as I started to jump for the bus, the foot that made it in first slid on the slick floor of the bus and my back foot tried to catch me, scraping up the side of my back foot in the process. Figures! We had bought bus strips before, but I had given them to Ryan in case he ended up getting stuck in Amsterdam, so we had to rebuy tickets again. Finally, we made it to the church and saw that the Arto car load had made it there way before us.

Youth group was great. It felt like we were seriously going to a youth group we'd been going to for months. Our Dutch friends were all there, and the rest of the kids in the group were ready to welcome us in. We had a time of worship, which Roloff (sorry, not sure if that's how you spell it) did in English since we were there. After, we broke up into smaller groups and did a study in James. The book of James was a common book used over the two weeks and I actually had been reading it on my own a lot too. We came back together, talked about the discussions, prayed, and then it was fellowship time. The youth group there is solid-there are some seriously phenomenal kids there. They are honest, funny, and completely open to everything. I didn't really want to leave!

One of the youth group guys, Paul, had offered to take the four of us train riders to the station instead of having to take a bus again. PTL. We piled in his car, got the tickets (which he had to pay for up front because the machines there don't actually take credit cards, only coins), I payed him back, and we raced up the stairs he said would take us back. No train yet. We waited, wondering if we were even in the right spot. Jeremy was getting all silly and taking random pictures, and Skirt decided it would be a good idea to press this red button he saw, which turned out to be the SOS button and some lady started talking to us in Dutch. He immediately pressed the green button on top, but I still waited to see if the police would show up asking us what was wrong. Luiza saw this huge bus coming around the corner but thought it was a fire truck, then two guys dressed alike walked up the stairs to the platform and thought they were policemen. When it looked as though Skirt's SOS panic was over, we went back to wondering whether or not we were on the right train. We'd never really traveled without a Dutchie before, so when Stan called to confirm plans for the next day, we were relieved to find out we were indeed in the right spot. At least, for the time being.

Train came, we got on. Suddenly, it began to dawn on us that we had taken this train before, when we came back from church the Sunday previously, and that Shey and Maarten had said we should have gotten off and boarded another train to take us straight to Centraal Station in Amsterdam. Figures! We asked a guy on the train whether or not we could get to Centraal Station on this train or not, and of course, he said no. He told us to get off in two stops and then get on the train heading back to the city. Around 11:15, (we left sometime around 10 or so) we finally pulled into Centraal Station in Amsterdam.

Wednesday, our last day in the most amazing city I've ever been to, was a bitter sweet day. After breakfast, our team to a train to Haarlem to meet Stan (pastor of C4) and his wife Marnie. We missed the first train of course, got off on the wrong train, and had to wait 20 minutes for the next one. Did I mention I hate trains? When we finally got into Haarlem, we walked a short distance into the city where we intended on seeing the Corrie Ten Boom museum. Stan and Marnie had mentioned it to us before, and insisted we see it. Because of our train debaucle, we missed the first English tour and had to wait a few hours to see the next one. At first, I was a little irritated. It was my last day, I wanted to be in Amsterdam and seeing the city one last time, and we were kinda stuck in this other town. Then I saw something that made it all worth it- The great Bavo Church. Biggest cathedral I've seen yet, built in the 1500's but started around 1390, and the most gorgeous building I've ever laid eyes on. We decided to take a tour while we waited. I couldn't stand it-I literally had tears welling up when we walked in at how beautiful it was. It looked like something out of a movie, but it was real. The floor of the church is all graves, where people from the church in years past were buried, each with a number. I don't think I could accurately describe this place... but here is a link to the church site. The organ was played by Mozart when he was ten, the ceiling went up for days, and the atmosphere was insanely wonderful and serene.

Next, we ate our lunch, and Ryan, Cam, Skirt and I went over to this stand where Stan said they had great pancakes. Wow, was that an understatement. They were mini pancakes topped with butter and powdered sugar. I could seriously go for one of those right now...

Finally, at 12:30 we made it into the Ten Boom house. I read and watched the Hiding Place story, so the first part of the tour was kind of boring for me. I actually had a hard time staying awake...my eyes would continually start closing and opening only when the lady giving the tour would look in my direction. The cool part was that since the Ten Boom family were and are Christians, the gospel is presented very boldly to all the visitors of the museum. They are real up front about the saving grace of Christ and how Corrie's trust in Him was what sustained them all. Then we got to go up to Corrie's old room and see the hiding place. It blew my mind-a tiny space where 6 adults stood in for 6 days. A few of us crawled through the trap door and stood in there, and I couldn't believe how small it was. They had pictures of Corrie's travels and the Jews who hid in her house. It was a really inspiring place.

Ryan and I talked with Stan a bit on our way back to the train, and it was great to hear his feedback on the Passion Week camp with his youth group kids. It became evident to all of us that what the Lord had in mind was not necessarily a huge emphasis on outward ministry like we had planned, but on fellowship in its truest form. Each person, both Dutch and American, really came together in fellowship, learning from each other, and forming bonds and ties that will always keep our two churches together. It wouldn't surprise me at all if these two groups came together again in the future.

We hit the markets again one last time for gifts, then had our last meal at YWAM. Noelle, the kitchen manager, made a little goodbye announcement for us, and it was starting to sink in that we were leaving. After dinner clean up, we cleaned out the rest of the hall bathrooms and showers, then Ryan, Cam, Skirt, Bert and I went around the city changing our euro bills into change so we could buy our train tickets for the next morning. I was actually really glad we ended up having to do that (the train ticket service center was closed and wouldn't open early enough for us to buy our tickets) because it gave us another chance to walk around the city. We made it back to De Poort to start packing. On the way back, our Canadian friend was at a cafe nearby and said he'd come visit later, which of course he did until early in the morning.

The plan was to leave De Poort at 6:30am, walk to the train station and get a train to the airport. Shey and Vanayah met us and walked with us, but a few people were kinda late in getting up so we missed the train we wanted to take. When we finally did get on a train, an announcement went out that the train was having technical difficulties and wouldn't be leaving for a while, so everyone who had gotten on that train (including local people trying to get to work) made a bottle neck trying to get out and on to the train just a few yards away before it left. When we finally got to the airport, we had no clue where we were going. The Schiphol airport is pretty crazy-makes PDX look like a walk in the park. Ryan had a completely different flight and airline, so he took off in a different direction while the rest of us checked in and began the long process of getting to our plane. My bag ended up being a few pounds overweight (next year, I'm not buying any presents), so I had to grab a few things out and then recheck it. By this time, Maarten had come to the airport as well, and Arto was on his way. By the time we all had our bags checked in, it was about 10 minutes til our boarding time, even though the plane left a few hours after. Confused by this, we waited around for Arto and then began a very lengthy goodbye process. I didn't cry, but I really wanted to. These people had become not just friends, but people that have impacted my life in such a strong way that I can't imagine not having them around. I've always found it strange that a short trip like this can change so much about the life that I lived for years before. I miss my Dutch friends very much. I'll miss Vanayah calling me "mother". I'll miss everything Arto says, because as soon as he opens his mouth it always ends up making me laugh and smile. I'll miss Shey's depth and her sweet laugh. I'll miss the inside jokes I have with Maarten, and the way he was always a solid friend for me. I know I'll see them again, but I don't have those same relationships with anyone in America. I feel more like myself in Holland. Which leads me to the revised version of my original "Home" post.

Coming home this time was not at all like any other homecoming. I hated it. We turned a corner after having our passports checked, and after that we couldn't wave goodbye to our Dutchies anymore. I felt suddenly empty, like I was leaving something behind. I turned to Skirt and said "Can't we just stay?" I meant it. I started thinking about home, even with all the great things coming (new apartment and tattoo this weekend!) and just wanted to turn around and say "I've changed my mind, I'm not going back". I started thinking about driving again, and instantly had a knot in my stomach because I haven't driven in weeks and would much rather walk or ride a bike. I thought about work and felt sick, thinking that after this week the only work I want to do is what I'd been doing, working in ministry in Holland. I love and missed my family terribly. But I want to go back to Holland. I want to go back to the place that forever changed my heart and mind and perspective. I can't picture living in America anymore, and the idea that I might get used to it again is pretty annoying. I know I will, and that I'm still just emotionally dealing with the whole trip, but this is the hardest homecoming yet. Even now, writing this at 5am, my heart is begging me to pack up again and go back. I think that having my new apartment coming is the only thing that will help get me back into the swing of things here. Even seeing Vancouver again just felt weird. I was hungry, and Mom offered to take me somewhere, but all I wanted was cheese and bread and some fruit, which is all we at most days. Even Subway sounded horrible to me. I hated driving my car back to Adriana's house, and even the familiar warmth of her house wasn't enough to make me feel at home again.

I know that soon enough I will have processed my European trip and will settle into American life again. But I also know that I have left a large part of my heart in Holland, and will always have the desire to return. I'll always have an itch to do things the Dutch way, and am going to try my hardest to implement those things into my life from now on. I think I need to. I've grown up so much on this trip it's actually a little scary. I don't want to go back, I want to keep moving. But the pressure is on, because the environment I was in made it so much easier to change. It fostered change in a real and consistent way, and here at home I know it won't be that easy. I will need to be proactive in creating environments of change for myself and those around me.

Hopefully on Saturday, the guys and I are going to be getting tattoos together. We wanted to do it in Holland, but it's seriously outrageously priced. I'm getting the reference Acts 20:24 written on my left wrist. This was a common theme for me this whole trip. A few weeks before the trip, a speaker at church preached on this verse and how it kept him going at all times. In the NKJV, this reads:

"But none of these things move me; nor do I count my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my race with joy, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God."

Nothing moves me. Amidst all the trials Paul faced during his ministry, he declared that nothing moves him. Over the past two weeks, I definitely had plenty of opportunities to be moved. This verse kept me from being moved. Every time plans changed or road blocks came and I felt myself getting irritated and frustrated, this verse came to mind and I stopped myself from being moved. God stopped me. He held onto me and provided a better way out. I have a whole new perspective on my life now, and know that I need to indeed count my life as rubbish and finish my race with joy, continuing in the ministry of God's grace and sharing his gospel.

Funny thing is, two years ago, I remember thinking to myself and probably vocalizing that I'd never want to be a missionary. While I don't think I'll end up in a third world country using the wordless book with orphaned children (not there's anything wrong with that...my heart is just for something different), I am now and forever a missionary who wants to use my God given gifts in ministry, preferably in foreign countries where my faith is put to the test daily.

to those who have been reading my lengthy posts, I appreciate your support.

Bedankt!