Hope in the Red and the Shiny

Winter quarter has hit everyone with a storm this year. Figuratively speaking, of course. The weather itself has been rather warm and typically full of drizzle. But the students at SPU, the people in my life, are struggling. Each day presents its new difficulties and we are struggling to hold on. Hold on to what? To life? To school? To relationships? To God? The biggest question of all time is the question of why we must hurt. Why we must feel pain. Why do we believe in a God who would allow us to be wounded by emotions and friendships, even though we believe so wholeheartedly? It's not an easy question to answer.

The play that SPU just put on was one of the most extraordinary and beautiful plays I have ever seen. It was the account of the Pan Am flight that crashed in Lockerbie, Scotland and a story of grieving. The mother of a boy who had died in the crash has been grieving for seven years when her husband takes her back to the site of the crash. Rather than searching for peace, she searches for vengeance and that search is what made way to an interesting point. The women living in Lockerbie say this: If it were always night, you would not see the beauty of a sunrise. If it were always light, you would not see the beauty of the stars. If you could not hate, you would not know how it would feel to love.

Without pain, you would not see healing. Without sorrow, you would not see joy. Without a winter that makes your soul ache, you would not see the beauty of a spring that brings redemption.

I have been in the middle of all of this. Between my roommate, my neighbors, my band, and my classmates, I've heard a lot of stories of hurt and questions of why. I am not complaining about being in the middle, I'm grateful that my class load isn't too hard and that I am happy right now. If I weren't, who would they talk to? There aren't many of us around who are doing just fine right now and those who are hurting don't want to burden another already in pain. So when someone needs to talk or to be held, I invite them over, make them some tea and sit.

I was frustrated the other night when there were six people in my room and I had to keep leaving the room to fill up our tiny hot pot. Our tiny hot pot that we bought in October (we each paid five whole dollars) and has since been used many a time. I've forgotten about it a dozen times and my roommate has to remind me that there is boiling water about to burn our room down. It's dangerous. Not only dangerous, but also disgusting and turning a color that isn't white. It's more like orange and it looks like the inside of our hot pot has been rusting and we've slowly been drinking rusty tea. I cleaned it out, filled it up, boiled it and repeated three times. I told the people sitting in the coziness of room 465 that I just need to cough up thirty bucks and buy myself a nice, not rusty, not hazardous, hot pot.

Yesterday, I worked all day and came home rather exhausted. It was my dear friend Becky Jo's birthday, so I brought some cake home with me to give to her, but she wasn't there yet. I was sitting in my room with the door wide open and then Becky Jo's roommate shuts my door for no good reason. I knock on her door and ask if I can come in, they scream "Go away!" and I have no idea what's going on. All I want to do is give her some cake and tell her that I love her. About two minutes later, Becky Jo runs into my room with a giant gift in her hand and says, "This is for you!" I am puzzled now because Becky Jo is giving me a gift on her birthday. But, heck, I love to get a present, so I rip off the paper and what is inside? A brand new, shiny red hot pot.

"Now you don't have to leave all the time when you want to drink tea with people," she tells me. I was exhilarated and, to me, it was so much more than a hot pot. It was a "thank you" for listening and hugging and holding and praying. It was encouragement that, even though I am busy and tired, I can always make time for my loved ones who need it. It is things like this that help us get through each day. Yes, we're still hanging on for dear life, but at least we can know what we're hanging onto. We're hanging onto hope. Through slices of cake, tears on your shoulder and shining red hotpots, we will be able to survive to the possibility of the brightness that tomorrow might hold. If not tomorrow, then the next day. And if not the next day, then the day after that. The point is this: hope doesn't disappear forever. So sit down, take a break from whatever is holding you back, boil some water and sit down with a friend. They need it. And so do you.

Not Today

Today is not the day to get out of bed.
It's not the day to go to work.
To do a statistics project.
To study for an exam.
To memorize Russian Geography.

Today is the day to hug my roommate.
To smile at strangers.
To sit with someone who needs you there.
To hang out with Grandma.
To drink tea and watch the grey sky.

Why is it so hard to put these things together?
Why can't our days be endless?
Why must time constrain us so?

So much to do, so little time.
So many questions, so few answers.
And life goes on, but how?

Through love.
Joy.
Peace.
Patience.
Kindness.
Goodness.
Gentleness.
Faithfulness.
Self-Control.

She

She is a piano, the black and white keys.

I am a viola, the 4 fragile strings.

She is a velociraptor, open smile all the time.

I am a narwal, resting cooly upon the pillow.

She is orange, full of life.

I am red, full of passion.

She is the listener, the ears to hear, the heart to respond.

I am the talker, the lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue.

She is a banana, presented beautifully atop the cereal.

I am an apple, thrown in the backpack for when the stomach calls.

She is tea, a steaming cup of calm.

I am cocoa, a steaming cup of crazy.

She is love, giving all she has.

I am faith, trusting in all He has.

She is stripes, vertical and horizontal, a rhythm.

I am polka dots, bright and colorful, a variety.

She is monkey feet, familiar and fun.

I am bunny feet, from childhood and memories.

She is a mole, awkward and adorable.

I am a penguin, huggable and lover of the cold.

She is autumn, falling leaves and rainy days.

I am spring, fluttering blossoms and sunny days.

She is a whole note, always there.

I am an eighth note, flying in and out.

She is my friend.

I am hers.

Three Weeks Ago, 2010 Began

How are we already three weeks into 2010?

I have much to say on New Year's and such, but somehow I have been swallowed up by tests, statistics and breakfast dates. This year, 2010, has always seemed a long way off and now that it's here, it is hard to grasp. On Christmas Eve, my family discussed what the year would look like for us and I can sum it up in five words: ONE STEP AT A TIME.

We are all in different stages of life, discovering new passions and wondering what to do with them. Looking at the years to come, I can easily see us all in different parts of the world doing different things, all meaningful in their own way. Looking right in front of us is harder, though. The things right in front of you are much more real. They are here, they are now. They are the steps that must be taken in order to get to where you see yourself in the future. Once we get to where we see ourselves, it's not so hard, but it's a matter of taking those first steps that stirs fright in all of us. Because I could never relay in words to you all that was said that night, I will tell you what is on my mind.

For me, entering 2010 is huge. I'm no longer taking classes that deal with learning to juggle or making someone believe that I really am a crazed genius whose father just died. Now I'm learning what acronyms like GNP and FDI stand for. I'm not learning how to build a flat for a production, but I am learning why Yugoslavia split up in the 90s and how we can help those new countries get back on their feet. I only have five months left in the dorms and will switch gears and live in a house with some of my closest friends. I will be faced with the decision of whether or not I want to be on group staff again or find a new place to serve. I will be searching for internships and practical ways to apply my learning. Constantly learning, that's what I'm doing this year.

It's hard to tell, really, what I expect to come of it all. It's exciting, though. When people ask me where I think my major will take me and I say "anywhere," it sparks the fire of adventure in my heart. I'm not afraid of what God might throw at me because I know it's under control. Even in times when I have thought no good could come of it, something changes in my heart and it's all okay. The point is that somehow or other, it works out. All I can do is trust. So, in the ever so wise words of Bilbo Bagins, I leave you with this:

"It's dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

Dangerous? Yes, but danger is just another word for adventure. And adventure is what God has in store, if I'm willing to trust. And I am.

Travel Diaries #7: Entering a Different Land

Riding the train from Salzburg to Prague was the craziest train ride I took on this trip. Riding through Austria, there are quaint towns dotted along the countryside with the steeples of their churches pointing towards the sky. The houses are chalets that (usually, not on this trip though) are covered in snow in the winter. Everything is warm and inviting, as it should be...The Sound of Music was, after all, filmed here. As soon as we crossed the border, it was obvious that we weren't in Austria anymore. The train station was not shining with joyful Austrian faces awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. No, the station was an old broken down house surrounded by nothing but fields and standing on the platform was an old Czech man in a big fuzzy hat, a heavy coat and a bushy grey beard attached to a very serious face.

As day turned quickly into night, things just got crazier. The old, broken down train stations looked just as sad as ever and the man on the platform was now holding a lantern with a candle in it to guide the train in and send it on its way. Changing trains was something that terrified us, solely because of the name of the town where we had to change trains: Czeske Bodejovice. It didn't sound inviting and so far the train stations we had seen did not look inviting to tourists. Luckily, this town we'd never heard of was a little bigger than we thought and with the help of a Czech information desk through very broken English, we were on our way to Prague.

The car ride to our apartment made me feel like I was being tossed around in the waves of an ocean of uncertainty. We turned up one bumpy, cobble stoned street and made a sharp turn around another too narrow for most any car. It was a maze and I loved it. Every building was decorated with such detail and architects of long ago decided that intricate statues should be placed on every building, no matter how insignificant it is. The buildings all had giant doors, the night life was apparent and I was excited to be there.

The next two days, we wandered all over that city taking it all in from many of the different towers and bridges throughout the city. Looking out from a tall point, all you can see are red rooftops of buildings all crammed together and the streets are so narrow, you don't even see them from up high. The cathedrals look like castles and we quickly understood why they call it the City of Spires. Everywhere you look, something is pointing high in the sky in a foreboding manner. It's a beautiful city, but it has a very dark past.

We visited the Museum of Communism and for two hours I read about the rise and fall of Communism in Czechoslovakia. It was a Communist state until 1989. Here we stood, tourists in this city, only twenty years after such darkness had finally left their nation. Considering how little time it has been, this city is phenomenal. They have made quite the comeback, but it seems like it will be ages before that comeback will hit the outskirts that we rode the train through. I received more history of the country just in that train ride than I ever knew about the Czech Republic and that was just one tiny portion of it. That is why I have loved this trip. There's no way to fully understand the history of the world without seeing it and now that I have seen a little bit, I understand so much more than I ever did before.

Travel Diaries #6: Christmas in a Different Way

I've never been away from home at Christmas until this year. It was hard to be away from the familiar coziness of our house and traditions, but I find it hard to complain because I'm in the Alps in Austria. We celebrated Christmas Eve this year to finally satisfy Mom's request after thirty years (and because that's what they celebrate over here). Snitzchel was cooked, potatoes were fried to perfection, wine from France was poured and it was Christmas in Austria. I missed home very much, knowing that we wouldn't be able to go to our Christmas Eve service that has always been the same. For the fifteen years I've been at Bethany, there has been the same service which concludes with a room full of people lit solely by candles held in their hands and singing Silent Night together. And I have missed it.

But I didn't miss it entirely. We drove to the local church in Ramsau and sat in one of the 300 year old pews. The entire service was in German, but it was still beautiful to see the town gathered together on Christmas. To top it all off, we ended the service singing Silent Night in German, surrounded by a bunch of old, traditional Austrians. We left through the cemetery, each ancient grave marked with a Christmas wreath and a glowing red advent candle. What rich traditions this culture has and what an experience it has been learning about them.

Then, of course, there were less beautiful things that happened. Like eating at McDonald's for Christmas dinner in Salzburg. And saying good-bye to Noah for four months. But it's all these experiences that add something to life.

As I sat in a cathedral in Salzburg on the 25th for Vesper's, I lit a candle. I prayed for peace in the uncertainty of life. Jesus was born in completely uncertain times: through messages from angels about a virgin birth. He was born in a stable in the cold and life was far from easy. How phenomenal that such strange circumstances made way for the reign of Christ that would continue for 2000 years. Truly this Christmas has been a huge reminder of the reality of Christ's birth and the hope that we have in Him.

Merry Christmas!

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.