I get by with a little help from my friends

I can't pick a favorite part of my new home, but if I had to, this would be it. Why? What a great representation of our nutty life--the chicken is from France, the plate is what looks like old German, the verse is, of course, in German, the little heart is the red and white of Austria, and the two aprons are in Russian. C'mon. That's a pretty cool life.

Our gorgeous new entryway.

How is it possible that more furniture makes our flat look tons bigger? I would NEVER have been able to put this together--brown and reds? what?!?!---but I just love it so much!!

Therefore, since we have such a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us...Hebrews 12:1

Sometimes, I don't have anything to say. That's just the truth. Sometimes, life is just life, and it requires no commentary. It is what it is. And then, there are other times--like now--when there is so much to say that I don't know how or where or when to say it all. So if this comes across disjointed, it's because there is so much in my brain and in my heart, and I'm not sure how to get it all out.

My very first experience overseas was in St. Petersburg, Russia--a city that remains close to my heart even now. It was cold and gray, and everything was so different. It was a vision trip, something our company (which wasn't our company, yet) wanted us to do in order to have a firm grasp of the step we were taking in leaving behind the comforts of Middleburg, Florida, for the very different life of Moscow, Russia. It was just the two of us, and it was so bizarre. It was a wonderful trip, but it was a terrifying trip. I remember going to the grocery and buying things without a clue what they even were--thinking about the difficulty of not just picking up a new language, but literally starting from the ground up with a new alphabet. I remember talking to Marc as we lay there in a tiny apartment in St. Petersburg, trying to deal with jetlag, whispering far into the night. Had we lost our minds? Wasn't this crazy? But on the other hand, we also whispered these things far into the night: Can you imagine doing anything else? I'm sure, aren't you? I am a bit of a Russophile--I love Russian history and Russian literature and always have--and I kept crying as we went around the city. I remember standing in front of the Hermitage--that glorious palace turned into one of the world's premiere museums, and sobbing. It wasn't that the beauty of it overwhelmed, though it did. It was the notion that I--a girl from a little town in rural Florida--I was the recipient of God's incredible grace. His plan for my life and that of my family was scary, terrifying, and crazy--but it was also exhilarating and special and completely clear. So clear. He had not just whispered my name in the dark. He--the God of the Universe!--had called my name out loud. Come, He said. I am going to do things that you can't even imagine, and you are going to have a front-row seat. Strap yourself in, Kellye Michelle Hooks, because this--this life with Me--this is going to be quite a ride.

So what does that have to do with now? Well...nothing, and so much. Marc and I try every year to set aside a weekend to really evaluate--where have we been? Where are we going? We did that this weekend--heading to Bratislava, Slovakia, on the train Friday morning, and coming back last night. Bratislava is a little gem of a city. Gorgeous. Friendly. Old. Really, really old. (Some of the places we were dated from 905AD. No kidding. Old.) And I loved it. Not just time with Marc, which is always a hoot, but just walking around in the snow, reading all the stuff on the different statues (have I mentioned how handy it is to speak a Slavic language? Because honestly--if you speak one, you can kind of figure out the meaning of the most of the others.), climbing yet another ridiculously high tower in order to enjoy the incredible view it affords. I really loved Bratislava, because it reminded me of that first trip. The excitement. The fun of a new life, even one that was crazy and terrifying. That clear call on our lives. We found a cute little bagel shop, and while we ate bagels and sipped great Cappuccinos (did you know that drink was invented by Cappuccin monks? I didn't--Marc told me.), I thought about our life. I think sometimes our life on Facebook looks like a fairy tale. And we do get to do some incredibly neat stuff, and our kids are getting the experience of a lifetime, and it is great to live in Europe. All true. But our life--like your life and anybody who is honest's life--is filled with hardship. We are enduring a season of incredibly deep unhappiness for one of our children. Whoever said that you are only as happy as your unhappiest child hit the nail on the proverbial head. It's all-consuming, isn't it, when our children are unhappy?  Even as we have settled deeper and deeper into our life in Vienna--studying the language, making relationships with Austrians, finding our own 'pond' of ministry--that unhappiness has settled like a pall over our lives here. So you can imagine that the situation with that child dominated our evaluation of life this weekend. Are we taking the right steps? the right action? are we protecting her heart? Is there anything else we can do?

As we trudged home from the train station, I'll admit to feeling a little blue. I--like any parent--want to make my child's life as good and easy as possible. In this case, while I feel like I've done everything I can, it hasn't worked. Nothing about her life is easy. If you had seen me on my way home, you would have known how I was feeling. Head down, shoulders hunched against the cold...I didn't look like the picture of happiness. So imagine my surprise when the door opened to my apartment, and I walked in to find a basically new flat. I cannot decorate. I'm TERRIBLE. I can't put stuff together. I don't know what it should look like. And our flat has been a bit barren. White walls. Few decorations. Not homey. But Marc (with some financial help from the States) has planned and schemed with my friends here for a month--to buy the rest of the furniture we needed, to decorate, and to surprise me with the home of my dreams. And that's what I came into last night. Home. I came home.

I love everything about the way my apartment looks. It's a combination of new and old. (My friend, Christina, is a genius at shopping second-hand stores.) It's great colors that I would never have thought to put together. (Lots of Red--everything Austrian is red and white, and I love it!) A lot of it is stuff I had, but I just didn't know what to do with it. And everything is from everywhere--it's so us, combining our time in Russia, Czech Republic, and Austria. Stuff from everywhere, different languages, all put together to make sense. I love it. I cannot stop smiling. But what I love the most is that my friends did it. Friends. People I'm not just acquaintances with, but friends who are walking this road, this journey with us. Folks who love us enough to give up a weekend and work (like crazy!) to surprise me. The love that went into this is splashed all over my home. Everywhere I look, I am reminded that I am known--and I am loved. Beyond what is reasonable, I am loved. And friends, if that's not a picture of the Church as Jesus meant it to be--then I don't know what is.

We, the church of Jesus Christ, the people whose names have been called by the Almighty--we testify to His great love for us not only by our love for those who don't believe, but by our deep and abiding love for one another. Sometimes, that just means we pray for one another. Hard. Sometimes, it means we bake a loaf of banana bread and show up with it on the day somebody is worried because her Daddy is having surgery across the ocean. Sometimes, it means we go to lunch at Campus Suite and listen and laugh. Sometimes, it means we love on each other's kids, no matter how far or close to us they might be. And sometimes, it means we surprise a friend with deep kindness and abiding love by decorating her apartment. Yes. Sometimes, it looks just like that.

My newly decorated apartment doesn't change my child's situation. We know that nothing but the hand of God can change her situation. But it is a physical reminder of God's love for us by giving us people to be loved by and to love in return. That, my friends, is good news. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that you are thankful for your deep friendships with other believers, and that you didn't forget that stores are closed on Sunday where you live. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye