We have a group of 15 university students from College Heights Christian Church here in Ancona right now. They’ve been a great group, really ready to dive in and experience the culture and learn about our church.
On Monday, they hosted a day at the beach. They invited people they had met and we also invited the church to come and enjoy hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill (something that few of them had ever experienced).
It rained off and on all day, and after weeks of hot, humid weather, it was cool and windy. Just about dinner time, some church members showed up, and we got the grill going.
That’s when the storm clouds rolled in. The owner of the beach let us use his outdoor seating, which had a roof. We started seeing lightning hitting the ocean near us. And then, all of the sudden, it hailed on us. Ice was bouncing off the roof and into the area where we were seated. We quickly moved the food out of the rain, and took shelter under an awning. One of our church members said he had never seen hail before! And about 10 minutes later, it all stopped. We shook our head and laughed at the horrible weather for beach day.
And then we noticed the rainbow:
I’ve never seen a rainbow so large before! It was a full semi-circle that went into the sea on one side, and up and over the city of Ancona. I tried to stitch two pictures together above to give you an idea of how big it was.
My heart is heavy and my eyes full of tears. Yesterday, around 9:50 AM, our dear friend Massi went Home.
He had been battling myelofibrosis for nearly a year, and infection finally overcame his weakened immune system. His absence will be a tangible thing in our church for a long time.
As the pastor, it’s my job and my priviledge to stay strong for the family and to be a source of strength in a difficult time. Yesterday I was reminded how thin the facade is. As I was walking Rosa back to the waiting room after one last goodbye with her already-cold fiancée, the facade cracked. I found myself in the hallway with Jason. The door to the waiting room clicked closed, and the tears came. We tried to save ourselves the embarassment of emotion (masculinity is a funny thing) by hiding in separate corners. And just as quickly as it started, the crying stopped and we went back in the room.
I miss him already. His funny Senigalliesi accent that took me months to get used to. His weekly phone call at the exact time Life Group was supposed to start, telling me he had just left and was on his way. His suspicious looks when we served something American, and then watching him take a second and third helping. Our awkward conversations in the hospital towards the end, when we both talked about everything but the obvious. But more than anything, his faithfulness until the very end. He loved God with all his heart, soul, and mind.
Last week was Italian Labor Day, and we were so happy that a friend of our oldest invited us to spend the day with his family at their country home. It was actually just outside the city, but had the biggest yard that the kids ran and played in the entire day.
Our friends provided the first course (spaghetti al ragù), and everyone else brought the rest. Fava beans and pecorino cheese are a typical dish for Labor Day. There were lots of little pastries and deserts. And then there was the dish we brought, Vegetable Pizza. The kind with a biscuit crust and cream cheese and raw vegetables on top. Your average vegetable pizza.
Which was the strangest thing that our Italian friends had ever seen. Everyone stopped what they were doing to ask what it was, what was in it, how we made it. I was a little embarrassed, but kind of proud that my wife made the dish everyone was raving about. People clamored for seconds, and the compliments were flowing.
I know sometimes on the blog it may sound like I read things into everyday situations. But as I’ve now been here for three years, I’m beginning to learn that I really can’t take anything for granted. Just when I think I’m starting to figure things out, I find a new sub-culture or new area of life. A simple, common vegetable pizza is a wonderful, new creation taken out of its usual American context. One woman asked if it was safe to eat broccoli raw, and was excited to try it that way. Isn’t that something that you just assumed everyone knew? But every culture - even a seemingly-similar, Western European culture - is different in probably every way. And if I am wrong about Italians knowing that you can eat broccoli raw, can I really assume I know anything at all? Can I really assume how they see bigger subjects like church, grace, and truth?
The only thing I’m sure about … three years is only a good start in learning a culture.
We just had the pleasure of hosting two missionary friends of our who have been serving in Germany for over 30 years. As we talked over coffee and meal times, I was struck with the number of amazing stories that they had to tell us. Crazy things like almost getting arrested in Naples. And great things like finally seeing fruit after many years of labor.
It got me to thinking. Why does any missionary go through these crazy things? We’ve only been here just under three years, so our supply of stories isn’t near what these veterans had to tell. But we’ve had our share of times when we look back and wonder what on earth just happened, and how God got us out of it!
A lot of missionaries have an adventurous spirit, and so they stay on the field just for the love of new experiences. I think some like to create things and see them grow. But I don’t know if those things are enough. Every missionary I know (that has made it for the long haul) feels a strong sense of calling. That God has asked them to be where they are. And it’s funny what you’ll endure when you know you’re where you’re supposed to be.
But calling isn’t reserved just for missionaries. I think He calls all of us to be somewhere or do something. There’s lots of contentment that can be found when you’ve wrestled with the call in your life and planted yourself where you’re supposed to be.
I haven’t really posted about it on the blog, but I’ve started running.
Actually, I started back when we were in the US. I just realized the spare tire around my waist was growing. A friend of mine called it the furlough-15. This same friend also got me hooked on a running program that takes you from the couch, to running for 30 minutes in ten weeks. I started it, and it wasn’t too bad. Our travel schedule in the US made it harder to be consistent, but a surprising diagnosis of high blood pressure became quite the motivator to get in shape.
I’ve kept up the running, even after getting back to Italy. I found a good running partner and a convenient place to run. And today, we finished the running program. On a whim, at about the eleven minute mark we both decided that today was the day. We pushed through the big hills at our track and made it to thirty minutes of running non stop.
It probably doesn’t sound like a lot to some more experienced runners, but to me it sounds like a lot more than the two minutes that I started with!
Oh - the total weight that I have lost … 18 pounds. And Heidi thinks I’m the biggest stud ever.
The news is on right now, and the anchorman just reported how the Dollar fell to a record low compared to the Euro yesterday. The Euro, which when introduced had a 1:1 ratio with the dollar, is now at nearly $1.40 to €1.00. It certainly makes finances tough when the dollars that people send for our support slowly decrease in value.
But I have an Italian friend who is an investment banker. He is investing lots of his clients’ money into American funds because they can use their Euro to buy more shares than normal. So he’s really happy that the dollar continues to fall.
So if you’re God, how do you decide who’s prayers to answer?
Oh boy … sometimes I’m not really sure what to write.
Last night we had a great dinner out to celebrate Heidi’s birthday. With three tired kids in tow, we hopped the late bus home. When we got to our door, our key decided not to work. We stood there for what seemed like forever trying to get the lock to turn, but it was as if someone changed the locks while we were out.
I try and call my team leader, Jason, who I knew was meeting with some friends for dinner. I was hoping they might have a set of our keys to try. He didn’t answer.
I try and call my landlord. She had recently told me that she can’t find any of our keys, but I was hoping that she had found them in the meantime. But it didn’t matter, since she didn’t answer.
I call Matt. He tells me that the same thing happened to him once, and everyone told him to call the fire department. I was thinking, “Maybe a locksmith would be less dramatic?” But it was Saturday night, and nothing would have been open.
In the meantime, Jason calls back. He asks the Italian couple what we should do. They say, “Call the fire department.”
So I slowly punched in the number into my cell phone. 1 … 1 … 5. The guy answers, and I explain the situation. He gets my information, but warns me that they were busy, and it would be a while before they could get to us. I thought, “If an Italian is warning me that I could be waiting for a while, it really could be a long while.” At no point did he ask me why on earth I was calling the fire department.
I head back upstairs, and our new neighbors from India notice the hub bub. He comes downstairs to try and help, but nothing he does works. So he gets his nephew. He asked me if it’s possible to get into our house from the garden in back. I told him I thought all the windows were locked, but we could go see.
Have you seen Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon?
Because that’s what he did. He shimmied into the garden, noticed the open bedroom window, and wall-climbed up into our second-story apartment. The kids cheered. I was amazed at how easy it was to break into my apartment.
Lots of thank yous were exchanged. I called the fire department back and had them call off the storming of the gates. I called the landlord back and told her we were in, and she half-reprimanded me for not having other copies of the key somewhere (even though I explained to her that the lock had broke, not the key). I went upstairs to thank our neighbors again, who then insisted that we all come in and visit. They were both incredibly kind, though the nephew just arrived here and doesn’t speak Italian. Or English.
When Heidi left the house to come up, she left the door open with the rug sticking in it so the wind didn’t blow it closed.
A friend of ours recently created a short film, which happens to star a certain team leader of mine. I’m not really sure that I understand it all, but tonight he will be premiering the film at our coffee house, so I’m hoping to get an explanation. Make sure and watch the credits - Team Expansion Italia is in there!
Marcus and I met at an outdoor coffee shop the other day. As we talked, we saw a friend of ours pull up on her scooter. She’s the lady that cuts all of us Americans’ hair. I knew that she was closing up her shop for a week to go visit family down south.
As she started to drive off, I jokingly asked her to make sure and bring me some wine from her parents’ region. She looked at me and said, “Are you serious?” I thought I may have offended her somehow and said, “Well … I’ve been down south and tried it before.” She paused and said, “Tomorrow, you come to my shop and I will bring you a bottle of wine I get from a farmer around here. It’s wonderful.” I thanked her and she drove off.
The next day, I got a call. It was our hairdresser. My wine was ready.
So I stopped by her shop, she gave me a bottle of homemade wine. No label. Just a glass bottle and a kind of makeshift cork that reminded me of a Mason jar (they’re fairly common here for bottling your own stuff). I thanked her for her kind gift, and went on my way.
As I walked to catch the bus back home, I sort of smiled as I thought about what a different life I have here in Ancona compared to America. It was raining. I was walking slowly down the slick sidewalk with an umbrella in one hand and a bottle of homemade wine (that the lady who cuts my hair gave me) in the other. The piazza where I was going to catch the bus is actually where a lot of the winos hang out, so I was sure I was going to fit right in. But at the same time, I was honored that she wanted to share something with me that is so important in Italian culture.
Despite the differences, I absolutely love it here.
We’ve hit that time in our home service when we’re doing lots of “lasts.” Last Mexican restaurant. Last Sunday at church. Last walk around our favorite walking trail.
The hardest “last” of all is the last visit to see family and friends. We went to Heidi’s dad’s house yesterday. Heidi was pretty sure she saw her dad tearing up as we drove away. This morning was our last Sunday at Central Christian Church. They’ve been such a blessing to us, and have made Rockford feel very much like home to us. Tonight we went out with some friends (at a Mexican restaurant - we killed two birds with one stone!). Tomorrow will be our last dinner in the US. Tuesday we fly to the airport.
We are incredibly ready to go home to Ancona. But this week of “lasts” has been difficult on us all. I suppose it’s all a part of being a missionary in a foreign country.
