A few days ago ,in Switzerland, we hiked from Wengen down the mountiain Lauterbrunnen where we went to Trummelbach Falls. Trummelbach Falls Is a . waterfall in a cave. We took a elevator (also in a cave) to the first waterfall. The waterfalls were amazing! There were lots of puddles because of the spray coming of of the waterfalls. Some of the waterfalls were not entirely in the cave but they were still amazing. Here are some pictures:

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We are staying in a US Army Base called a Garrison.  This is a picture of the people that live in this house.  They are older now.  There is a soccer field about         100 meters along the street.  There is lots of American food in the refrigerators, and English-speaking neighbors even though we are in Germany.

 

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Shploock. Shlup.  I cringe just a little as the mud closes over the top of my shoe.  It is a slightly delicious, and slightly disgusting, noise as I pull my foot out for my next step.  I try not to guesstimate the varieties of bacteria and feces mixed in there, so I look up and around. The rain that leaves the ground soggy and saturated also leaves the pastures and the air green and thick.  It is stunning.  And it is muddy.

The mud is unavoidable.  From a distance it is not obvious, blending in with the grass and contours.  But once you are even just steps onto a Lake District footpath, you know that anyone who has ever warned you that the Lakes can be muddy wasn’t joking.  There is no way around — there is only through. If you are Out There, you are In It. It’s not a big leap to consider the goo of the world, the runoff, the leftovers, the byproduct of a well-worn path.  The mud of conflict, mistrust, a hurtful word, cancer, my pride, a strained relationship.

There is a small temptation to stick to the road, to the pavement and gravel of easy walking on the higher road.  It is safe there — mapped out, smooth terrain, and pretty scenic too.  But to try to avoid the mud would be at great cost of missing such richness!  The view from over the fence is only a fraction of the depth in color, sound, smell — not to mention the difference in perspective.

And so I find that the best defense against the mud is a good pair of shoes.   Not necessarily expensive or nice shoes — just the kind that don’t mind the mud. Shoes of courage.  Shoes of compassion.  Shoes of forgiveness.  Of humility and grace.  Tie them on tightly so they don’t get sucked off when the world’s muck gets deeper than expected.

The dog walkers, the hikers, the families, the strollers, and I — we are all out here slogging through the mud together, no one is immune.  I look longingly at the tall rubber wellie boots others wear passing by, thinking those would really solve my problems.  But my stay here in the Lakes is short, and my long term needs are different from theirs.  I try not to compare myself, or my shoes, to other people sharing the path.

By the time I get back to our door, my shoes are nearly unrecognizable, but they have shielded my feet beyond what I expected.  I peel them off without untying them and line them up with the others on the porch.

My shoes dry out overnight, and they sit waiting the next day to take me Out There In It.  The cakes of mud fall away easily and the laces are no longer knotted and swollen with water. My shoes are not the same color they used to be, but like the Lord’s mercies, they are new every morning.  They are a visible reminder of God’s daily mercy to me — Creator, Redeemer, Scrubber of My Muddy Shoes.

Julius Caesar invaded Britain the first time in 55 BC. Based on his own writings, scholars figure he arrived in the area of Deal Beach just up the coast from the white cliffs at Dover.

Here is the view today at Deal Beach. The stone marker seems largely forgotten by folks walking up and down the boardwalk.

And another current view, to the sea.

Six hundred years after Caesar, an invader of a different sort arrived in the area. Augustine (not Saint Augustine) was sent by Rome to bring Christianity to Britain’s barbarians in roughly 600 AD.

Here’s what I DID NOT KNOW: Augustine wanted to quit! There are various accounts, but, early in the journey, Augustine and the other monks in his party inquired of Gregory in Rome whether he might be allowed to abandon his uncertain work of the Lord.

Gregory denied the request … and the rest is another layer of British history.

Still, an excerpt from Gregory’s response to Augustine’s inquiry is useful:

“Since it is better not to begin a good work than to think of giving it up once you have started, you, my beloved sons, ought diligently to complete the good work, which, by the help of the Lord, you have undertaken. So do not let the toil of the journey or the tongues of men, discourage you, but with all earnestness and by God’s guidance fulfill what you have started, knowing that great labor is followed by the greater glory of an eternal reward….”

Awesome words for fellow travelers today.

It is also useful to see what remains of Augustine’s EARTHLY mission, an ancient Augustine abbey in Canterbury … nearly lost to time and the elements ….

My maternal grandmother was often part of my family beach vacations.

Mama Liz showed me how to play cards on those trips, usually on her bed. She floated effortlessly and endlessly on her back in the surf. And she taught me the words and music to French national anthem. We sang that anthem as we marched around and around the living room of each summer’s rental cottage.

So, a few nights ago as France’s handball team received their gold medals, there I was listening to the French national anthem with my own children … and thinking of Mama Liz.

Within hours of arriving in southern France, I was on my hands and knees in the bathroom of our country home … cleaning up a toilet overflow.

S was interpreting labels on French cleaning bottles and handing me paper towels.

The boys were in a nearby room, somehow competing in Olympic swimming on a king size bed. Two of them had on swim suits.

So began the latest phase of our year ’round the world.

We’re in a good gear now with a few weeks under our belts … but I’m still dogged by pressure to MAKE SOMETHING of this year. How can our time be more substantive than a vacation? What will we have to show for it in our insides and on the outside? What is my work during these months? What is our work as a family?

Feeling the pressure to have an answer to those questions is exactly the OPPOSITE of what a friend wrote on the eve of our journey, inviting us to:

Let go of your own agendas for this trip, your own parameters, your own objectives, your own definition of “success,” your own desires for what must be accomplished, what must happen, what must be experienced.

I’m not doing so well letting go and I’ve prayed earnestly nearly every day for clarity — even inspiration — about what our great purpose might be.

Today, there was an answer to that prayer. Sort of.

We were having a family worship service in our living room, listening to a great series from Jesuit Media Initiatives called Pray As You Go. The Scripture lesson was from John 6.

Then they asked him, “What must we do to do the works God requires?”

Jesus answered, “The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent.”

So they asked him, “What sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’”

Jesus said to them, “Very truly I tell you, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

“Sir,” they said, “always give us this bread.”

Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

The Jesuit narrator came out of the Scripture reading with this: “It is not unnatural for people to ask themselves ‘What work does God require of me?’”

Then he said this: “Jesus’ response seems to be ‘Just accept the work God has done for you.’”

Surely there is more to be discussed about the passage and its message … but it was a good Word for us today.

And I’m thankful for this bread.

We met a man named Finbar in Seydisfjordur and I asked him if he was crazy.

He laughed.

He’d sailed around the world. Solo. Several times.

Finbar gave us a generous tour of his 50-foot sailboat. As the boys say: “It was boss.” Full queen-size bed. Bathroom with shower. Living room. A desk area. Dining room, with table. Sitting room. Bunk room. All of the insides were made of wood.

The hull, he says, was made of concrete — and the ship was thirty years old.

Officially, she’s the Bella Donna … though he referred to the boat as “her” or the two of them as “we.”

We’re not sure where Finbar is headed next.

He’s from Ireland. Though the world seems to be his home.

Godspeed to him.