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April 2008
Apples and Addiction
An apple hangs from the tree in the garden outside the Shelter Jordan. The tree isn’t an apple tree, but I’ll get back to that.
John is one of my favorite people here at the hostel. He came to work at the Shelter Jordan for a month as a cleaner after working at the Shelter City for a month. John is legally blind. He jumped out of a 5th story window when he saw a little girl drowning in a pool below and couldn’t get anyone to save her. He jumped to save her, but he missed the pool. His face was shattered along with several of his other bones. I have never met anyone so chivalrous or with such a heart as John’s. He is a 44-year-old Hungarian. His broken English frustrates him because he fights for the Cross fervently and sometimes doesn’t have the right words.
His life is a testimony to me. John comes to mop the floor when I am finishing my sleeper shift at two in the morning. It isn’t his job, and he should be sleeping because he actually has to get up early to go to work. But he comes in and takes the mop from me and pushes me out of the kitchen. When I say ‘Thank You!” he gets a funny look on his face and says, ‘Don’t say that.’
John is a paradox. He can be tremendously serious one moment, trying to convince you that The God will give you a miracle to help you see Him, and the next minute, he is copying everyone’s sound effects and using fruit to make antlers on his head. For Lukas, he says ‘OmAha,” because Lukas can’t say “Omaha” right. For Elizabeth he makes a siren noise, because she told a story and made that noise one day.
Last night, John wanted a fifth coffee, but the night before, his heart had been racing from too many coffees, so we made a deal that he should only drink two a day. We shook on it. He came up and begged for his fifth coffee, and I firmly said “No” and offered him a hot chocolate, instead. He gave me a five-year-old-boy-begging-for-a-cookie look and leaned forward, pleading with his eyes.
“Please Kelsey!” he begged.
“No, John. We shook on it. You promised,” I said. He grabbed my neck and kissed it! Silly Old Man.“No,” I said, again, and pushed a hot chocolate across the counter.
The apple on the tree outside is some kind of reminder of original sin.
I just laugh every time I see it. I will forever think of a blind beggar with an intense coffee addiction.
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Monday Market Days
I need to issue a public apology since I have not blogged as much as I originally planned. These past few weeks have been especially busy while I have tried to suck the marrow out of my last bit of time here in Amsterdam. As a result, I will post some catch-up blogs. I hope you will bear with me and enjoy the most memorable stories from the past few weeks.
This past Monday, I was scheduled to attend class in the afternoon and then work the sleeper shift in the evening. I had a grand plan for how I would use the morning, but my plan didn’t work out. I ended up walking around my neighborhood in pursuit of a memory card and rechargeable batteries. As soon as I stepped out of my back door, I saw an increased amount of people on the street and realized, “It’s Monday Market Day!!!”
I had been wanting to go to a Monday Market since I first heard of it. Monday Markets are like the ultimate flea market/Goodwill shopping experience. Since I was raised on a steady diet of antique shopping and backwood’s Texas town touring, I really looked forward to an eclectic feast for the senses.
I wound my way through some booths, touching bolts of fabric from around the world. There were Muslim women with their head shawls and their attentive husbands trying to decide which kind to buy. There were tall Dutch women in packs looking at the piles of resale clothes, trying to find the perfect deal.
I stopped at one tent stuffed full of costumes. My family loves costumes. Our attic is full, and we regularly hunt at Goodwill for new finds; all thanks to a faithful Grandma and mom who valued the imaginations of their young daughters. My eyes lit upon a beautiful violet pair of used ballet slippers. I slipped them onto my feet. They fit!!! I puzzed over whether to buy them for a minute and then realized I would never again find such a comfortable and beautiful pair and they were only five euro!
I walked through the market some more, thinking about how much better this was than Canton Trades Days or any other flea market I had ever been to.
Then I saw it. An old map of Amsterdam. It was a remake for sure, a map made in the seventies to look like Amsterdam in 1641. I brought it to the owner and asked how much it cost. He said five euro and I could hardly believe my ears. I was looking at it, deciding whether to buy it, when a random old man with a very American voice walked up and started talking to me about it. He showed me all the differences between Amsterdam today and Amsterdam 350 years ago. He used to live in Colorado and Washington, so we talked about the States and Europe.
I then meandered on through the market and ended up at a hat booth. I picked one up and asked the vendor if it was a girl’s hat or a boy’s hat. He gave me a funny look and asked, “Exactly how do you define what is for a boy versus what is for a girl?”
This seemed like a strange response to my query until I looked down and took in his denim skirt and brown ribbed leggings ending in huge Goretex boots. Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended. There was a slightly humored look in his eyes. He was a huge Dutch man with a grizzly face and silvery gray ponytail.
The vendor grabbed my map and proceded to give me a history lesson of Amsterdam. This was becoming quite the learning experience. He asked where I was from and then told me how he hitchhiked through the United States and Canada for six months back in the 1980s.
We probably talked for 45 minutes, but he had my map in his lap, so I couldn’t really go anywhere. His story was fascinating—even if a little farfetched. At one point, he said he opened YellowStone National Park with the head park ranger who gave him the keys to open the gate and let him go off and hike in the wilderness, only cautioning him not to pick up antlers. In his story, he said on his backwoods camping excursion, he happened upon some poachers and reported them, thereby saving the park’s population of ‘beer.’ He called deer ‘beer’ which was also rather amusing to me. I didn’t think it was worth correcting since I caught his mistake only halfway through his story, and by then, it was too funny.
I decided I really like talking to people on the street. My Monday Market day started a plan formulating in my head… what if I were to walk everywhere with my map or a similar conversation piece. Think of all the people I would meet.
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Good times and good friends
I have 3 weeks until the end of my time working at the Shelter. I can’t believe how quickly the time has passed and how full it has been. I keep thinking about all the lessons I have learned and the memories I have made with my new friends here. I feel so incredibly blessed. Last night, in a dreadful bout of homesickness, I started looking through all the pictures on my computer.
I kept laughing as I came across pictures from great times last semester and pictures with my family taken years ago. I feel so blessed knowing I have these friends here who love and accept me, and my incredible family and friends at home as well.
My grandparents celebrated their 61st wedding anniversary a few weeks ago and won the “Unsung Heroes” award in New Braunfels. I am so proud of them. The award is well-deserved. My cousin is getting married this Saturday; another good friend will be getting married at the end of this month. I am almost overwhelmed by it all sometimes.
Aside from being entirely too homesick, yesterday was a great day. I had my weekly day off and decided it was about time I saw Mr. Van Gogh’s paintings for myself. I had seen Starry Night at MOMA once before and stood for a ridiculously long time, completely entranced. A museum full of his paintings sounded absolutely amazing. I woke up, made breakfast, and talked with my friend Kimberly about where we could go travel after I finished. I will have 21 days to travel by myself before my family comes to Europe to join me for a little while.
I decided to take my day off and go to a thrift store in North Amsterdam. As I was getting ready to go, Martijn, a staff member from the city, asked if he could come along with me. I explained my plan to go to North and to go to Van Gogh, and he seemed eager to do whatever it took to get out of the house.
We started out toward Central Station and Martijn lead the way without my having much say in where we were heading. I was content to follow until I realized we were headed to the wrong ferry — the one that took us to a different part of North Amsterdam. Martijn said he knew of a good cafe in this area of North, so we went. It was fantastic. I had a cappuccino, and we talked about fasting for a long time. Martijn is one of those Christians who really likes to dialogue about spiritual issues, all the time. He challenges me to think about the tenets of my faith, but talking to him for long periods of time is also very fatiguing. We headed to Van Gogh after this, and I had plenty of good, quiet time looking at the paintings and soaking in the sheer magnificence of the different art collections.
That night, I worked on a memory box, got my hair cut and learned to juggle, sort of. Natalie, our new Australian staff member at the Jordan, brought juggling balls and taught Kimberly and I how to juggle. Kimberly had recently taken a fall on her bike that left her black and blue, so she got her bruises decorated as we all sat around in the community house. I wanted to take a picture. There was Kimberly with her bruises-cum-butterflies, Lianne with her sketchpad, Christian playing random notes on his guitar and Natalie juggling in the armchair to my left. I have struggled in the community house since I came, dealing with moral relativism; where to draw the line between accepting people and not accepting everything they do. But as I sit in the midst of these people, I am proud of the strong friendships we have forged together. I am proud of how unique they all are. I’m going to miss them all so much.
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He’s the Rock that Doesn’t Roll
I was scheduled to organize, all by myself, a fun night last Thursday night at the cafe. It had been a busy week, and I didn’t really know what to do. Thankfully, the nightman Marco came to my rescue. He is an awesome musician and asked if we could do an open mic night in the cafe.
Thursday morning, Marco came into the cafe where I was working and we practiced singing an old Larry Norman song, “He’s the Rock that Doesn’t Roll.” I was a little worried about my role that evening, but Marco emceed the night in his relaxed manner, handled the sound equipment and was great. A lot of guests attended, and a lot of staff sang songs and played music. Francine and Douwe both sang songs in Dutch. Marco did several really fun songs on his own, in various languages.
One guest from Germany played really beautiful music by heart on the piano. She said she would only play if we did our song next. Marco, Brandon and I got up and sang. It was really fun, singing some good ole’ “Jesus rock and roll,” despite the fact we butchered our ending chorus when we were supposed to dialogue the ending!
Then one guest got up and sang the Dutch national anthem. I think he was perhaps coming off of some substance, because he gave a rather extensive, animated and confusing history lesson on the anthem.Overall, thanks to Marco, I felt like the night was a success.
It’s a funny thing that I connected Larry Norman with Amsterdam because one of my professors, who so happens to be Dutch, told me about listening to Larry Norman in Amsterdam in the 70’s. He was kind of my ministry role model before I came to Amsterdam to work at Shelter Jordan. He handed out free records to get people to come to his concerts, but at that time, he was too Rock and Roll for the church and too Radically Christian for everyone else. He sang about issues that hippies related to, and lots of people felt the love of Christ through his music. I feel honored to have sung back-up for one of his songs.
Here are the lyrics to “He’s the Rock that Doesn’t Roll”:
I was lost and blind, when a friend of mine came and took me by the hand. Then He led me to His kingdom that was in another land Now my life has changed, it’s rearranged,when I think of my past I feel so strange. Wowie, Zowie, well He saved my soul, He’s the rock that doesn’t roll.
Chorus: He’s the rock that doesn’t roll, He’s the rock that doesn’t roll, Well He’s good for the body and great for the soul, He’s the rock that doesn’t roll.
I was all alone like a rolling stone, I was going nowhere fast. I was on the road so far from home, when the future touched my past. Now I feel so blessed, ‘cause He gave me a rest. And I finally feel like I passed my test, I want to be like Him, yes that’s my goal, like a rock that doesn’t roll.
(Chorus)
I was lost and blind when a friend of mine came and took me by the hand, And He led me to His kingdom that was in another land. Now my mind is blown, my head has grown, a Solid Rock and a rolling stone, Wowie, zowie, well the Cat’s got soul, He’s the Rock that doesn’t roll.
(Chorus)
Bridge: He’s the rock that doesn’t, the rock that doesn’t, The rock that doesn’t, the rock that doesn’t, You’ve got to rock me on the water, You’ve got to rock me from the grave, You’ve got to rock me till I’m feeling good, You’ve got to rock me till, rock me till I’m saved.
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Easter Surprises
Easter wasn’t quite the same for me this year, but was really special in a different sort of way. I definitely missed my family and our Easter traditions. Here, Easter brought snow, an awesome conversation with a homeless friend, an evening with the movie “Ben Hur” in the cafe, and a prophetic blessing. Saturday night before Easter Sunday, I had the day off, so I stayed up watching a movie. I had planned to get up early to go to a sunrise service, but my plans failed when my movie ended at 3 a.m. So silly.
I awoke at 11 a.m. feeling rather discouraged I had wasted Easter. I knew I would be going to church that afternoon, but doubted the service would be very Easter-y, so I moped about the house for a bit, sad about missing church and lacking direction for my afternoon. I wandered into the living room of the staff house and heard a cacophony of human voices from our courtyard below. I looked out of our window and realized the Tweede Mil, a homeless ministry run by the same organization as our hostel, was having its Easter lunch in the classrooms downstairs. Amid the crowd, I noticed one of my fellow staff members, Sam, talking with people. I didn’t have anything I needed to do, so I padded back upstairs in my bare feet and changed out of my PJs so I could join the party.
In minutes I was heading to the crowd of Dutch-speaking homeless and otherwise hungry people. I realized with a bit of discouragement that most of the conversations going on around me were happening in their native language. I stood awkwardly amongst the crowd until I could make my way out to Sam, who was speaking in Dutch with an old man, wizened with age and leaning heavily on his cane.
One man, about 30, was standing off behind the rest. He was the last in line and seemed to be in no hurry. Sam asked him in Dutch if he was going to eat. ‘Excuse me?” the man replied in English. I immediately knew he was an American. We started talking and it turned out Daniel was from Arizona and had been traveling wherever God led him for the past year and a half.
His story was incredible. He told me about his perceptions of Amsterdam and The Netherlands. We shared a few of our same observations, and then shared a few different ones. Daniel got his plate, and we sat down next to a Portuguese couple. I introduced myself to the woman. She said something about not knowing much English. She spoke some Spanish, and I responded by saying I didn’t know much Spanish, but could understand. We ended up having a conversation, half in English and half in Spanish. I could understand her when she spoke to me in Spanish, and she could understand me when I spoke to her in English. It was awesome. She and her boyfriend had been traveling and were possibly going to work at the Shelter City. Daniel also had some connections with the Shelter City, going to Bible discussions and such. What are the odds?
I sat and talked with them for awhile and invited them to come to watch “Ben Hur” at the Jordan that night. Eventually, I went to get ready for church that afternoon and walked with some friends and cleaners to Zolder 50, a really friendly church in the Jordan.
That evening, several guests sat with me and Jens to watch the movie. About 15 minutes after the movie began, Daniel walked in and joined us. He was wearing about 5 layers of clothing, including his thick camouflage pants. His grizzly chin looked somehow squished underneath the beanie on top of his head. We watched the movie as more guests gathered to watch with us. I had never seen it before and was really impressed at how awesome the story is portrayed, considering it was made 40 years ago. I did catch some power lines in the backdrop of Judea in one scene!
After the movie, Daniel and I went to sit at one of the cafe tables to talk privately. His incredibly fitting words encouraged me. Even though I had only met him that day, he seemed to understand what I was learning and struggling with during my time in Amsterdam. He encouraged me to continue being a light here in Amsterdam, that people can see the light of Christ through me. His words were exactly what I needed to hear, even though of the things he said I had to chew on to understand. When he left, I realized he was a modern day prophet, traveling and encouraging those who God puts in his path.
That night, I biked home with friends, gathering snow from the cars to make snowballs to throw at each other as we laughed and tried not to fall. It was a beautiful Easter, indeed.
