Travel Diaries #5: Skiing, Take Four

The first time I went skiing was with my dad in the fifth grade. To say "with" him might not be entirely true. It was his idea to cure my cold, so we drove out to Snoqualamie Pass and he signed me up in a ski lesson, as teaching me was not something he was gifted at. The lesson was fine, though it made me nervous to be with other beginners significantly younger and better at skiing than myself. I learned about the pizza wedge and french fry positions and I made it down the mountain without any tears.

The second time was the following year with my mom. She was very patient and rode the green lift with me the whole day. All was well until the fluffy flakes turned into sharp pellets of icy rain. Soon, the joyous day of skiing became an afternoon of an icy cold face and tired limbs. That was the beginning of my dislike of skiing and I wouldn't go again until my junior year of high school.

That Christmas of 2006, the Dahlstroms decided that a trip to the cabin accompanied by skiing at Mt. Baker would be a fantastic way to spend the holidays. The cabin I was all for, but the skiing I was ambivalent towards. I was fitted for my boots and skiis and I got on the lift. It was unpleasant and I was fearful of breaking something. My life, starting in January, would consist of dancing in "Oklahoma!" and playing viola in the orchestra. To break or sprain any of my limbs would be tragic and this fear overtook my enjoyment of the sport. Then a vicious snowboarder plowed me into a snowbank and, after tears and a headache, my skiing was finished.

Now, three days ago, when presented with the option of skiing or saving 25 euro, I had to think about it. Then I asked myself, "When will you ever have the option of skiing in the Alps ever again?" Not to mention, I didn't want to think of the judgement I would receive at home when I revealed such a poor decision to my friends. So, I cluelessly went with my sister to rent some gear for my fourth try at skiing. Noah was the perfect teacher, we ate soup in a hut on the mountain and I ended with a smile on my face.

Though my bum hurts an awful lot now from falling 800 times, it was worth it because I can now say with pride that I, Holly Dahsltrom, have been skiing in the Alps.

Travel Diaries #4: Reunited at Last

I have never traveled for more than a few days without seeing a family member. Whether a sibling, a parent or grandparent, and aunt or an uncle...there's always someone to meet me along the way. I went to college three miles from my house and I see my whole family every Sunday, so to be away from them for ten days a was a big thing for me. To be together again was even better.

I waited and waited for Mom and Kristi's delayed flight from Amsterdam. When it finally arrived, those ten minutes from their arrival to the gate felt like an extra hour. Then I turned around and saw my beauitful sister skipping towards me with a huge jet-lagged smile. Mom gave me a hug and we were together again. All we needed now were Dad, who had been away for three weeks and Noah, who is disappearing for fourth months.

We made our way throught the confusing train/bus station and eventually piled into the overcrowded train from Munich to Salzburg. We had to stand in the entrance of the train for half of the trip, but it really didn't matter to me. All that mattered was that after a couple hours, we would all be together again. Kristi and I had fabulous conversations as Mom drifted in and out of sleep. Before we knew it, we stepped onto the snowy platform in Salzburg where Dad and Noah met us. We were together again...oh how I love them.

Travel Diaries #3: Long Trains for Old Friends

I set out on Wednesday on a 4 1/2 hour train ride that traveled halfway across southern Germany to Kempten. Waiting in Kempten were Timo and Lydia and their two little girls. Timo is a man who I met at a Canadian bible school when I was three. Lydia is his wife and Anja is their eight year old daughter who left Seattle when she was two. I didn't know Jennika, their five year old daughter, even existed until I saw her when I arrived. To me, this family was frozen in time until I got off the train and everything fast-forwarded six years. The same thing probably happened to them, too, and I think Timo was surprised when he saw a nineteen year old sitting at his dining room table.

For the first time in my life, I felt like an adult. Here I had purchased a train ticket, transfered trains in Ulm and ended up sitting with Lydia drinking gluhwein and talking about life and the way it changes. I am no longer a thirteen year old living in the shadow of my family, but I am a sophomore in college with a hope to change the world. I can discuss faith with integrity and I actually have an opinion about politics. How did this happen? How did I become old enough to travel alone and discuss things that are "only for grown-ups"? It's good, but a little bit unbelievable.

Visiting this family was a highlight of the trip and I'm glad I made the trek and coughed up the 35 euros. It's always a joy when I can be away from someone for so long and then meet again with the feeling that it hasn't been so long. There was nothing awkward about meeting up with them; it was a joyful reunion. It wasn't just a reunion, though, it was the realization that somewhere between moving into the dorms and flying to Munich, I have grown.

As I sat and played UNO with Anja, who I remember being born, I realized that I have grown into someone sot of resembling an adult. The girls asked me if I was a kid like them or a grown up like their parents. I told them I was in a strange place in between where I can still act like a kid, but am an adult when life calls for it. I like to be in this place of life. The place where playing hopscotch is acceptable, but it's also okay to stay up past 9:30.

All of this to say, after ten days on my own, I have seen a very good side of the ever dreaded "growing up."

Travel Diaries #2: On Home and Service

I hopped off the train in Basel and saw a red pea coat attached to a beaming smile come towards me. Jillian takes my bag as I say, "The ride was beautiful, now where the heck is the bathroom?" This is the beginning of journey #2: visiting and staying with Jillian in her tiny village of Holzen, Germany.

It is always fun to see my friends in their homes with their families. In highschool, I saw this all the time, but I hardly ever get to see this anymore. As soon as Jill and I walked out of the station, Jill's dad (who I've never met before) threw his arms all the way around me and my monstrous backpack and welcomes me to his home. This was very different from when I first met Jill, which was in the awkward setting of our first floor meeting and then again in the quiet of a classroom. Now, fifteen months later, I am staying with her family in Germany for two days. How things change...

The next day, I was able to go into Kandern, which is the city that houses Jill's high school. It's not a German high school, though, it's a missionary school. Kids who go to this school are here because their parents are serving a group of people who are elsewhere. Jill's dad is the principal of the school which means he is the one who makes it possible for all these kids to have a place to consider "home." At least for a little while.

I think being a missionary kid would be incredibly difficult. To follow your parents from place to place without much say and never settle down would be so hard for me. Yet these kids do it and then they settle at Black Forest Academy until it is time to move on. I am impressed by these students and also by their teachers. The teachers are wanderers, too, but that doesn't stop them from serving their students.

I asked Jill if it was hard for her to move to Germany from Arizona. She said it wasn't, it was just the next place. Talking to her about that made me wonder what my life would look like now if we had moved to England when I was eleven. All the things that happened to me which seemed significant started to happen in Jr. High. These never would have happened if we had moved. I guess that's the beauty of it; the point was to stay and I don't need to know what would have happened if we had left. It's always part of a greater plan, stay or go.

Travel Diaries #1: Of First Impressions and History

I am now sitting on a train that is going west along the southern countryside of Germany. There are tiny villages scattered across the hills, each clearly visible because the steeples of their churches stand higher than any of the surroundings. I have just spent two days with a German family that reminds me very much of my own. He is the director of a Bible school and she is his ever supportive wife who puts a smile on the face of every student when she walks in the room. Their kids are my age, love music and sports, and are friends with each other. The only difference between this family and my own? One less daughter. Oh yes, they also live in a city on the Bodensee called Friedrichshaffen.

I love the culture of Germany. Everywhere I have turned, the people are so kind. Meals go on forever and conversations even longer. These conversations range from family to Christ to past and to present. Before I left, Gaby and I walked along the shore of the Bodensee. She told me that the city is so different now from what it used to be. When she told me that, I began to view it all with a different eye. Just seventy years ago, the very shores that I walked were torn by war. The walls I see have been destroyed and mended. The hearts of the people here have faced much more than the people at home.

Now, as I sit on the train, my curiosity aches for stories. That old woman sitting across from me...was her husband in the war? That city right on the Rhein...was it always so picturesque, or did boats once bombard its colorful walls? It's amazing how fast it all can change.

Gaby told me that as wealth has become more prominent in Germany, she is losing the Germany she loves. The traditions and culture of her old Germany are disappearing as modernity approaches. It seems from here statement that wealth is not always the solution. It is not in wealth that we band together. We don't grow stronger by living in a perfect, rich world. It is in our weaknesses that we learn to truly live.

Over the Past Year, I Give Thanks

What a year it has been, since Thanksgiving last year. I could type for days, the list of things I am thankful for, but I will spare you. There are some things in particular that very clearly stand out to me. Above all, I thank God for tearing me away from the life that I had planned for myself. The life I had planned was one of emptiness and selfishness. The one that now lies before me is very uncertain, but certainly full of joy. I thank God for proving me wrong and pushing me into something new.

I am thankful for new opportunities. As I stepped away from my plans of acting on the stage, I walked right into a band. Ben, Ben, Nate, Kevin, Alex and Noah. I am so happy when I am with these ridiculous boys, the "misfits", as Ben called us the other day. We hang out once a week and make music together and they are dear friends. It's also a chance to ensure that I see my dear brother once a week.

I am thankful for being let down. When I didn't become an SMC (again, my own plan), it was very hard for me. But through that let-down, I joined group staff. Though group was not the perfect situation right off the bat, it has turned into one of the biggest blessings in my life. Scott, Scotty, Brian, Braden, Gabe, Bob, Mary, Aly, Kael, Cristina and Leanne. Oh my word, how I adore them. Their quirks, their hearts, their minds, their prayers, their hugs, their encouragement and their love. They're great and I now treasure those fifteen hours a week that I spend with them.

I am thankful for Fourth Hill. The summer before I went to SPU, it was just a room number. A year later, it was a place that shaped me into an entirely different person. It was a place that helped me to grow, to live differently and to love in a way I had never known. Em, Jill, Rachael, Lauren, Lara, Mary, Heather, Jamie, Becky, Bryn, Alyssa, Becky Jo, Sarah, Kristin, Beckah, Grace, Teylar, Alina, Caitlyn, Katherine, Leanne, Anna, Candice, Mary, Missy, Aly, Liz, Jessica, Rachel, Valerie, Emily, Ali, Krista, Jenna, Megan, Emma, Anna, Natalie, Nicole, Hannah, Dani and Jessica. Those girls, each and every one of them, have been a part of my life and I am so grateful to them. I am grateful to Teylar, for keeping us all together and I am grateful to that silly triple from Ashton-Jessica, Rachel and Valerie-for teaching me how to live.

I am thankful for the Ballard crew. Dan, Adrienne, Irene, Spencer, Erin and Daniel. No matter how many times I am too busy to hang out, I am always invited. They keep pushing and pulling and they'll never let me go and it makes me so glad. They, not too long ago, were a huge part of my life and I would hate for that to disappear entirely. I thank them for not being bitter when I could no longer be involved in the play that we were planning. I thank them for still loving me, even when I do things that should let them down.

I am thankful for those who aren't afraid to tell it like it is. Professor Wolfe: She taught me what love truly is and I realized that I wasn't truly loving. My closest friends: They keep me in check and they don't let me get away with things that are no good. Dr. Ediger: Though her class is ridiculously tough right now, the whole class has taught me to look at the world through much different eyes. My dad (also, my pastor): For teaching me that we live in a dark world and that we are the ones who are able to bring the light. Bob (group 08-09): It taught me to let go. To leave what I know and step into something new. Not only did it teach me that, it also gave me the strength and courage to do so.

I am thankful for those relationships that are hanging by a thread: They're still being held by that thread and, so long as the thread doesn't break, they will be easily mended in the days to come. For those that have broken, I will still search for the supplies and the strength to mend them. But I know I will be able to, I always am.

I am thankful for Kristi and Noah. My best friends in the world, I could ask for nothing more. I am thankful for the times I get to spend with them and the lives that we share with one another. They are the ones who keep me going and I love them so much.

I am thankful for my parents. The fact that I get to see them so often, even though I'm "away" at school. I thank them for the opportunities they bring into my life and the support they show, even though I have no idea what I'm doing.

I am thankful for the peaceful moments betwixt the madness. The moments when the sun hits the window just right. When the leaves fall like snow. When the sound of a piano is faintly heard above the murmur of friends. When the rain falls so fast that the world can barely handle it. When Anna and I lie in bed and all is said that needs to be said, even when no words are spoken. When the snow makes the world go slower.

I am thankful for the joyful moments in midst of sadness. When my arm is grabbed and I am dragged in the rain to go puddle jumping. When I laugh so hard I cry. When I can drop the books and go play hopscotch. When we get into our footie pajamas. When we can forget the world and school for just a second and pretend we are kids again.

It's a good life, a good year and for that, I give thanks. There is much to be thankful for and that is reason enough to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Oh Mother...

It's November in Seattle, and that means that my lips are chapped ALL THE TIME. This seemingly insignificant fact about my lips and the cold weather reminded me today of the love of my mother. I walked into her office after work, she took one look at me and she smothered my face in chapstick. Oh, mother, how I love you. This is something you do to your eight your old daughter, but you did it to me and I appreciated it so much. It reminded me of the fact that, even though I'm in college and feel old, I'm not. Not really. I'm still your daughter and definitely not ready to face the world alone. Thanks for the reminder Mom, I can't wait to be home.