Chasing Ideals- Skyler's Travel Blog

Carefree Yearfree

That's an odd beginning if ever there was. And what about those Old Testament Jews, what's happened to their part in the tale? What do they have to do with an insignificant date like April 19th, 2010? Hopefully, for some of you out there, April 18th does clang away at a few ol' memory bells. Last year a little get-together occurred on that day that was to change the lives of Mister Ridiculous-Do and a pre-preg-Romanian-lass. The get-together included much walking-down-of-aisles, a ridiculous amount of front-row blubbering on the part of parent types, and the exchanging of a few snazzy trinkets onto fingers-next-to-the-rude-ones. Plenty of reason to celebrate and perhaps even more so a year later realizing all that has happened between first smooch and one-year anniversary time. At the time of union and bliss, Ruth and I had made a rather odd request of our Eternal Guide. Ruth had read of a long forgotten tradition, one passed directly from Guide to the Jews of Moses's time. All newlyweds were given a year together of freedom. No work, no calling to army-service, freedom. Freedom to know one another that thereafter their union would be stronger for it. When she told me about this, we decided together that we should ask for the same. Marriage wasn't meant for two weeks of bliss followed by lifelong Monday-Friday three-quarters-of-everyday separation. Under that strain, how is the initial foundation capable of being strong.

Interesting thing it is when you make such a request. Might be granted. One might be completely unable to get a job interview of any real sort for a year straight. Granted, the second half of last year consisted of non-stop travel but this year there was much time for work both in Phoenix and here. I tried many times to get different jobs in Phoenix and not only did they not come but every financial need that Ruth and I had was met by some "coincidental" means or another. So now also in Slovenia, we could not understand why no places of consistent employment would even invite us in for a "You're definitely not what we're looking for chat around the proverbial table." Nada por nada. I had gotten the proof-reading jobs but they are not of the consistent type and could not provide any benefits in this time to Ruth, social service wise. Until April 19th. A job interview to open doors previously considered impossible to even budge. A job interview coming a day after the end of one year of freedom in marriage. Tears were cried and moments of excessive joy were shared over that anniversary dinner. The God who loves us so very much had not only granted our request but had provided for all of our needs through that entire year of marriage.

In case that last part is not quite understood, I should give a rundown of what exactly our first year entailed. A two week honeymoon driving down the west coast of the United States. Two weeks later a cross-continental car journey from Phoenix to Chicago and back. Journeying then from Phoenix to Chicago to Poland by plane. A month later from Poland to Moldova by train for a two week missionary camp. Then by car and train to Romania. A month and a half later by planes back to Poland via Venice, Italy (yours truly's favorite city on earth, stop unplanned). Two months later by plane from Poland to Paris via Ireland and a few days later back to Ireland. Then we went back to the US to Denver for Christmas with my youngest sister. Then to Phoenix from there by plane. Then two and a half months later back to Poland by plane. Then to south Poland by train and by plane to Treviso, Italy. From Treviso we traveled by train and then bus here to Ljubljana, Slovenia. I have never considered to count the actual miles we have traveled in one year but I fear it would be quite an overwhelming amount (And just in case of ponderances about us being filthy or otherwise rich, it must be understand that all this was accomplished with an impossibly minute budget). And those places only speak of details. Mentioning them alone does not account for all of the people that we met and all of the myriad of opportunities that we had to learn about one another and experience one another for "better and worse." To think of all that we have done, it would be insane to imagine us doubting God's direction and provision in this time now but that is exactly what we did. Crazily enough, at times we were at the point of wishing that we had never asked for that year of freedom. We were so caught up in thinking that we wouldn't have enough money to continue that we lost sight of the wonder of realizing that what seemed such an unbelievable request came to pass for us.

Today is May 3rd, 2010. Because of an interview on April 19th and proceeding necessary arrangements, Ruth has obtained medical insurance as of today through that job (who hires women at seven months pregnant?) and will in a little over a month be able to go on maternity leave for a year's period. We have an absolutely incredible God watching over us and if we look hard enough we can see His fingerprints over all that our marriage has been. Cheers to all those Old Testament Jews who experienced the same and to choosing to chase impossible ideals thousands of years later.

Preggers, no problem

We left off with quite a perdicament. Normally when employer's catch site of baby bumps and lumps, they begin to glance uncomfortably and frequently towards the door. What place would want to train someone who is now seven month's along and Romanian and accompanied by ridiculously hairdoed Hub and looking ready to pop at any given? As perhaps you have come to realize, Ruth and I are not the type to throw in the proverbial towel too quickly. We understand what an incredible blessing it would be to get Ruth into the workforce, if even for a month, and we prayed that it might come to pass. Here in Slovenia, we have encountered a completely different attitude in relation to social services. In Phoenix, it is only the homeless, the ex-con and my scumbag brother who choose to set foot in public transportation. Also, if you mention to someone that you make use of public health care, there is no chance of consideration to marry their most charming. Maternity-leave, while not looked down upon, is a measly six weeks most places, just enough time to realize that your life has changed before you and baby are thrust back into hostile territory (i.e. work and daycares-from-Hades). Husbands, poor sods, who hope for a bit of leave to welcome the little "angel" home, need to take sick-time off and are likely to be viewed at work as something between a violet and a chrysanthemum. Here in Slovenia, scoffing at those services would be the shocker. From the start, people here have encouraged Ruth and I to do all we can to get into the social system so that we can have those birth related benefits. Here, it is expected that Ruth start her maternity-leave a month before due date and not return to work until at least eleven months after the little bundle of fleshy bits arrives home. Husbands, those geraniums of joy, are entitled to a month, if not more, themselves, if they so choose.

Now I'm getting ahead of myself. Benefits and blissings aside, how is one going to manacle one's wife to the workforce for long enough to get these services when she is already in pre-pop mode. I have not yet mentioned Tammy. She is another of God's "coincidental" new friends of ours. One of the Christians that we met here, who never calls Tammy, called Tammy on our behalf to ask if she had any work for us. She's an English teacher, servicing every corner of this teeny nation, and one who also recognizes the pointless nature of life without relationship to God. She has since the onset of meeting us, taken on our case as a mission to assist. Within a few days of us meeting, she was to receive a call to make the maternity-leave impossibility quite profoundly more possible. A company in Nova Gorica had asked back in October for her to teach but at that time there was no way that she could. She never heard a thing from them again until April 12, two weeks ago. Tammy still didn't have time to take this on but she now knew someone who did. The work, though only two days per week, would pay just enough that Tammy could hire someone on to do it. Once she hired the person on, that person would then be elligible to receive all social benefits through that work, paid for of course by the wage. Tammy informed us that one teaching contract, opening up in the season when people give up learning for summer bliss, would almost never provide, by itself, this possibility. It was tailor-made and our interview was set for Monday, April 19th.

Quick side note: my brother in Phoenix is now not the only one in the family riding public buses though here the homeless population is rather more difficult to find there-on.

Next time I must make mention of those lucky Old Testament Jews.

Pick up that Spud

"Gracias" for the build up, I say. Before that last one, I set up the tale of our current adventures only to drop the story like a hot spud. When we last left our hero, he was an emotional wreck, holding on by few small shreds of hope. What then? Did he go on in that piteous state for the remainder of the last month? It is time for a tell all. Bring the reader up to speed for the sake of all that is scrumptious and overpriced.

I hate that I keep doing this to myself. Trying to condense a month or so of happenings into a single post. I am sure that it is no fun for the reader either. There are times that so much happens for me that I scarcely know where to begin. As you know we came here with little and in a short time expected much. To find a place to live, a job, ground level friendships, health care benefits, and possibly the opportunity for maternity leave for Ruth. We have been here a little over five weeks at this point. Honestly, I could easily memorialize this period as a five month extraveganza for all that has happened in this short period. The next morning, morning after that stress-filled eve in the hostel, Ruth and I prayed fervently for a real place to stay, one from where to work out all else. For the first half of that day all that came was of no regard. Two hostels, each offering long term stay but at a high price and in rooms not joyous to remain in. I mentioned that we had heard of a "Russian woman" offering her spot for short termers but every attempt to call her the day before or on this day came to naught. Ah, and I must not forget that this day was 11-month anniversary day. Big motivation to find light at tunnel's end. By mid-afternoon, we had all but given up on this day's light and decided on a bit of a short term mope in a central bookstore. Benjamin had been with us all morning but now with him departed, the situation seemed more grim. Without one's trusty, GPS bearing sidekick, what might one find but excellent spots for an ol' mope. I decided to give the "Russian woman" one more call. The fateful one. Somehow, this time a voice answered and from the onset, I knew it would be our spot. Herself a young mother, she sounded excited to offer a place to a couple of similar circumstance. Said that one month would not be a problem and at no incredible price. "Russian" turned out to be Ukranian and five hours later we had a bright yellow room to call home. That's about the size of it. That evening as we sat to eat our modest anniversary meal, we marveled that Father's fingerprints were once again all over the scene. This was the first needed step. Hostel living would have made our low-finance stay impossible.

Alright, that is step one, but surely we are not so naive as to think that is where new-beginning transition ends. Let me give some semblance of a run down of the facts in four weeks. Facts that need to be understood as coinciding with having until April 18th (our one year anniversary) to find enough work and finance to continue to remain here. It is a testament to how much God desires to work everything through relationship. On March 23rd, after sending out a horde of applications (names of agencies provided lovingly once again by Benjamin), one translation agency gave me the green light to do a test proofread for them. Technically speaking, I am no proofreader, but I do write (my current activity) and am ready to learn to do almost anything. Around here, being a native speaker of English definetely adds validity to one's job application claims as well. In the last month, the infrequent work for that company has paid for groceries. Something to check off. On March 24, I got my second proofreading job. Another Benjamin connection by the way, this work is with one of the translation teachers from his faculty, an American chap needing someone to aid with the complicated documents that he is graced to decode. I quickly did a test proof read for him but was to receive no work for the first twenty-two days after being hired. When the work came four days before rent was due, two days worth of it paid for 90% of rent for the next month. It was a lesson to learn about how sporatic such contract work can be at times. God answered our prayer. More must be said of our difficulty trusting in that.

How do you find work for a non-Slovene-speaking, seven-month pregnant Romanian woman? We have the answer. To be continued...

distance Maintenance

I shall take a break from our current adventures for this one. It's time for a bit of a theological dose. A delightful commentary on the Christian Church's "If it's God's will" line. On the surface, a most incredible truth. Here we have ridiculously hair-doed hubby and future daddy knowing that if God is behind this, has not a better place for us, that He will help us to have all that we need in this place. My current realization, however, is how often we Christians use this line to relieve ourselves from assisting one another, claiming this truth as an escape. "If God wills it, He will provide." You would climb a very slippery slope trying to deflect that one. What if His "providing" includes us helping one another? God forbid. We in the church run screaming at the first utterance of need by one of our own. It is the stranger in need that we specialize in: the beggar, the addict, the reformed sinner. For a year or so we'll throw all our resources at building up that persons spiritual understanding, care for them in the midst of their doubts and relapses and all the rest. At some point later then, when that person's newness wears off, it is expected that they have moved out of the period of need to a period of perpetual stability. If they want support now they should find it alone, not dare mention their needs out loud. Sadly, it seems that all too often it is non-Christians that have a better handle on this situation. They may have an array of reasons that excuse them from helping a friend but it would rarely be that well, "God will provide," so it is unnecessary that we do anything. People outside the church would not so quickly expect a recovering friend to achieve that perpetual, "I'm blessed and nothing less," state that church expects.

"A need? Here? How? Who hasn't been praying, hasn't been giving to the church, hasn't been reading their Bible?" This train of thought may be entirely subconscious, unknown, but it is the prevailing church attitude. Doubt and need, they are perceived as errors in the structure of the church itself. They ignite fear that perhaps not everyone present in the fold is completely happy with the state of their religion. As long as I have traveled I have seen this reality and its creeping influence in the church. People there are programmed to be always happy, never in need. It is devastating. We lose track of even the methods of expression. One who slips up and shares such a thing must quickly cover their ill traveled tracks and claim church cliche solutions for their situation. "God will provide. I know that He will and I just need to have more faith." It has sadly become another of those distance-maintaining cliches.

Why do we remember Christ, the God-man, and His twelve ne'r-do-wells? Was it their social status? A poor carpenter leading a band of gems that included a tax collector and fishermen. We would have expected Jesus to spend His days with the learned of the church, no? Those who understood the needs of the people and understood what it meant to love and serve God. It seems that even in His time, Jesus recognized that to find men that could be taught to live as He, He must look outside of religion. Perhaps it wasn't a religious climate so unlike our own today. A time of church where real need was an unacceptable and unwanted reality. A time of church's self service rather than service of those about in real need. We remember Christ and His misfits because of what they did when they encountered need. Did they, when faced with it, claim that divine intervention was sure, was near, pray, and depart? Certainly not. They, most especially He, recognized that they were the divine intervention. They touched the bleeding wounds of the dying and the outcast, fed the hunger of the empty stomach, spoke to the doubts and the confusion and despairs of the people of their time. Rather than from, they ran to all places of need and prayed that God would allow them to fill it.

Christians globally are in need of a drastic change of attitude. No more screaming out prayers for God to rescue their lands, for God to rescue individuals in desperate practical and spiritual need all around them. No more telling their "friends" in church that they will pray that God will provide that person's need while in the back of their mind they have decided they can do nothing to fill it. It is time to become the radical intervention that we are constantly praying will come.

Honest Toil

It must be said that few moochers have ever the opportunity to perfect their trade at the international level. For four years no less. How then does it feel to hang up that heavy hat and be manacled in once more to the world of the glorious paycheck and the deadline? When we arrived here in the hustling bustling Slovenian capital (Ljubljana with its 300,000 invisible residents), 'twas not a question this time of if I could work but when and how. How was it to be done? My arriving level in the “limba Slovena” allowed me to meet with a grin and depart with a look of confusion, but that was it. Not quite enough to burst into managerial offices about the town and beg for a steady stream of the Benjamins. Who out there is seeking new trainees who haven't done an honest formal day's since before the invention of blu-ray?

Before I get ahead of myself, how also are we going to find a place to lay the ol' heads? Not much purpose in a stellar 9‒5 when you'll be sleeping out in back of the building. When we arrived, we knew that more than a few days of hosteling would scorch the finances in an unacceptable fashion, so apartment hunting was an absolute must. In such a moment, it's important to wander in search of the tallest, most amicable looking Slovene about and ask that fellow for assistance. If he happens to be packing a smile, conveniently sized GPS system, and plenty of local cell phone minutes, then by all means latch on. Miraculously, our fervent search is accompanied by Benjamin, an old chum and comrade, one who fits all of the aforementioned bill. He noted his willingness and availability right from the get-go and did not disappoint. Starting day one, after one night in ridiculously overpriced (until day two when we realized the massive price difference when booking online) Celica hostel, we are off to scour the area. Said scouring begins at a local cafe (free wireless for the over fives') where Benjamin translates a horde of delightful sounding offers which speak of tasteful kitchens, views of the sweetest meadows, and landlords who'll offer eldest daughters if the price suits. First hopes are high as kites flying over those sweet meadows and the calling begins. Almost every one comes back with the response that gobshites looking for a one month stay should look elsewhere. Most often, it is students offering the spots and they aren't expecting the proverbial short term commitment (we are only after a month for now to get the lay of the land). The only two spots that we do actually get to look at have all the gloom accessory of scumbag central, and needless to say we don't want this blossoming fam to remain a month in the midst. Benjamin, at some point in the day, texts about 7000 local salsa enthusiasts (his current friend base of choice) and asks them for the skinny on the local apartment scene. A few texts come back with possible leads but nothing concrete. One day is not going to be enough to deter our efforts, however. What we need is an older lassie. One who will understand our plight: man with ridiculous hairdo leading Romanian wife and unborn child across the continent in search of home. When we find that bird we'll have found our spot.

That evening I would like to say that all is well in Christendom but sadly I would be lying to do so. The extent of travel, the hope of finding home and place, and the number of swarthy students in sweats telling us to sod off, it all combines to give the emotions a keen body-slam. I'm fine until we get up to our new room in Celica (hostel in renovated prison, each sleeping room a uniquely designed cell) but then the black cloud descends in all its fury. A legion of worries cram to fill all spaces my mind can withstand. With the day's pounding fully felt, I feel near powerless to stave them off. Ruth, marvelous support that she has become in these most stressful days, tries her finest to set my mind at ease. I wish in that moment to believe her words of comfort, but on this particular night it is not to be. The truth is I don't want to believe them. The early months of the year were filled with a constant sense of worry regarding what our future holds, and I as soon to be father had definitely carried an excess of it. I ponder whether I have the energy to attempt now this new chapter of life. I have pioneered before but never with a baby on the way. That dynamic brings a brand new weight to the current stream of thought. When we left Phoenix, I knew that I knew that we were not meant to stay, but that knowledge now does not make embarking in a brand new place any the easier. New language, new needs, urgent desire to find an apartment and a way to earn our keep. I'm not ready for it. I'm not reading for the thought that this may not work. I need Him desperately now. I need to know the closeness of my Father as much as ever. I pray and I pray then and I look for sleep and I look for distraction. I know that tomorrow will be a better day. I know that His answers and provision are around the corner. It's Him I need that I may walk that far.

A Post, Oh My

It's been almost a year. A loooooooong year since any new words have traversed this page. I am not pleased with that nor should you be. So much has happened, is happening and this writer, at least, seems to have misplaced his pen. Eleven months of marriage, a little baby boy on his precious way into my life, a new embarkation in a place long neglected. What happened? Why the web based ghost town with tumbleweed accessories? The truth is I lost my motivation. I don't remember in what day or hour it happened, only for months I never ventured to sit and pen my story. It sounds the proverbial sob tale but I no longer believed it mattered whether words escaped my mind and "graced" this page. I need to, want to begin again. This writer needs to write. It had become such a part of the joy of the journey and it can't now fade away.

I'm not now about to attempt a recap of all. Not on day one when the movement of the digits upon the keys is still fresh. No, I'll start with a magazine. An upturned magazine on a ragged dusty malodorous train seat. A train bound for the Slovenian border from the small northern Italian town of Treviso. Earlier in the day, I prayed for a sign. Any sign at all to remind this weary husband the road he travels is not an aimless one. Something to say, "Son, I still remember you." The rapture of it. I should have shook the hand and kissed the cheek of each of those Italian faces surrounding me. "That thing laying there is not just a magazine. It is my magazine, my sign." Why did I not roar it out? Even before I turn it over, I know it's for me. It's the US edition and it's laying in the exact place that I have chosen to sit. Where does one find American magazines laying upside down aboard Italian trains? In off-season no less and in a country where English is so tenderly and maliciously loved. Give the swarthy fat green bearded lads (leprechauns) their pot o' gold any day because this treasure is all I need.

No doubt the blessed reader now begins to despair of this writer's sanity but please read on and all might be understood. We are traveling to Slovenia. Ruth is five months pregnant. The hows, whys, whens, wheres, and even the sodding whos are pounding upon my skull with ever increasing fervor. We left Poland behind as it seemed all previously opened doors there are suddenly shut tight. We are off. A new adventure. A new place. The stakes now much higher. The endless travel gig is no option. We seek now our place and we seek it fast. In all the travels of these past years, apart from Poland, only one other place sticks out amidst the crowd. One other place where many a friendship has blossomed and a great appreciation of environment was birthed within me. That little place is where we are now headed. Cute quaint Slovenia with its minute population, wealth of greenery and shrubbery, and an attitude that seems to prefer the joys of village life to the exhaustive pace of the city. Until three years ago, I think I had never known of this place. Now my wife and I and the little monster (who has taken it upon himself to rearrange Ruth's insides in a curiously clinical way) are sitting in a train bound for it with visions of new life upon the brow.

So now, back to that magazine. What part does that have to play? Well, when weary God-following husbands haul their rapidly expanding (Ruth is currently pondering exploding as result of babs's growing pace) families across the world in search of home, any a "coincidental" sign from above is a real treat to behold. I woke this morning praying that something that day would let me know I wasn't a crazy awful tyrant to be subjecting Wonderful Wife and Malice-Inspired-Intestine-Kicker to this journey. Now here it is. For half the duration of the train ride, "In Style" (can't be choosy) mag is perched betwixt my fingertips. Wife and I and babs-in-belly sit contentedly pondering its contents, infrequently the outside scenery, and not at all the mass of word being bullet-ed out by neighboring train riders. He, big He that dwells inside our hearts, is coming along too and left the little parchment to make sure we knew so. It's nice to know that even in His eternal constancy there is no impatience with our need to be reminded of it.