Kite Runner

I was introduced to a fabulous book, Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini,recently. I have been devouring it as I can't stand not knowing what will happen nextin the characters' lives. The author does an amazing job connecting you with the narrator of the story, his emotions and relationships, and his country, Afghanistan. He paints a deep, beautiful picture of what life in Kabul was like before the Russians invaded in the late 70s/early 80s. You can almost taste and smell and feel the air the characters breathe. And then you get to see the country again, after it has been ravaged by 3 wars and the Taliban is now in control. It is completely heartbreaking. It is a powerful, beautiful book. It also makes me imagine Iraq in a new way..and what everyday life has become for the Iraqis, everyday people who have grown up there and simply want to live in peace. Instead they watch as their cities are ravaged, their loved ones killed and their livelihoods destroyed. And what power do they have to change anything? What power do we have?

Missing my dog

If you read my husband, Bret's blog, then you've already read about what has happened with our dog Leo. We put him "to sleep" on Saturday. It was such a hard decision. I had to grapple with the idea that I had no right to choose the fate of another living thing. And yet, that responsibility was put in my hands the day I took Leo home as a 12-week-old pup, that eventually, there would come a day where I would have to decide if dying was better than living. And that day came.

I wouldn't have thought it would come so soon. Leo was 7 1/2 years old. Chesapeakes actually have a reputation for living longer than average for big dogs. So I always thought he'd make it to 10 or 12. Just this summer he was doing great-running with me three times a week, going hiking and swimming, playing fetch and running his heart out. His skin was completely beautiful...no problems there (if you know us, you know he went through a year fighting a strange skin disease). Then on Labor Day weekend, we were out playing fetch with him and something snapped. At the time we didn't know what it was, but it was a disc herniation in his spine. He gradually got worse over the next several weeks, with the compression in his spinal cord causing mild paralysis. He stumbled and lost strength and eventually could not even hold himself up to go to the bathroom. We also think he reinjured one of his knees, which had been previously operated on. With his arthritis and hip dysplasia underlying everything, the prognosis for recovery without multiple surgeries, which would be difficult for him to recover from, was not good. We tried an alternative...treatment with a steroid medication. It didn't make enough of a difference. We had to make the hard decision. How much longer could we let Leo live like this? It wasn't pretty. He was discouraged and embarrassed and bored from lying in one place all day long. It was not a good life for a dog. I think he would have done anything for us, for me. He was that kind of a true, loyal friend, as most dogs are. I think he would have kept fighting for a long, long time. And suffering.

I have shed many tears thinking of my dog, Leo Mar, aka wrinklehead, buddy, the big stink. I'm sure many more are yet to come as we remember him and miss him. It feels empty in the house these past couple days, and very quiet without him. That wall-thumping tail that could knock you over is silent. No more barking at the neighbors, or growling to be fed. No more good morning or welcome home dance. No more running companion or walking buddy. It's lonely without you, Leo. I miss you buddy. And I hope you are feeling sooo good wherever you are, and that your legs are strong and you can run like the wind. I hope you have mountain trails to run along and lakes to swim in and someone to throw sticks for you to run after. I hope you learn to play with the other dogs and don't miss me too much! And I hope that you get to eat to your heart's content. You sweet, sweet boy. I will meet you again.

Heartache

Heartache is a strange thing. It honestly, physically hurts. I can feel it like a knot in my chest. But it is completely based in emotion. Nothing is wrong, that's what I can't get over. But I've felt it the past three days. This ache. This horrible aching. What is going on? I've been attempting to identify it. I have ideas. It could be guilt. But guilty of what? Press on. look deeper. I think I know, though I hate to admit it to anyone. Yes, I too, am guilty. Guilty of idolatry. Guilty of self-absorption. Guilty of going one more day without kneeling to repent. Don't you hate it? The stubborn, dark places in your own soul that refuse exposure to the light? And it aches, like a sickness. Like the anxiety of something hanging over you. Something you know you need to take care of but dread. I need to get on my knees and let it all go. But now, my darling son is awake and I will go be with him. Soon, I know, I need to address this heartache. It feels awful. Yet I realize that even for this burning sensation, this symptom, I should be thankful. Because without it, I would forget the things I must do, and the sickness would grow. Thank you Jesus.

Suburbia, almost

I think the reason I haven't been writing on this thing is that I'm not sure yet of it's purpose. But at least I can write something so those of you who actually read it don't have to look at the same two posts that are more than 11 months old.

Life back in the U.S. of A. has been interesting. By interesting, I mean it has been GOOD, in a lot of ways. It has also been HARD, because I get lonely, question our decision to move back here, and miss Amsterdam. Last night I dreamt I showed up in Amsterdam and surprised everybody. It was so exciting to be back, but everything felt different than I remembered. I sure hope it hasn't changed as much as I dreamt it did.

I try to remember things, to think thoughts in Dutch so I won't completely lose what I learned. I took my Dutch grocery bags to the store today and had them filled in the checkout line. It felt so good to carry my groceries into the house that way. I try to remember I can actually do a lot by bike...I don't have to jump in my car, as instinctual as that has already become. I picture the shining faces of my friends, and I miss them, of course. I think about them and breathe prayers for their lives. I wish I wrote to them more so it didn't seem like our presence there was as distant as it has become. Yet, my time is filled with living our new life here...making new friends, filling my son's summer days with fun memories, celebrating birthdays with family, and getting acquainted with Denver and the things we can find to do here.

It's been hard to be back, but it's been really good too. I'm so thankful to that I've been able to get back into people's lives here. Catching up with friends I barely saw during the three yeas we lived in Holland. Getting to see family for special occasions I would have missed. Living with my mother and stepdad and little brother and getting to know each other on a completely different level. Knowing my sister as a mother, and getting our sons together on random afternoons. Hosting my dad or my brother for a quick trip out from Chicago...something they wouldn't have done if we were still an 8-hour flight away. These things are GREAT.

It's also been good to grow in understanding the issues the U.S. is facing, things I didn't pay much attention to from Amsterdam with the exception of larger foreign affairs. I appreciate the bigger perspective I have from living out of the country. It makes me want to do it again. Who knows if someday we will? Right now I want to be focused here.....

uprooted

In three years a woman puts down roots. They nourish her through connection to friends, neighbors, favorite places. Then she moves and she feels uprooted. It is as if those roots are just dangling there like exposed nerves. Though she may feel she is flailing and crave new earth, she fears it just won't taste or smell the same. And chances are, it won't. But it can still be good. She can still grow. Maybe even stronger than before. That was my experience when I left Colorado almost exactly 3 years ago. And I'm anticipating that same kind of dangling root feeling again. Leaving Amsterdam still does not appeal to me in many ways. Yet somehow I know we need to do it. Moving is hard. Saying good bye stinks. Most of all it is difficult to say good bye to my friends and to the Zolder, our church. There are also so many familiar, wonderful things to leave behind: my favorite run through Flevo Park, or the route I have biked over the Amstel River at least 1,000 times, the open markets where people crowd in to buy cheap fruit and flowers, the Dutch language I have grown so used to hearing, reading and even speaking (though still poorly). I have such a love for this beautiful little country and will never ever forget the 3 years I spent here. I try to remember that I was afraid to come. I almost didn't. And what I would have missed if I had stayed behind. And I hold onto that when I feel such similar sentiments about moving now...that there is a place for us that will be wonderful. We will get there, eventually, and I will inevitably let my roots down into the soil. And though it may feel different, it has the potential to be equally sweet. Ultimately, it is all God's earth anyway. And it is really his soil I want to be growing in..in Him I will plant my roots.

forest

I spent a couple hours in a forest today, in the rain, in Amsterdam. Imagine that. Rain in Amsterdam. Perhaps what is harder to imagine is the forest. But it was there. I was in it. It felt great. Pura Vida.