Granny’s Eyes and the Little Lost Bird

Posted on May 14, 2013 by opendooreurope

I returned from the Budapest, Bratislava, and Vienna trip feeling very tired and ready for a rest from traveling. We had stayed in hostels the whole 2 weeks, so having a bedroom all to myself with a door feels like unbelievable luxury. Of course, my hostel roommates were all very considerate—even those who were strangers—and I had no trouble sleeping. But still, there is something about having space all to yourself.

When my plane landed at Milan Malpensa Airport and I turned on my phone, I received a voicemail message from a cousin that I had never met. His mother had contacted me some weeks ago, asking if he could come stay with me. He arrived in Milan the very same day that I did: Sunday.

My cousin is a big, sweet guy from Texas who goes by BC. That’s very Texan to go by initials instead of a name. This is his first trip to Italy, and he travels very light. BC is 28 years old, very adventurous and open-minded. When we wandered around a bit, looking for the tram stop in an unfamiliar area, it didn’t faze him one bit. BC just takes things as they come. He’s also a kindred spirit, with a big wanderlust and love for Europe.

He started out in Portugal, where he has friends. After a few days there, he made his way down the coast to Spain, saw the Rock of Gibraltar, and back up the Mediterranean coast to France, then Turin, Italy where he spent the night Saturday night before coming to see his missionary cousin in Milan. He showed me pictures of his trip, and they included some pictures of his mom, my dad’s cousin. I saw a resemblance to my great-grandmother. She looked like I would imagine that Granny had looked as a younger woman. Her eyes were especially like Granny’s. BC might look like his dad, who I never knew, but the family resemblance in his mom is unmistakable.

I took BC around the center and showed him the castle, the cathedral, the galleria, and La Scala opera house. It’s amazing to be with someone who isn’t tired of seeing churches and castles. It’s almost like seeing these things for the first time again.

Milan’s cathedral, the Duomo, is beautiful and a real wonder. It is the 3^rd largest cathedral in the world, after St. Peter’s in Rome and Notre Dame in Paris. It was under construction for over 500 years, and has over 3000 life-sized statues built into its façade. Although we didn’t go up there, it is possible to go explore the roof of the cathedral. From the roof of the cathedral, you can really grasp just how enormous it is. And from there, a whole lot more of the cathedral is still far over your head—all of it very intricately carved.

Inside the cathedral, BC and I went into the crypt that is behind and under the altar. There lay the mummified remains of San Carlo (St. Charles), who had been bishop of Milan a few hundred years ago. I had seen it before, and it still creeps me out. BC was also creeped-out. I also pointed out the statue of St. Bartholomew. I had seen pictures of it, but had never spotted it before. The saints are always depicted in the way that they were martyred. According to legend, Bartholomew was skinned alive. So the statue (which stands inside the cathedral near the side exit) shows him standing skinless with his skin draped over his shoulders—also very creepy. Creepy religious art seems to be an Italian thing because I can’t remember even once seeing anything like this in any church in any other country.

When BC had spent 2 nights here, he declared himself to be rested and restless. He said that he wanted to go by train to Como and on into Switzerland from there. So I took him to the train station, helped him buy his ticket from the machine, and we said our goodbyes. Yes, he is kin and a kindred spirit!

Today as I was finishing writing about BC’s visit a bird hit my window. I was surprised to see that it was a parakeet. It wasn’t afraid of me, and let me pick it up. I took it downstairs to the custodian. “Does anyone in our building keep birds?” I asked. She said no, but advised me to ask the custodian of the building across the street.

I carried my little friend across the street and asked the custodian there. She keeps birds, but both of her parakeets were still in their cage, which is enormous. I asked if anyone in her building keeps birds, but she said no. She opened the cage and told me to put it in. At first the bird was reluctant to let go of my finger, but finally went into the cage. It proceeded to investigate its new surroundings, while the other birds came closer for a good look at the newcomer. There was a moment of tension while one of the birds fluttered at the newcomer, but soon they seemed to settle into a posture of guardedly watching each other.

“Thank you for taking the bird,” I said. “Of course,” she chuckled. “The cage is big enough for all 3, and I think they will get along. I’m glad you brought it. Left outside, he would surely starve to death.”

As I crossed back to my apartment building I felt grateful that I had been home when the bird hit the window. Otherwise the poor thing would have died sooner or later. I realized that it feels really good to have helped the little bird, and also to help the people who pass through my apartment. Not that the people are in danger, but it’s good to help them on their way. This is what I do. God is good!

Six Hours Late

Posted on April 24, 2013 by opendooreurope

What kind of business people are frequently late?

What kind of business people never let you know that they’re running late?

What kind of business people are absolutely unforgiving if you’re late?

What kind of business people never apologize for being late?

What kind of business people claim that they are “on time” if they are under 6 hours late?

Airlines, that’s who! I’m not sure why we put up with it, but we do. Honestly, their behavior is outrageous.

Today I am at Milan Malpensa Airport. I was here on time for my flight, but the plane is 6 hours late. No apology, no explanation, besides “technical problem” was given. I was lucky enough to find one of the 3 plugs in this part of the airport. Thus the ability to write a bit as I wait.

I have to say that I am glad not to be stuck on the plane for 6 hours. A friend was on her plane for 5 ½ hours before the start of a transatlantic flight. So add 7 or 8 hours to that 5 ½. The airline can maintain a good “on time” record if they manage to take off within 6 hours of their scheduled time. Being stuck in the airport is far better than being stuck on the plane for all that time.

Of course it’s always wise to travel with something to read, but 6 hours in an uncomfortable airline waiting room chair is still too much. I feel especially sorry for one of my companions. She’s a young mother with a 2 year old. She told me that they had left the house at 5:00 this morning, and now our flight (originally scheduled for 12:50) is scheduled for 7:00 this evening. Her little boy is cute, and a very happy child, but how do you keep a 2 year old entertained for 6 hours in an airport? I don’t envy her at all! Every once in a while I see him dash past me with her in pursuit. She had asked the airline to put her on a flight to somewhere near Budapest, but they refused because it would mean putting her with another airline.

If you can see a pink Z next to this notice, you might know which airline I was flying!

I had missionaries who were coming to meet me at the airport in Budapest from about an hour away. They were going to take me to a gypsy Bible study group, but I will have to miss that. I checked into the possibility of being compensated in some way for missing the meeting. But that’s not happening. I guess I’m glad it’s not actually costing me money to miss the meeting. But I imagine that some of these people might lose money over being late.

You can pass the time playing silly games with your friends.

Anyway, that’s enough griping for now. No matter how incompetent or inconsiderate the airline is, God is always good. Maybe I’ll go see if that young mother could use a hand keeping the boy entertained.

The young mother and her little boy take a rest.

—The Next Day—

I found the young mother with tears in her eyes. She said that she had a terrible headache, so I offered to go get her some aspirin. However, the airport newsstand that sells all sorts of other travel aids doesn’t sell aspirin. They told me that I would have to exit security and go to the airport pharmacy. By this point, it was too close to our 7PM takeoff time to do that, so I got her a bottle of water instead.

She refused the water, but told me that she managed to find someone with aspirin. And she pointed to the signboard for our gate, which now had takeoff time at 7:50. She was planning on taking a train to her town about 2 hours away. She wouldn’t get home until about midnight now. I wanted to talk with my missionary friends to see if there was any way that we could help her, but the really odd thing is that she vanished into the crowd. I never saw her again. I looked for her on the bus on the plane, at baggage claim, but she was just not there. I have no idea what happened to her.

Some people might be discouraged by not having been able to help the young mother, and I felt that way at first. But there are some people who are very closed and unwilling to accept help. I suspect that is the case with her. She told me that she is Hungarian, but her son and his father are Italian. She said that she is a believer.

But although she may believe, she doesn’t appear to have a personal relationship with Jesus. She didn’t refer to the boy’s father as her husband. Also, I think she’s probably not Hungarian, but Romanian. Many Romanians from Transylvania (Hungarian-speaking Romania) claim to be Hungarian because of the extreme prejudice of the Italians against Romanians. Northern Romania is about 2 hours by train from Budapest. I also got the sense that she was running away. Perhaps the boy’s father is abusive. Who knows. One possible explanation for her disappearance could be the father discovering where she was and blocking her from taking his son out of Italy. And being abused could be a reason for refusing help—abuse victims don’t feel worthy of help. That tends to keep the cycle repeating on them.

Whatever the reason, she disappeared, and I never saw her again. Nevertheless, I feel a peace about her. I did what I could for her, but there is only so much that some people will accept before the burden of kindness becomes more than they can bear. I think you call that a guilty conscience. I prayed for her, and will continue to pray for her. She didn’t allow me to do much of anything for her, but God can do what I can’t—and more. God is good!

Serendipity—Another Word for Coincidence

Posted on September 24, 2012 by opendooreurope

Dictionary.com defines serendipity as having an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident; good fortune or luck. http://dictionary.reference.com/. If you know God, then you know that He is in control, and there are no accidental desirable discoveries nor luck.

I started to write the first part of this post between flights back in August when I returned to Texas to help Mom move to another state. Moving is a very busy, exhausting activity, so I had never finished writing it. The second part happened yesterday afternoon, and the third part happened this morning, which served as the catalyst to finish writing.

My Brazilian Buddies

Greetings from Dallas!

Today is a travel day, so I’m writing this between flights. I came back to the US to help my mom move. When I checked in at Milan Malpensa Airport three hours ahead, like they say to do, of course there was no one to check in with. I don’t know why I keep showing up three hours early for these early morning flights, but having missed a flight because of a very crowded airport check in line, I want to avoid missing another flight. The only other people there were a Brazilian father and daughter. They were also flying across the Atlantic today. We talked, and became friends, trapped together as we were, waiting for a ticketing agent to show up.

A ticket agent did eventually show up and check us into our flight. We were flying to Frankfurt first, and then I would fly to Dallas. When I was checked in, and passed through security, I found my gate at the far end of the terminal. But we had stood there waiting for the ticket agent for such a long time (over an hour) that I felt like I needed to walk the kinks out. And since I wanted to buy a bottle of water and a last cappuccino before leaving Italy, I walked past our gate area in search of an open coffee shop. I heard someone running up behind me, with urgency in his voice saying, “Signora! Signora!” I turned around and it was the Brazilian father. He told me, “The gate is back this way.” I thanked him, explaining about the need for a walk and a cappuccino.

Having satisfied both needs, I returned to the gate and sat in the open seat next to the father and daughter. While waiting for boarding I became very drowsy. Father and daughter got to their feet and headed for the line as soon as boarding started. I waited, in no hurry to be confined to an airline seat any longer than absolutely necessary. So they were among the first to board, while I was one of the very last.

On the plane I found my seat, stowed my backpack, buckled up, and promptly fell into a deep sleep. Those who know me know of my ability to fall asleep quickly and deeply sitting up in a car or on a plane. I believe that this is a gift from God for a missionary who travels as much as I do for ministry.

As we were about to land I woke up and reached for the bottle of water that I had brought. In my peripheral vision I saw a boldly striped blue shirt on the person sitting next to me—it was the Brazilian father with his daughter next to him in the window seat. “It’s you!” I exclaimed, and we laughed about how I had been so sleepy that I hadn’t even looked to see who was sitting next to me. I told them that it had been very pleasant traveling with them, even if I hadn’t known it was them. And as we parted, I wished them a buon viaggio (good travels). And I marveled at how funny life is sometimes.

Going to Church

Yesterday was my favorite day of the week: Sunday. I love Sunday because I love going to church. I love going to church so much that I go to my own church in the morning, and another in the afternoon. I go to two churches in the US, too. The reason I love going to church is not the music (though the music is excellent) or the preaching (which is also excellent) or even the fellowship (which is wonderful). The reason I love going to church is because I always go expecting to meet God—and I’m never disappointed! When you expect to meet God, He always shows up.

I go and sit as close to the front as I’m allowed (some churches reserve the very front row for leaders and/or the worship team). I sit down front so that I won’t be distracted. This is especially important if the service is in Italian, which it is at my home church here in Milan. From that place down front I find freedom to worship God with complete abandon. In the past years when I sat back toward the middle, I found that I became self-conscious because those around me didn’t raise their hands or dance in worship. Down front, where I can’t see what others are or are not doing, I just worship God from my heart and my spirit, completely uninhibited. It is possible that there are people behind me watching me and wondering what kind of an exhibitionist-lunatic I am. But since I can’t see them, and since I don’t know what they’re thinking, it doesn’t concern me in the least. I would rather be David than Michal, and being down front allows me the freedom to dance like David (2 Samuel 6:16-23).

After church I went home with the intention to rest and then go to the afternoon service of the sweet little church in Monza. But I rested a little too well and fell asleep. When I woke up, it was clear that I would be late getting to church, even if each train was right there, waiting to take me. I considered going to the church up the road, instead. But when I prayed about it, I felt like God wanted me to go catch the train to Monza.

So I walked to the train station, and once inside, I was coming off the stairs and onto the platform when a young man said, “Do you speak English?” I said yes, and he asked if the train would stop at the Porta Garibaldi train station—the same train station that I needed to take to get to Monza. I explained that all the trains on the Passante line stop at all the stations in the city. Relieved, he asked me if I was on vacation, and I told him that I’m a missionary here. His smile got wider, and he said, “Well, what do you know! I’m on my way to church.” He explained that he just arrived from Australia as a student, and that his mother had found him an English-speaking church on the internet. It was one I had heard of, but it had closed down some years earlier, as far as I knew.

Now it was my turn to smile more broadly, I said, “Hey! If it’s OK with you, I’ll go with you.” He was very happy to have my company, so we went together, following the directions sent to him via e-mail.

It turns out that the English-speaking church has a mostly young congregation composed of students, like my new Aussie friend. The music was great and the preaching was solid. I love young churches! This was truly a gift from God—and all because I was late for church! God is good!

Coming to Church

But that’s not the whole story of so-called serendipity. The pastor of my home church in Milan made an announcement yesterday as the service was ending, saying that the last Sunday of the month would be evangelism Sunday, and that we should each bring someone to church with us. I prayed about who I should invite, and Barbara immediately came to mind.

I have known Barbara for most of my eleven years in Milan. And I’ve often wondered if she might be one of the reasons why God keeps me in this neighborhood, where I’m currently occupying my third apartment.

This morning I had to go to the gas company to set an appointment for them to turn on the gas. On the way home I stopped by the street market to buy a few things. I love walking through the street markets, but today it was drizzling. Rainy days at the street market can be miserable, but drizzle isn’t so bad. Suddenly, there was Barbara. I’ve had it happen before that I’ll be thinking of her and she suddenly is there. Between her work, my travel, and my move, I hadn’t seen her for over a year. We had a joyous reunion right there in the market, and I invited her to come to church. I had invited her before, but something always interfered and stopped her from coming. She assured me of her interest, but said that she doesn’t know if she will have to work. So I told her that I will call her on Saturday.

Barbara has been interested and asking questions for years now, and this time I believe that she will come to church and meet her Savior. Serendipity? No way! This is the hand of God, and God is good!

Walking By Faith in Europe

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