A few weeks ago, Frogg Orr-Ewing wrastled up a group of 5 students from our year-long  course (OCCA) and sent us on a whirl-wind of a mission to Östersund, Sweden. Early on we discovered that we would have to ditch some of our original plans in order to be a little more, er, culturally sensitive. While much of Sweden is very open, sending a group of students to sing some choir songs in the middle of the main square would’ve been considered a disturbance of the peace. In all honesty, I was a little relieved. I’m the girl that is annoyed with just about every song-and-dance I hear on Cornmarket Street in Oxford, let alone participating in one in the middle of a sleepy town in Sweden.

Our days were spent working with the university and preparing for seminars that we would be giving in the evenings at the church. Our first Sunday, we collected questions that people had written on sticky notes (How can suffering exist if God does, too? Why can’t every religion be true? Why do we exist?, etc.) And the rest of the week, we sought to give the strongest, Biblical answer we could develop from multiple points (How does this change the way I understand my being? what I think? what I do?).

Some people have this idea that apologetics is meant to explain-away every hard question. It isn’t. Apologetics is about acknowledging and addressing the intellectual barriers (scientific, philosophical, and historical questions/qualms) that keep people from seriously considering Jesus Christ as real and worth following. From there, we talk it through. Actually, I imagine that our process is much like building a case. There are many good reasons to believe in the existence of God, and I’d like to share them.

Finding the right means to share those ideas proved difficult at times. Östersund, like many cities in Sweden, has relatively few Christians, and very few people that might consider themselves “religious” in comparison to other European countries on the whole. Regardless of which kind of belief, though, they are considered entirely personal and private. This experience is very unlike the Oxford arena, where religions and ideas are thrown into the public sphere, addressed, debated, and often torn apart (especially by likes of my neighbor, Richard Dawkins). One woman from the area claimed that she had no idea what many of her friends believed, and it would be considered rude to ask.

All these discoveries fascinated me. But, what I was shocked to find was the depth of my attachment to pastor’s family that I had only known for a few days. Bertil and Anna have three lovely, but very different daughters—Amanda, Sandra, and Evelina, that I was blessed to get to know over a very short period of time. Over the course of the week, they shared what it was like to be a part of a religious minority as well as the burden of having to make decisions for the future (not so very unlike many on my team). It’s a really good thing that I was sitting next to J on the flight out while I was crying, I would’ve freaked out some poor stranger otherwise.

All this to say, the things and people that heal us can be very surprising, and should indicate to me, all the more, that Christ does the same.

“You don’t want it to happen too early,” Momma Ruelle says to me. And like so many other times while we’re conversing, she has struck the simple truth that I am meant to collect. I need to start documenting and dating these moments—maybe in jars, or in a notebook reserved just for her quips.

The “it” that she is referring to has to do with (hopefully) one day making it on the literary scene in a serious way. And I still want it, but someday, maybe not right away. There was a not-so-distant time when I was convinced that I had to have it relatively soon because I suffered from a sort of 24-going-on-50-syndrome/stage/phase, whatever it was—it’s been bucked.

For the last several weeks I’ve been waking up as, what feels like, someone else. I feel rested and calm. I don’t stress about plans. I don’t know where I will be living coming July, I don’t know if I’ll be in school, or if I’ll be working back in Kansas City until the next thing pans. And for now, I’m not thinking about it (other than when I’m making posts like this). I am beginning to understand my limitations, and am developing a deeper relationship with a God without them. And, as Momma has said before, “that has to be enough, it’s always enough.” And, it is.

These days, I’m living a quiet life in Oxford. On occasion, J makes banana pancakes with golden syrup and raspberries for the Norham crew and myself. We spend free afternoons in University Parks across the street, playing Frisbee, reading, or laying in the sun. I’ve managed to figure out how to ride my bike around town without getting hit by buses, cars, and other bikers. [NOTE: this does help my deep temptation to buy a motorcycle.] I meet with the failed novelists on occasion, crash bops, and go out dancing on the weekends with OCCA folk. The evenings usually include a spicy curry that I’ve cooked up, a late night run, and some C. S. Lewis (right now, Out of the Silent Planet). I must confess, I don’t spend enough time at local pubs or jazz clubs, but I’m determine to resolve that as soon as I return from Sweden. I’m still researching a few projects for Sweden and a few independent projects, but it’s been a joy because I now have some time now that we’re on break. But, this has been soothing, rich time in life.

I’ve been quiet because my heart has been healing. And it needed silence so I could listen to the beginnings of a new composition. It takes a while for dreams to reconstruct themselves into a new form for a new life. I’m not there yet, but perhaps on some verge?

I’m ready to come out of hibernation. Let’s reconnect. Let’s skype soon, yeah?

I’m going to Sweden for a mission. CRAZY. so excited.