Reflecting on the routines needed when you can’t just hop in a car to see family, separated by an ocean in between.
I know this trip well. I have lost count on how many times I have done this, but enough to have a routine. To know how to get through German customs without too much stress. I know my way to the gate. I know where to fill my water bottle and where to get the best sandwich before the flight. When to put on my compression socks and when to get in line.
I recall specific flights that stand out more than others; the previous time flying back for our daughter’s wedding, the last time flying with our youngest to complete her university orientation, or the time when she and I lucked out with my husband’s business points and were able to sit in business class, side by side, watching movies and eating junk food the whole way across the ocean.
I loved our flights when there were 3 of us, our daughter by the window, me on the aisle, and my husband in the middle. A Daddy sandwich. Excitement was palpable between us, heading back to the U.S. either for the first time after moving or excited to spend time at our place in Door County.
All the others just blur together, enough to form my routine, my habits at the Frankfurt airport…trying to make this as pleasant an experience as possible. It is always a challenge when working through a language “speed bump” and cultural differences. A challenge to manage through any anxieties about flying or sore muscles, stiff necks and tired eyes coming from limited sleep.
Reflecting today as this could be my last flight back to the U.S. before we move back officially in the spring, after nearly 4 years of living abroad in Germany.
I can’t really wrap my mind around this yet as we have been living in such a state of unknowns, undetermined dates, uncertainty of locations. But we knew it was inevitable. This realization brings me right back to gratitude.
I know that this experience, living in Europe, is something that few are able to do. We really have been blessed with this opportunity. But it does come at a cost. Today, I am reflecting on the costs of an ocean in between us and our family. Grateful that I am able to do this, me and my routine, at the Frankfurt Flughafen.
A mom reflects on their emptying nest and the courage to write new life chapters, all part of one beautiful life story.
Our youngest of three, with a big grin, waved and boarded the bus in 2013 for her first full day of school as a 1st grader. “Now you can get some work done, Mom!” she exclaimed. Her funny quips always brought a smile, and even at that young age, she could see the challenge of balancing work and family. I was going to miss our special “bagged” lunches in my office, but I was so happy for her excitement to finally be in school all day like her brother and sister. As a preschooler and kindergartener, she had “worked” alongside me at our local church complete with her own desk and phone in my office.
How quickly those years flew by. Today, as she headed off to school for the last “first” time of her high school career, I’m reminded that I’ve been doing this ‘first day of school’ routine for 18 years. That’s a long time—a third of my life—and it’s worthy of reflection. Luckily, our youngest has aspirations of medical school, our middle child is still in university, and our oldest is starting her master’s degree this fall, so I can still look forward to the obligatory selfies. But it isn’t the same. There’s no in-person hug, no smile, no wave to kick off this special day. Every new beginning must be preceded by the end of a chapter.
As the nest gets emptier, it would be easy to fall into the trap of not knowing what comes next—wondering how I will contribute, how I will be needed. For half of my life, one of my main purposes has been to care for and nurture our family, equipping them to someday fly on their own. Now, it’s easy to feel less needed, reflecting on the past and gazing into a future that looks vastly different. But today, I was reminded that when you remember you are not alone, you can find strength and encouragement.
This morning, I hiked through the forest with a parent group from our international school. I enjoy this group, but on a hot, humid morning, where my “pity party of one” seemed more appealing, I forced myself to join the hike. Though the journey was arduous, my soul felt refreshed, and I found a renewed sense of purpose afterward. I met people who were experiencing similar feelings—grappling with the loss of something or someone and trying to find ‘what’s next’ and where to go.
I may have been the only parent on the hike today whose youngest child is beginning their last year of school, but each person seemed to be at the end or beginning of a new chapter. There were those mourning the loss of a career in a previous country, finding it challenging to work in Germany. A wife mourning the loss of her husband. A woman who had only been in Germany for a week, moving her family from Korea, struggling to find the English words she so desperately wanted to share to connect with others.
We listened. We shared. We walked alongside each other. I was reminded that what I am feeling is normal. It’s normal to feel uneasy at a big life milestone, at the turning of a chapter. A sense of loss. Trepidation. It can be tempting to stay stuck in the same chapter, but if the page does not get turned, the story will never grow.
With each new chapter, the book becomes more complete—becoming an even more beautiful story.
I am beyond grateful for the people who are such a vibrant part of this entire book, especially my husband, children, friends and family. And I know that just because our daughter is graduating next year, that does not mean my role as a mother has ended. As our adult children know, mom is just a text or a call away, no matter what the topic.
But, my book is expanding, continuing on with a new chapter. I am reminded to use the blessing of each new day, embracing my abilities and passions, to continue to write my story. I have gifts that go beyond motherhood, and there’s still so much I can do. I don’t know exactly where this new section is heading, but I do know that if I don’t invest the time and energy to begin this new chapter (and ask God to direct my steps), this book won’t be as beautiful and full as it could be.
“I heard you say that you wanted to learn English better. I’m not a teacher, but I’d be happy to meet for coffee each week to help you practice,” I offered to the woman I was hiking with today, who had just moved to Germany from Korea. Her face lit up. “Yes, yes, I would like that,” she immediately replied. I gave her my contact information and decided to say yes to this new adventure, one of several new changes in my book plot recently.
It’s time soon to turn the page on this new chapter, closing a long one of many years. There are so many new characters to meet, new adventures to explore.
Here we go.
“Now you can get some work done, Mom.”
Yes, I can. And I will. And I ask God to help and guide me.
There are many weeks of my life that I could not recount the key moments when looking back. However, the events of this recent week will be a permanent part of my story as I experienced mountain top highs and the deepest valleys. The highs and the lows, their juxtaposition running concurrently together, reminding me “this is life”. And where my gratitude for the light AND the dark places in my life rests, there my heart, life, and joy is.
I recall my mother saying many years ago when she was alive that she thought everyone should have to take an art appreciation class, as she had learned so much in that university 100-level art class. As for me, I have a hard time discerning all the meanings in works of painted art. But when my friend (a trained artist), shared with me that in the most enriching and vibrant life, the highs are going to be extra bright and the lows will be super low, I could definitely visualize that analogy, especially after the past week. A week that was a complete roller coaster from the highest of life’s highs to the lowest of life’s lows.
Yes, even I can recognize that a painting is flat and boring without the striking differences of color and the use of light…and shadows.
My friend and I were walking through the forest, walking the dogs, reflecting on the challenges and joys of the previous week. I was sharing with her the details on how I was asked by our daughter’s boyfriend (now fiancé), to help pull off a wedding proposal to our daughter. He wanted something private and scenic. How exciting and I was able to take part in the planning!
I had ideas, one of a beautiful hike to Burg Eltz, a 2-hour drive from here in Germany. But nothing really clicked on how to successfully pull that off until I bumped into my local German friend, who I knew would have local recommendations. And… she did. She recommended the Schlosshotel Kronberg, just a 15-minute drive from our house. The Schloss (castle) also happened to be on a golf course, which our daughter is passionate about, featuring a breathtaking view of the Schloss from one of the greens. I checked it out several times in advance, speaking with the people at the front desk, and worked in secret with our future son-in-law on how this could work.
This was my view of the Schlosshotel when I visited earlier in the week to check things out. Stunning, but grey. It would have to do though, rain or shine.
When the day came last week, we were so happy to see some little bits of sun outside. In Germany, we only see rain and clouds and more rain and clouds this time of year. But that day was different. After a beautiful lunch at a local French cafe together, I invited her to check out this local golf course with us, saying that a friend recommended that we see it. Everything went according to plan and as I casually said, walking up to the 14th tee box as the sprawling Schloss came into view, “I need to tie my shoe, you go ahead”…that was his cue to keep walking hand in hand to the spot where he wanted to propose. I stayed back and couldn’t hear a word, but when I saw him go on one knee and our daughter jumping up for joy and then, their kissing and embracing…I knew that this was one of the best moments to witness in life. It was absolutely perfect. Peaceful. Quiet. Colorful. Loving. And the skies were even blue, just for that moment.
The day of the proposal, just several days later from when I visited. Simply perfect.
The view from our Airbnb rooftop in Athens
Fast forward 48 hours and we then were together as a family on our way to Athens, for a weekend getaway while our daughter and future son-in-law were here in Europe for a few weeks. We arrived in time to check into our home for the weekend in the Athens City Center and celebrated the setting of the sun with a glass of wine on the Airbnb rooftop featuring a beautiful view of the Parthenon. The special evening was topped off with an incredible Greek dinner outside, with some of the best Baklava for dessert. What a way to begin our Athens experience!
And then, the next morning, I woke to the news that my dad had received his biopsy results that we were waiting for, but not the results we had hoped for. Aggressive prostate cancer. In that moment, everything else in the world slowed and faded into the distance, making my peripheral vision cloudy and muddy. All I could hear was my heart beating rapidly in my chest. This news quickly sucked me back almost 24 years earlier, when we had received the news of my mother’s inoperable glioblastoma multiforme brain tumor. Is this really happening, I wanted to wonder? But I knew it really was.
And then soon after, we were faced with the juxtaposition of a new day in Athens. The e-bike tour that we had planned and were so excited for. The cats upon cats that our younger daughter was so excited to see. And dad, and the rest of our family, thousands of miles away, and we were there helpless.
I knew that we had to go on our bike tour, even though we were grieving and pained at the same time.
I reminded myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, take deep breaths, and pray.
On our tour, the tour guide led us up to Observatory Hill where we could see the Parthenon in the distance. She offered to take photos of each of us and knew exactly how to make these photos original. Right before we were going to leave, I felt the urge to ask her to take one photo of me. She asked me to jump up in the air like our daughter, and crazy enough, I tried. And thought, I failed. But what I didn’t realize is that in looking at the photos afterwards, she caught snapshots of me laughing. Joyful. Amidst the pain. Amidst the sadness. Joy can exist in the pain.
The highest of highs can exist with the lowest of lows.
After our weekend escape to Athens, we boarded the plane and as I buckled my seatbelt and put my headphones in, my mind began to race to my father and his diagnosis. What’s next? I could have easily been sucked down with grief. But I decided I should listen to the Ash Wednesday sermon podcast from the past week by our former pastor, Rev. Dr. Lorne Hlad, of Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Cincinnati, Ohio. And as soon as I heard his first opening sentences, I knew I needed to hear that sermon (you can see and hear his full sermon here).
In his message, Pastor Lorne talked about how we live in the tension of the uncertainty of this life and the certainty of death. He shared how we try to overcome and outrun these realities, however, we can’t.
He then asked, “What’s that like FOR YOU? …
In what ways have those two realities, the uncertainty of this life and the certainty of death, made themselves known to you in your life this year”?
Boom. I felt like a weight had just dropped on my chest. I knew God was talking to me through Pastor Lorne, thousands of miles away.
Through his sermon, he challenged us that perhaps the first step is just naming and facing those realities. “We are reminded, life is fragile, life is precious, life is fleeting”. It is easy for us to become ‘cynical or jaded’, but through Ash Wednesday we are reminded that ‘everything matters’. We are reminded of God’s faithful and overwhelming promises to us. ‘Every person, every breath, every relationship…matters.’ Then he suggested that perhaps our failure to recognize the value in all of those things, is what is behind our pain.
His words reminded me where my priorities lie and helped me process those mountain top highs and the darkest valley lows of the past week. His challenge was clear: for us to re-value precious moments, both the grand and the ordinary, people, and relationships. In doing so, we are to not be mournful about how we will all be dust someday, but to be encouraged and empowered, because everything matters. We can “re-claim our lives, ‘for where our treasure is, there our heart is’ (Matthew 6:21)”.
The next day during my daily prayer and devotion time, God led me to several devotional plans by the author, Kara Tippetts, who was a mother of four, wife, author, blogger, and died of cancer at the young age of 38. I had never read any of Kara’s works, but I was feeling called to read more of her wisdom, written down from her life years earlier. One of Kara’s quotes was “One of the things we’ve learned this crazy year is to enjoy the moments. The thing about suffering is it makes the sweet moments so much sweeter…The joy in the mundane feels so much more real when sadness has been walked through and tasted”. What a blessing she is still able to continue sharing her words of wisdom on living a life filled with joys and suffering.
This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Psalm 118:24
The highs. The lows. The light. The shadows. A life without the light and the shadows is lacking full definition and vibrancy. The more brilliance, the more shadows, just as in the most treasured of paintings.
With the brilliance and the shadows,
the greater is the total life experience.
Where can you experience more brilliance in your life? How close and present are the simultaneous shadows?
May we extend our gratitude for the brilliance and the shadows. All of these intertwined produce abundant living, an abundant life bursting with colors.
Here is to cherishing abundant living.
“I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly”
My 20 kg speed bump that forced me to align on what is important and is helping free me for embraces to come.
Today begins an amazing adventure. An adventure that is behind my wildest dreams. When I have tried to wrap my mind around all that is to come, I come up blank.
I am leaving today to meet my college roommate (from almost 30 years ago) in New Zealand where we are set to explore the amazing wonders of life “down under”. I know I am blessed beyond belief to be able to do this. I have felt guilty. I have felt that I should not have this opportunity when my family is staying here. I have felt like a month is too long to be gone from my family.
Until I hit this 20 kg speed bump. Then my focus was diverted elsewhere. Twenty kilograms. That is the weight limit that our checked bags need to be for domestic travel in Australia. From someone who prides herself on being the mom that has exactly what you need when you need it, 20 kg for a month is not a lot. This has consumed my brain the last week.
This 20 kg limit has stretched me. It has challenged me to really prioritize what I need for the coming weeks. I know I don’t have everything I want. I don’t even have everything that I probably will need.
But I have this opportunity. This time. These world wonders to embrace. Time with my dear friend and time with precious people I have even yet to meet.
If my luggage limit would have been 23 kg, I would have stressed about meeting that limit, and I would have then been burdened with lugging around that many more extra unnecessary items.
Here is to embracing wonders down under, a little lighter for the journey.
Lighter so I can have room to soak in and embrace all that is to come.
Embracing Second Half Wonders 