Hit the Ground Running!

Hey!  Well, then, here we are!  Writing from my table in my room in Moscow.  I still have to shake my head every time I say those words.

My first week has been full. 

To begin with, I didn't realize the baggage restrictions waiting for me at the Delta gate.  After buying a bag and switching my things, I finally got myself to start hugging, crying and saying good-bye.  I was honestly fine until Arthur said, "but I don't want you to go."  Leave to an angelboy to get the tears rolling.  I'm sure by now his tears are dry, but my eyes honestly mist with the very thought of those kids. 

Not my grown kids, really.  I have iMessaged and e-mailed and chatted and discussed with them various important and inane details until I'm pretty sure we have communicated more this week than in the month prior.  Funny how that works. 

I landed on Monday to find two parties waiting for me at the airport.  I felt like a queen!  I expected to find the Moses family who offered to be there.  They are the missionary family I will be working with in whatever way my hands can find.  It's funny to me that I have prayed for them for so long and now I find myself talking to them as if I know them, but they can't possibly know me yet. 

The other party to meet me was the School of Tomorrow where I will be working.  It seems they misunderstood the message that I had a ride and thought I needed a ride and so there they were.  Two brave young women battling the roads to get me where I needed to be.  Since they were familiar with our ultimate destination, I rode home with them.  In the hour of travel it felt as though I had made two new, good friends.

The rest of Monday was spent traveling, exchanging cash (thanks to Genny Miller for cash in hand which has been a VALUABLE blessing and something I hadn't thought of), a quick tour of the school, getting into my room, finding the grocery store and meeting my flatmates, eating Burger King. 

Ah!  Yes, I was quite ready to sleep at 9:00 pm. 

I started work on Tuesday where I met the staff I would work with and the students who I am blessed with.  By the end of the day my heart was full of gratitude.  I still can't quite believe I'm here.

I see many things which have lead me to this place, confirming my appointment with destiny, as it were.  I have a lovely birch tree right outside my window - my favorite - as though planted just for me.  I can find my way around some, although I wish I knew the language better, I can get along.  I have made new friends who feel as though I have always known them.  The month I spent here 11 years ago provided me with so so much information and training I am honestly not afraid to be here alone.

God is good.

And now, finally, after almost a full week of waiting, I have the internet on my laptop!  I wanted to shout when I saw it connect.  Thanks, God!

Today I will attend an international church after making my way across the city.   I'll get you some pictures after I upload them from my fabulous camera.  For now, I just wanted to shout out to the world!

Week one down.  So far, so good.  Thanks, God!

Happy New You!

Aha!  There it is!  The September/October edition of the Chippewa Valley's premier women's magazine is on the stands. Here is the link to the website where you can find full editions.  5iveForWomen

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Here's to a Happy New You!

Autumn always catches me by surprise.  It seems as though I go to sleep one night to warm summer breezes and wake up to a cool catch in the sky.  The trees burst in gold and red.  Shadows are sharper and longer.  Autumn is here!

Other seasons sort of slide into each other.  The air warms slowly in spring bringing bits of bright flowers one bloom at a time.  Spring slips into summer with temps climbing with the corn.  Even winter sneaks in behind Thanksgiving and teases until Christmas.  But autumn bursts in, forcing the door wide open and catching me off guard.  One of these years I will remember to throw a jacket in the car for those days that start with the AC on and end with a chill.  

The “Back to School” ads should be my first warning sign.  Every marketer worth their salt will take advantage of it.  All the things a student needs to be the smartest, best dressed, most popular shout from every vantage point.  Every corner store touts all the right tools to give the student the best boost.

Even with all those red and orange shouting sale signs, autumn shocks me.  The leaves begin to fall, the flowers begin to fade and the bustle of summer gives way to matters of great importance.  It feels like autumn should be the beginning of the year.  Maybe it’s all the stacked up years of school behind me, but I feel like I should be doing something new every fall. 

Life seasons are like that, too, I have found.  We skip our way through the school and work years -building careers and families one small moment at a time.  Laced with laughter, stitched with weary work, life builds a full photo album of Kodak moments.  

We are in college or engaged or starting a new career.  We sing through the pages presented hardly noticing the pace increasing stanza by stanza.  Possibly children are added to the symphony bringing their own joyful sounds to the concert.  No time to stop and listen!  The conductor pushes us forward to the fine!

Wise live-rs soak up the memories banking them against the future.  They take long walks holding small hands.  They swim and boat and splash while the sun is high.  They take time for coffee breaks with friends absorbing the good of their fellow travelers.  These are people who know it is much easier to carry a burden with a friend than to stumble along alone.  They use the precious commodity of time to stash away smiles to pull out when the season changes.

Because, one day, suddenly, without warning it changes.  The nest is empty, trauma knocks on the door, the company downsizes and we find ourselves looking at a new path that we didn’t expect to see.   Change appears and challenges our perceptions.  It’s disconcerting when everything we worked so hard to build begins to fall.  The very foundation beneath us shakes until up is down and down is up.

The trick to getting through the change is to find something to focus on that is good, beautiful, fulfilling.  Use the season to your advantage.  Pull from the storehouse of relationships you have built in the summer season and you will find shelter and strength against the hard days.  

It’s likely you cannot control the catalyst of this change anymore than you can put the leaves back on the trees.  It’s likely you didn’t realize how much of yourself you had given away to the summer sunshine and now you find yourself depleted and chilled.  It’s likely you have been made to stop, to wait for the bus, to hold the new tools given by someone else as you face an uncertain day.  

What does “normal” look like now?  When the rain stops dripping and the wind stops blowing and all the golden drops of promise have swirled away, what remains?  Your character, your loved ones, your talents. 

Like a kid with a new school year, look beyond the challenges and invest in a new outcome.  

You will find deeper riches in this season.  Kick up that carpet of leaves and dance on the crunchy floor of them!  Invite a friend in and treat them to tea for two!  Breathe deeply of the fresh, crisp air!  Fill your lungs and sing! 

If autumn has caught you by surprise, unwrap the present and see what blessings it holds.  Today is the first day of the rest of your life.  Love lavishly.  Live deeply.  Laugh richly.  

To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges or a Friend Named Jesus, please visit my website:  Writer's Pages

Facebook:  Author Kris A. Newman

Just a Teaser

Below is a little teaser from my second book, A Friend Named Jesus.  Those of you who have read my first book, A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges, will want to know this is Lisa's side of the story to A Night at the Theater. 

Thought you might enjoy it and... perhaps you'll want to read the rest of the story.   Check in with a response here or e-mail me at imnewkris@yahoo.com and I'll tell you how to get a signed copy.  

Enjoy!

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A NIGHT IN THE AUDIENCE

2011

 A last minute dash through a yellow-turning-red-light forced Lisa to stop at the traffic light.             

“Ah!”  with a frustrated sigh, she looked at the clock again and tried to convince herself she wasn’t going to be late.

As though joining with the drilling raindrops, it seemed everything was set to stall her. A last minute “quick project” held her at work. The stained blouse kept her from leaving the house. An empty gas tank stole minutes from her drive to downtown. And now the light seemed to drag itself from yellow to red to green.

In the park to her right, a stand of trees glowing with autumn light despite the dreary night beckoned her attention. Oblivious, she fumed within.

Of all the performances to be required to see!  She knew Minneapolis offered hundreds of venues for live performance … why this one?  She was sure he would be there, gloating in his accomplishment. She wondered who had designed his set this time. Who had he found to watch site lines and perfect all the minutia of detail to make his show run smoothly?  Would the replacement be better?

The adrenaline of an opening night had held them together long after good sense would have separated them. Neither could deny how well they worked together. But that wasn’t enough.

As her skills became acknowledged in the industry, more than praise, she drew respect, from her peers – their peers. His need to be recognized superior drove him to belittle her, criticize her publicly, and humiliate her. Privately the disdain was magnified. Piece by piece, he tore away her self-respect and identity.

As the light finally turned green, she shook her head and said aloud, “Opening nights are not the only thing you left behind. “

With plenty of time to spare, she arrived at the theater. She dawdled in the gift shop. Smiling to herself, she realized she had never been the customer, always the designer. She considered the handiwork of the PR pieces, and bought a handful of useless trinkets like any other star-struck novice might.

Carefully she timed her entry into the theater, so as not to accidentally coincide with a last minute house check. A handful of patrons sat clustered here and there chatting quietly. She made her way to the front row, checked her ticket, and settled in trying to blend.

Protected by the leather about her, she huddled in her seat hoping he wouldn’t know she was there. She wondered if her Day Class peers would fill the front row or be seated elsewhere. She hoped she would recognize the professor, so as to assure her attendance would be noted. She wished she could have been at the performance with her Week-End classmates, but she would be busy getting divorced when they were in the audience.

Lisa was startled by a deep bass voice suddenly beside her, “Good evening.”

“Hello,” she responded politely.

Walk With Me Awhile

Almost done with this semester already. It seems to have gone quickly past, but it’s had so many events! I have flown from one thing to another living them each fully, but at break-neck speed! Writers tend to get unreasonably busy living life fully. We draw every drop of experience from everything we do.


Let me tell you about one particular week-end so you can get a sense of what I mean.

On Friday night of this particular week-end I watched a movie. Work had been long and I was tired. It was time to rest. Hanging over my head like a thunder cloud were several chapters of reading promised to be done by Sunday afternoon. But I couldn’t do it. I could not make myself pick up a book and try to retain one more speck of knowledge. I was in bed by 8:30 p.m. sleeping deeply.

Saturday morning found me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 5:30 a.m. I wanted to complain about waking so early, but I had already slept so long my back was tired from laying still. There was nothing for it, but to get up and do something.

So I started with dishes and laundry and housework. I luxuriously enjoyed my morning coffee and dug into the homework reading. Such fascinating stuff! I love history. Before I knew it, it was time to start the two-hour drive to St. Paul for class. I checked to be sure I had everything I needed and off I went. Half of the reading cloud has dissipated and I wished again for an audio copy of my textbook.

A lovely drive, I must say. I know some people think I’m insane for driving two hours to get to campus, but I don’t mind it. I like why I’m going and it always makes me happy to be on the way. I love the season of my life where it is, but I do miss the Cities.

Discussions, questions, sharing life with a diverse population of incredible women: behind us the clock keeps ticking. Thrown about the room are ideas and expressions grown and developed from many different fields. Girlie girls and tomboys discussing the relevance of gender and what we will do about the labels placed upon us. How do we become the change we see needed in the world? An unexpected, incredible compliment from my professor gives me personal cause to dig a little into my self-perception. It occurs to me that I see myself differently from the inside out than the world sees me from the outside in. Before I know it, it’s 4:30 p.m. and I’m on my way to the next chapter.

Waiting for me at the train station at the Mall of America is a classmate. We are going to the Somali quarter of Minneapolis to meet other classmates and get a taste of a different culture. We find ourselves immersed in colors, textures, languages and foods we had only admired from afar. We are now the outsiders, the foreigners. Among ourselves we try to understand the great questions of assimilation, Americanisms and culture. We are quieter on the train ride home.

The cloud of guilt is beginning to rain upon me. Homework awaits me. I find myself a spot in a familiar coffee shop where I can concentrate and dig in.

It’s after 10:00 p.m. when I head for my “home” in Shakopee. I can hear the guest room beckoning me and I am thankful for its familiar warmth. At 11:00 p.m. I set my alarm for 6:00 a.m. and drift off.

Morning has barely stretched out the horizon when the alarm pushes me awake. On the road again by 7:30 a.m. I’m late to meet a friend who is passing through the Cities on her way home to Tulsa. The chances to see my friend are few and I must take this opportunity. Starting our conversation where we left off over a year ago, we gain strength from one another’s courage. The man of her dreams is with her this time. I enjoy meeting Prince Charming. I smile as I drive away content that my friend is moving toward a good season.

Off to school. I am too late to enjoy my normal Minnesota church service, but too early for class. I decide to go to campus and find a quiet place to read a bit and pray a bit and talk to Jesus about life in general. As I’m walking, I hear the most amazing voice coming from the campus chapel. An invisible line pulls me to my youth as I enter the Catholic Church doors. Grand in its appearance, austere in its command of respect, it envelops me. I sit in the back and drink in the memories drawn by the music, the expected responses, the formality of the mass, the reverent voices. I leave refreshed. For a short time before class, I sit in the garden and talk to Jesus. Peace He gives, it’s true.

Class again and this time we meet in the English garden. Sweet summer smells waft in and out of our discussions. Laughter, contemplations, sharing. Rain sprinkles outside of us, but we are tucked beneath the gazebo.

I stop for a quick coffee on the way out of town. Now the two hour drive yawns before me. My mind leaps from idea to idea over all of the layers of life lived in the preceding 48 hours. I smile and laugh to myself and think deeply about the concerned discussions I’ve heard.

Many people would perhaps close themselves into their quiet homes as quickly as possible after so much activity, but my week-end isn’t done yet.

Church starts at 6:30 p.m. on Sunday nights and my angelbabies are waiting for me. I duck in my apartment, wash my face, brush my teeth and head back out. I am very late so I sit in the back. I’m struck by the contrast between the morning mass and this evening’s service. Pentecostal worship is probably the exact flip-side to Catholicism. Children are dashing between their parents and other relatives. Women are smiling and commenting to one another. Men are clapping. Hands are raised across the building in surrender. The music is loud, boisterous, celebratory. Although there is a sense of order, it may not be obvious to an onlooker. It occurs to me that God really is everywhere.

My grandchildren see me and run back to my seat. Their smiles and kisses and questions wash over me.

It’s after 10:00 when a group of us head to McDonald’s for an ice cream after church. Giddy with exhaustion, we laugh and talk and sing.

I breathe deeply the experiences of my life. I feel very selfish, sometimes, enjoying my life as much as I do. I think I have too many good things. I see the suffering of others and wish I could give some of what I have to help them. But, truth be told, I really don’t have much to give. My riches are tied up in people and all that I receive from them.

The calendar page for Sunday slowly closes. Thanks, God.