Blonde Moments and Cookie Cake

I have amazing friends.

I have known for awhile that I have amazing friends, but tonight I was reminded just how wonderful they all are and how blessed I am to have them in my life.

If you have been reading my blog at all, you know that I studied abroad in Austria and that I really, really, REALLY was not looking forward to coming home. Of course, I had many reasons for wanting to stay in Graz: all the incredible friends I made there, the Erasmus lifestyle I got to enjoy, the fantastically cheap price (and high quality) of Milka chocolate, etc, etc. But another reason I didn’t want to come home was that I was afraid. You see, in Austria, I was special, both to my friends there (Kansas is a novelty in Europe, believe it or not) and to my friends and family back home. When you aren’t around for six months, people start to miss you; they follow you on your blog, comment on your facebook status updates and look through your posted pictures. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” and people really do seem to care about you more when you aren’t nearby. Thus, naturally, though I was certainly excited to see all my friends at home, I figured that the joy of reunion would soon wear off and I’d just be the same old pre-Austria Steffi again. I realize that this probably sounds selfish (which it likely is), but from talking to my other exchange-student friends, I discovered that this was a common, widely held fear. We all were worried about what it would be like once we returned home.

For the most part, I’ve reintegrated okay over the last month in the U.S. At first, people were very excited and wanted to know about Austria. But soon, the “shininess” of my return wore off. That makes complete sense, and I don’t fault anyone for it; I completely understand, and I definitely didn’t expect everyone to be interested in every aspect of my life overseas. Plus, OSU’s study abroad office and its equivalent in Graz gave us a lecture about “reintegration” and how reconnecting with friends can be difficult. Obviously, they can’t understand what you’ve been through, and that can be challenging as a result.

Now couple this “normal” issue of reintegration with my own personal issues. Sometimes, honestly, I don’t feel like a very good friend. As a result, I have lower confidence in myself than I should, and I worry that people don’t love me or like me. I know it’s silly because people do, in fact, like me and care about me. But sometimes my mind does funny things, and I forget that truth. Tonight, though, I was reminded of it, and I am so, so grateful.

Today is (or now was) Tuesday. Tuesday at Oklahoma State University is an important day, or rather an important night. Every Tuesday at 9ish (yes, we really do mean ish, as in “approximately”) is a non-denominational worship service called Overflow. About 1000 or more students attend Overflow every week, and since my freshman year, Tuesday has been one of my favorite weekdays because of it. Since classes started yesterday, today was the first Tuesday and tonight, therefore, the first Overflow. I’d been looking forward to it all day, and I couldn’t wait.

Then yesterday, one of my friends/sorority sisters (who happens to be my G-Little, but that could be confusing to explain) brought up an idea for a pre-Overflow plan: We would drive out to visit our friend Lesley, so she could show us her new house and hang out a little before Overflow. I said, sure that sounded like a good idea, and I agreed. So tonight at around 7:35 we headed out to Lesley’s house. And of course, I didn’t suspect a thing. Even when we pulled up and I noticed the 7 cars squeezed into and around her driveway, I still was clueless. And then we walked inside.

Before I could even process what was happening, I was attack-hugged by my younger sisters, Weasel and Rascal. They were followed by a line of a dozen of my Kaydee sisters and friends with huge smiles on their faces. But even after hearing them say, “Welcome back!” and reading the “Welcome Home, Steffi!” banner, I was still confused. Finally, my blonde-haired brain kicked into gear and I realized what was going on: they had thrown a surprise welcome-home party just for me! Even after I understood what was happening, I still had a hard time believing it.

I’d never been given a surprise party before (although, as tonight would indicate, I am fairly easy to surprise). For my 18th birthday, four of my best friends woke me up early and took me to IHOP in my pajamas; that was too a wonderful surprise, for sure. But this was the first real “surprise party” I’d ever received. And my words can’t even hope to describe how special it made me feel.

So tonight I was able to not only enjoy some delicious, gooey cookie cake (which was TOTALLY worth eating, even though it wasn’t gluten-free), but He also reminded me of something very important about my friends and, ultimately, about Him.

You see, my friends didn’t have to do that. Not at all! I did absolutely nothing to deserve a surprise party. I’ve been home for a month now; I’m not new and exciting anymore. And let’s face it, I have been rather emotional lately and not always the most positive person to be around. But still, they loved me anyway. They really demonstrate Proverbs 17:17, “A friend loves at all times.”

At the same time, too, they showed a very clear picture of God’s love for us. We don’t do anything to deserve His love, but He gives it to us anyway. Even when we are covered with sin or feeling down in the dumps, God lifts us up and showers His grace down on us. And, just like my friends tonight, His love often surprises us, coming when we least expect it. We just have to open our often “blonde” eyes to recognize it.

One of my favorite quotes comes from a line in a song by Relient K: “But the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair.” Thank you, my friends, for showing me grace tonight. I hope that I can someday be as great of a friend to you—and to others—as you have been to me.

God bless.

Green Hills and Cattle Pens

Some people refer to it as the heart of America. Others call it the “Sunflower State.” Most people probably call it nothing at all because, honestly, it never even crosses their mind. But I? What do I call it? Well, I call Kansas “home” because that’s what it is for me. (For the record, though, I sometimes still call it “the middle of nowhere” because, well, that’s also what it is— literally.)

Now, when people stop and think about Kansas (which, let’s be honest, the vast majority of people rarely, if ever, do), some things typically come to their mind. They are as follows: Nothing, cows, fields, nothing, wheat, more cows, more nothing… well, you get the point.

In addition to the agricultural realm, some people perceive Kansas more through the lens of popular culture, specifically The Wizard of Oz. But before you get tempted to ask me, NO, I have not met Dorothy, we don’t actually get tornadoes all that often (Oklahoma—the state where I attend university—is actually more famous for that), and only 0.0015% of the dogs in Kansas are named Toto at any given time. Concerning pop culture, The Wizard of Oz is extent of Kansas’ influence…

Wait, did you say something about Clark Kent? He’s a really cool guy; in fact, he grew up just down the street from me. What about him? … WHOA! Hold up. Stop! He’s Superman?! As in, the real deal? No way! You have got to be kidding me! I always wondered why there seemed to be an oddly-shaped bird or plane flying frequently over our neighborhood, but I never thought to put two and two together. Wow. Now I feel dumb…. Haha.

Just kidding. I really don’t know Clark Kent. But Tom Wellings on the other hand…. ;)

Anyway, the point of this introductory ramble is to get you thinking a little bit about Kansas. The aforementioned things often are stereotypes of my home state; they are what many people imagine when they think of the heart of the heartland.

What most people don’t picture is large green hills rolling out into the distance as far as the eye can see. In fact, “green” and “hills” and “Kansas” are three words that should never ever ever belong in the same sentence. That is, almost never.

As I already mentioned, I grew up in Kansas and still consider it my home; however, I attend Oklahoma State University which, incidentally, is in Oklahoma. If you’re not so great at geography, let me just say that it’s one state south of Kansas, wedged comfortably between Kansas and Texas. My university is a simple 5-hour drive from my house in Kansas, so simple in fact that I can manage it most of the time without a GPS. For me, that’s saying something. I can get lost going in a straight line. No lie. Speaking of straight lines, the drive to Oklahoma State is almost a straight line; it’s just interrupted by two left turns. In other words, it’s Steffi-proof, which is a step above “fool-proof” on the dumb-o-meter, in case you were wondering.

While the drive to Stillwater (the town where my university is located) is for the most part boring and flat and full of fields and cows and nothing—all very Kansas-y things—there is one part that I absolutely LOVE and I look forward to it during each one of my five-hour drives: The Flint Hills.

Named after the stone “flint” which is used to rubbed together to spark a fire, the Flint Hills are gorgeous, but in a simple sort of way. Unlike the rest of Kansas, which is sometimes so flat that tumbleweed could roll eternally across it—if it didn’t get stuck in a barbed wire fence along the way or trampled by one of the numerous cows—the Flint Hills are, well, hilly. And because of an abnormal amount of rainfall this summer, the hills are also green—very, very green. So this time when I made the five-hour trek—er, drive—to OSU, I was able to enjoy an incredible, non-Kansas-y view. And boy, did it take my breath away.

Since the scientific nerd community has yet to invent a means of teleporting, and because the days of transcontinental trains are long-since gone, driving is the best and most efficient way to tackle short distances within the United States. In my opinion, though, driving is more than just a means to an end. Especially regarding this particular five-hour drive, it’s one of my life’s favorite simple pleasures.

The joy of life is in the journey. I’ve heard that cheesy saying a million and a half times (about the number of times some well-meaning person has asked me about The Wizard of Oz), and as much as I hate being cliché, this saying is completely true. So often, we get caught up in where we are going and all we need to do once we get there, that we forget to enjoy where we actually are. Goals are great and destinations are important; without them, we would be stuck wandering around aimlessly (or, in my case, in circles—with a GPS). But goals aren’t the do-all, end-all. Rather, they’re just another part of the journey that just so happens to come at the end. So, yes, in that sense destinations are special. But at the same time, the vast majority of life or time isn’t spent at the destination, is it? No, not at all. The best parts of roadtrips actually happen on the road, when everyone is singing off-key (and very loudly) to the same super-sappy Rascal Flatts song. Or during my drive to Oklahoma, the highlight comes with the Flint Hills, or on very special occasions when I pull over at the cattle pens to soak in the view.

I certainly haven’t mastered this skill yet of enjoying the journey. Even now, before the semester has started, my life is already run by a post-it note, and I have half a dozen deadlines and dates already marked in my planner. I’m busy and rushed, heading full-speed to where I want to be. In times like these and in a world like this, it can be easy to forget where we are, and even easier to forget how to enjoy it. So today, I challenge you—and myself—to pull over and enjoy your Flint Hills, whatever they may be. Call an old friend, start that book you’ve been dying to read, sit outside and watch the entire sunset. I have a feeling that you’ll be very glad you did. And if you don’t enjoy it, I’ll send the Wicked Witch of the West to hunt you down. ;)

Thanks for reading. God bless.

Light and Dark

(Note: This post was written about a week before it was published)

Well, I’m back.

“Back” in two senses of the word: Back to writing a blog, and back in the United States of America. The former seems natural; the latter, well, doesn’t.

To give you a brief recap, I left Graz early on the morning of July 5th (fortunately, I was stuck on a train with a massively large group of Austrian tween-agers going on a school trip; they were all too busy flirting with each other and comparing their cool new handys or cell phones to notice my bawling.) That afternoon, I caught a flight to Paris, France, where I would spend an AMAZING week hanging out with my favorite Parisian of all time, Anne-Sophie, and her parents. After taking in as many sites as possible, musing over Mona Lisa’s thoughts, marveling at Versailles (and checking out my reflection in the Hall of Mirrors), feeling quiet sorrow and pride at the cemetery at Normandy, and getting proposed to one night on the Eiffel Tower, the time came. I bid a painful good-bye to Anne-So, hopped on a plane to Vienna, spent the next day weighing and repacking my things (and mailing some of them home), and hanging out in one of Vienna’s lush, beautiful parks. That evening, my dear friend Jennifer, with whom I was staying, took me to her favorite restaurant where I enjoyed my first—and last—Viennese Wienerschnitzel (to everyone who doesn’t know: “Wienerschnitzel” really means “Schnitzel from Vienna;” Wien is German for Vienna. Hence, real wienerschnitzel can be found only in Vienna). The next morning, I got up early, gathered my things and headed to the airport. There, I boarded Austrian Airlines flight OS 093 and at exactly 11:30 a.m. Central European Time waved goodbye to the country I came to know and to love, the country that will always hold a piece of my heart.

Approximately 9 hours and 36 minutes later, I landed in Washington D.C. After going through customs, picking up and rechecking my bags, missing my originally-scheduled flight, calling my mom to let her know that, yes, I was indeed still alive, I boarded a second airplane—the airplane that would take me to Kansas, home.

Since landing, life has been a whirlwind (or in Kansas, maybe “tornado” would be a more appropriate word). It’s been so wonderful to see and spend time with my family, including my grandparents, to eat food that I didn’t have to cook or pay for, to catch up with best friends, to sit inside with air conditioning (this is a recent development; our house’s AC broke on the day before I got back and just recently got fixed), and to take a moment to relax and recuperate. In all those respects, being home has been very nice.

At the same time, though, it’s been… weird. Just. Plain. Weird.

During my study abroad orientation classes last August and in Austria, the directors warned us about a nasty little thing called “reverse culture shock.” But no amount of warning, cautioning, or mental preparation can really make you ready for it. To anyone who has never studied abroad or had the chance to experience this odd phenomenon, let me explain. Reverse culture shock happens when someone leaves his or her home culture to live in a new culture or place for an extended period of time. This person gets accustomed to the new culture, adapts to it and learns to live in it at least for the time being; in a sense, it becomes like home. Then when that person returns to his or her home culture (either willingly or by force, or in my case, by an expiring student visa), he or she must suddenly readjust to the home culture, which has now—strange as it may seem—become foreign.

Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Well, in a way it is. Crazy… but so true.

“Reverse culture shock” involves more than remembering to say “excuse me” instead of “entschuldingung” (or in Alex McAulay’s case “please” instead of “bitte”). It goes beyond the basics like converting dollars to euros and vice versa and refreshing oneself on how to drive. Rather, it’s learning to fit a new, different, likely improved version of oneself into the situation where the old, pre-study abroad version used to live. And that, let me tell you, is far easier said than done.
Living in Graz and traveling in most of the countries of central Europe changed me. Meeting people from all around the world, hanging out with them, and becoming friends with them changed me. Listening and dancing ridiculously to all sorts of crazy-beat techno music… changed me. Every experience, every adventure, every seemingly miniscule thing that happened to me changed me and made me into who I am right now, here, today. I’m a different girl than the one who left on January 31st, and, to be entirely honest, I like the new version of me much better. But I’m back again to my former situation. How do I keep from reverting to how things were, to who I use to be? How do I keep being the new me?

A lot of things didn’t change a bit. My bedroom walls are still lime green; my sisters still give insanely tight hugs; my cell phone still has my homemade Tenth Avenue North ringtone; and I am still terrible at parking my car (Every time, without fail, I have to pull back out and readjust. Always.) Dollar bills still have George Washington’s face, this world keeps on turning, and Kansas thunderstorms and sunsets still take my breath away.

And I still have the same blonde hair, same brown eyes, same size 10.5 feet. If I look the same on the outside, why do I feel so different on the inside? And what, if anything, can I do about it?

As you might have noticed, I really like quotes. Unfortunately, most of the time, I can’t remember them very well. Sometimes, though, a good quote will pop into my brain at exactly the right moment, precisely when I need it, like a sunbeam straight from heaven. Other times, one will come exactly when I need it but really don’t want it. This week, I have been feeling very sad about Graz and have been missing my life there terribly. At a particularly low moment when I was silently wallowing in my own misery, this quote flashed into my mind. I tried my best to ignore it because, honestly, I would much rather have continued being sad and feeling sorry for myself. But the quote persisted stubbornly. And I guess I am glad it did. Here it is:

“Don’t forget in the darkness what you learned in the light.” ~Joseph Bayly

Although the quote is probably fairly self-explanatory, let me break it down since I could use a refresher. Basically, when God teaches us something in the good times—when the sun is brightly shining, the birds are chirping, and all is well with the world—He wants us to remember it, and not just when life is good. On the contrary, when the going gets tough, He tells us to think of His lessons from the light—and keep going.

I don’t want to sound selfish. I realize that my struggles over missing Graz are small and trivial compared to what so many other people experience. I am not in the business of comparing heartache or hardship, but I do believe this: pain is pain—regardless of how big or small it may seem to others. What matters less is the type of darkness; far more important is how we respond to it.

And so now I must ask myself the question that we all should ponder: how do I respond to pain and the darkness that comes with it? Am I going to crawl into a corner and cover my head and cry to myself? Or will I look to my God and remember the lessons He taught me in the light?

If you followed my Graz blog even a little bit, you would have noticed that God showed me a lot this semester. He grew me and changed me and transformed me in ways I would have never thought possible. On top of that, He showed me so much about His love and provision and WHO He is. He taught me to trust Him and to have faith in His promises, knowing that He would never let me go.

Here in this post-Erasmus “darkness,” so to speak, I have to remember His lessons from the light. I also know that this phase will pass, and the sun will eventually shine again as brightly as it did before. I know that it will. Why? Because that’s what He taught me, back in the light.

Whether you are in a dark patch right now or catching some rays in the sunshine, remember that He’s with you. Always.

God bless.