I was thinking today how incredibly self-absorbed I am...how self-absorbed most of us are. Who can deny clicking impatiently through pictures to find the ones we're in? Whenever I see pictures of myself, I scrutinize them closely and then decide they're just not good pictures of me. My dad used to ask me what I thought I looked like. Good question.

Now with the advent of facebook, twittering and blogging there's more of a "Me, Me, Me!" mentality than ever. My friend commented that Facebook finally gave some people a legitimate platform to brag about themselves. We haven't changed; we're still like little children, wanting our tiniest accomplishments duly noted..."watch me, watch me Mama".

Something happened to my sister that highlighted the absurdity of posting every moment's activity on facebook (as if anyone cares). She had left her iphone in a public restroom. Fortunately the wiseacre that found it didn't steal it, but did take the audacious liberty to update her facebook status to "I am pooping." Thankfully, Kristie must have received a few "TMI" or "Ewwww" comments to alert her to the fact that something was up and she was able to delete it before too many people saw it.

Perhaps most insidious of all is self-absorption disguised as self-improvement. Being encouraged to think it's in our power to make our lives perfect, to be anything we want to be, to believe that we deserve an easy, happy life.

We don't deserve anything and yet millions of books are sold telling us that we do--that if only we believe in ourselves we will feel worthy and be happy. I know for a fact that my unhappiest days are those when I'm focusing too much on myself and what I want.

I am so susceptible to forever trying to improve my outward appearance at the expense of neglecting my soul. God offers to satisfy my soul with "love, joy, peace patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control" (Gal. 5:22).

Nothing of worth is obtained without self-discipline and an undisciplined life is never satisfying. The Bible tells me that the focus of my life should be on God and His perfect plan for me and that I should consider others above myself (Phil. 2:3). Exactly the opposite of what the world peddles.

With the arrival of a New Year it's difficult to avoid all the clamoring for self-improvement and self-gratification but I'm hoping to make strides in being a little less self-absorbed and a little more God-absorbed. I know it's not going to be easy but I was inspired recently by an interview I saw with Billy Graham. He was asked if he had any regrets. He said his only regrets were that he hadn't prayed and meditated more; that he hadn't spent more time just adoring his Savior.

Think about it... Billy Graham's(!) only regrets were that he didn't live a more God-focused life.

Today is my precious husband's 50th birthday. Admittedly, there have been days when I thought he was the furthest thing from precious as I'm sure there have been days when he must of thought I came straight from the bowels of hell (sadly, I'm sure there are still days like that). We've been married 26 years. It's been quite a roller coaster ride, with plenty of exhilarating high points and more than our share of scary low points. However, we did stay on the ride, sometimes holding on for dear life. I'm thankful to say the ride is getting more enjoyable all the time. I'm almost afraid to admit that, lest a terrifying dip is right around the corner. As the years go by, the words to Barry White's "You're My First, My Last...My Everything" have become increasingly appropriate.

As most of you know, our 8 yr. old son Brett is blind and will never walk or talk. He is completely incapable of doing anything on his own. Bob and I both believe that God is good, and we both believe with all our hearts that in ways we don't yet fully understand that God is bringing about more good by allowing Brett to be the way he is than if he were perfect. We know that we will enjoy our sweet son forever, in all his perfection, in Heaven and "can only imagine" how someday he will dance for Jesus.

But even now, Brett's life has brought good things. If not for Brett I wouldn't have known how utterly self-less Bob can be. Bob does everything he can to make my life with Brett as easy as possible. He adores him...patiently feeding him, bathing him, loving on him...all without any response from Brett. If not for Brett we wouldn't have known the loving goodness of friends and family or experienced their generous offers of help and faithful prayers.

We were driving around with Brett not long ago and Bob turned to me and asked, "Isn't great that we never have to worry about Brett?"

I wasn't sure how to respond, thinking to myself that, on the contrary, we're going to have to worry about Brett for the rest of our lives.

But Bob went on to say, "...we never have to worry about him making bad choices, or worry about people hurting his feelings...we just get to love him and take care of him."

That's how Bob thinks, we get to love and take care of Brett. That's the selfless man my Bob has become and I was thrilled to be able to honor him with a 50th birthday party. As was evidenced by all the "fans" that came to his party, Bob is a very loved and admired man and I am thankful to be his wife and am overwhelmed with gratitude for the fabulous father he is to our three children.

I had the following short video made for him. The songs I chose are especially meaningful to us. I would love for you to watch it.
http://vimeo.com/17156788

When we come down for breakfast I am made aware of one of the many blessings of choosing Switzerland's L'Abri. As God would have it, we are here at the beginning of a term. The beauty of that being that no one knows anybody else. We are all new students. If we were here for a few days in the middle of a term we might feel like outsiders, as I imagine certain inside jokes and special bonds are inevitable after months of community living.

As it is we get to hear every one's story; how they heard about L'Abri and why they have come. There is the young British couple, both doctors and planning on giving a year of their lives to serve in Rwanda. There's the sweet guy from Finland who is not sure what to do with his life but is seeking God with all his heart and hopes to find direction during his stay here. Surprisingly, the majority of the students are Americans, apparently this is a rarity. All of them are wonderful. I am especially encouraged (for Caitlin's sake) at the number of kind, intelligent and funny single guys. Wow. The song "It's Raining Men, Hallelujah" runs through my mind. Not that she's looking, but it's just nice to know they're out there.

It's during this time of sharing I would give almost anything to be more like Caitlin. Her ability to draw people out is nothing short of brilliant. She has a genuine desire to know everything about people, but she's just as willing to share her own life and does so in such an engaging manner that they hang on her every word. I know I'm a proud mom, but I am convinced her particular brand of charisma is a rare gift. It takes me months to make the connections she makes in a few minutes. I don't doubt that she will maintain them either.

After breakfast we are given a tour and given some general rules and expectations. On a number of occasions we are reminded to pick up after ourselves as our "mothers' aren't here." Ahem! Someone's mother is here. It turns out Switzerland is a very expensive country to live in. Conservation, especially of water and electricity, is of utmost importance. Only two showers or baths per week are allowed and using a blow dryer or a curling iron could overwhelm the electrical system. Unfortunately, I'm not a low maintenance gal...I only feel half human without all the accoutrement's (blow dryers, hot rollers, make-up, shampoo, hair spray). It's not like I can use any of it on the sly either. I can just imagine causing the electricity to go out...the cat would be out of the bag when I suddenly appear with my big hair. No, I had to resign myself to a few days of showcasing my smaller than average head with my hair lying close to my skull.

The chalet we're staying in is a constant reminder of my sweet Brett. Before being converted over to housing for L'Abri students it was a children's home...way back in the days when special needs children weren't kept at home. The main bath on the second floor has a row of little showers against the wall. I imagine that they were designed so that they could wheel the children right up under the shower heads. Aww.

Each day we are assigned to work half the day and study the other half. Another beautiful gift of our timing is that Thursday is the only free day (plus a half day on Sunday). Our second day here is Thursday...and it's Caitlin's birthday. They provide us with packed lunches and we are on our own until dinner. We hike as a group into the nearby village and then high up into the Alps. We are blessed with sights, sunshine and fellowship beyond our wildest expectations.

This place is sooooo up Caitlin's alley. I know if she didn't have a job to go home to she would stay and Tommy-girl and I would be on our own. As it is she wants to stay as long as possible and instead of leaving in time to spend the night in Rome, she decides "we" will drive through the night. I kind of hope word might get out that I'll be driving all night and maybe get a light work load on Friday--or even a pass. Twas not to be the case. I am put to work dusting and vacuuming and when I finish with that, some heavy duty weeding. It makes me feel old and stiff and almost worthy of my (rather scandalous) decision to skip study time in favor of a hot bath. As I languish in the big, comfortable tub, I feel like I am enjoying a little slice of Heaven. The shutters are wide open to the fresh air and beautiful Alps. A charming British girl (but then, aren't all British people charming?) is down the hall singing away as she irons. She has a beautiful voice and the praise songs are incredibly uplifting. Does life get any better than this?

Everyone here is just so... lovable. Truly. I don't know how else to describe it. I know it's easy to be "all that" when you're in a beautiful setting, with beautiful people, zero crime, no news, total equality in working and living conditions and infused with nothing but good things...good reading material, good conversation, movies and tapes, but I am touched in a way I can't quite define with how genuine everyone is.

"Francis and Edith Schaeffer opened up their home in faith in 1955 to be a place where people might find satisfying answers to their questions and practical demonstration of Christian care. They called it L'Abri, the French word for shelter, because they sought to provide a shelter from the pressures of a relentlessly secular 20th century. As time went by so many people came that others were called to join the Schaeffers and more branches were established."
-- a quote from L'Abri's website.

I am so thankful Caitlin and I had the opportunity to come here. I know it wouldn't have been possible if not for Bob, my mom and Dane's willingness to take care of everything at home and I am eternally grateful for their selflessness.

I am not by nature a very fearful person. I even kind of like the adrenaline rush of being slightly out of control, like skiing down a black diamond when I can barely manage a blue one. So when I say I am afraid driving in the alps you know it is a legitimate fear. We are hopelessly lost. We can't find anyone that speaks English and we can't make any sense out of the non-English, enormous map I buy. At least if all else fails, our map can double as a pup tent and we can camp out under it for the night.

We should have been onto Tommy-girl's antics sooner because her bum steers always begin with the words, "500 yards, then turn left, then a sharp right." Always. Those exact words. It's like she's too stubborn to admit she hasn't a clue which way to go, and that's her default mode. It gets to the point where just hearing her say "500 yards" (even legitimately) gets my heart racing. Oh, no...not the dreaded 500 yards again!!!

When you leave a city in Italy you pass a sign with the city's name on it and a big red "x" over it. These signs crack me up, and I never tire of announcing each city's departure, "Hey, honey... we're not in Rome anymore" or "we're not in Florence"...or...well you get the idea. Anyway, after many hours of stressful driving in the mountains, I was sure I remembered seeing a sign with "Italia" on it and a big red "x" over it...a clear signal that we'd left Italy and were now in Switzerland. I'd never even heard of the Italian alps. Caitlin isn't buying it. She logically notes we haven't passed any border patrols or anything. I refuse to believe that all of this driving in the mountains hasn't even gotten us out of Italy and I squeak out a "Yodel-ay-hee-hoo!" every so often to keep Caitlin from her luxuriant napping.

I comment that all the cliff hugging roads, narrow tunnels, steep hills and hairpin turns are making me feel a little bit like Luigi in Mario Bros. "Except," Caitlin gloomily points out, "that when you drive off a cliff in the video game, little angels pick you up and put you back on the road." Oh! Well I knew there wouldn't be any little angels picking us up...maybe big angels welcoming us into Heaven, but certainly no little ones picking us up off the side of the mountain.

After failing to even locate L'Abri's city on our giant map, I begin pleading with God to let Tommy-girl cooperate. He graciously answers my prayer and she calculates a "re-route" and we are on our way once again. Sadly, Caitlin is right about still being in Italy. We do indeed have to pass through some sort of border patrol, but it's easy, they just collect money, give us some Swiss chocolates and send us on our way.

As we get closer to L'Abri Tommy-girl directs us onto "roads" that I am sure are actually bike paths. What happens if another car comes along? The paths are so steep that it is all I can do to press on the gas and let out the clutch without stalling out and rolling back off the road...and off the side of the mountain! I am terrified. Truly. As I look back on it, it was God's providence that had us meandering all over the Italian alps for so long because if we had been driving on these bike trails in the daytime, we surely would have come across another car (or even a person) and that would have been disastrous. As it turns out, one car is expected to back up into a little turn-off and wait for the other car to pass. I cannot even imagine accomplishing such a feat. Thank you Lord for Tommy-girl's obstinacy.

Even though Tommy-girl has led us up the right mountain, we still can't find L'Abri. It's not quite 11:00 p.m. but there aren't any lights on anywhere, nor are there any cars on the road. I tell Caitlin we have no choice but to wait for a car and then frantically wave it down. I think we have a better chance with Caitlin doing the waving. So when we finally see lights approaching, I send her out there, dangerously close to the road, waving frantically. They ignore her and drive by! I am dumbfounded. How could they do that? Aren't the Swiss supposed to be some of the nicest people in the world? But then I remember, they don't get involved...not in wars, not in anything, evidently not even in helping stranded travelers. Now what? When another car finally comes along, I urge Caitlin to amp up the franticness a bit. This car initially drives by too, but must feel guilty because they stop and back up. They point us in the general vicinity and finally, finally we spot the eight inch L'Abri sign.

We really don't know what to expect. We do know that it's not a resort and we kind of giggle about the very real possibility of being jerked up out of bed at the crack of dawn to begin our chores. I'm sure they won't be mollified with any sob stories about my many hours of white knuckle driving. We creep up to the dark, quiet chalet and softly knock on the door. After a while a sweet girl comes to the door and whispers they were expecting us earlier and that everyone has gone to bed. We whisper our apologies, briefly explaining our difficulties finding the place. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she quietly tells us that we'll get a tour in the morning, but for now we just need to go to bed. She leads us to our small room with bunk beds and whispers that breakfast will begin promptly at 8:00. Caitlin and I both relish getting under the covers, we are cold and exhausted and after a few whispered words of mutual gratitude that we actually don't have to get up at the crack of dawn, we drift off to sleep.

And so begins our stay at L'Abri...

I'm reluctant to admit how little I appreciate fine art and music, but as I'm even more reluctant to be a phony baloney I'll admit it here. There are few excursions I consider more of a snooze-fest than a trip to an art museum or the opera. But Caitlin does appreciate art and that is why we are in Florence.

I surprise myself with the awe I feel here. I stand in amazement at the sheer massiveness of the cathedrals, the soaring Gothic arches, the beautiful stained glass and all the intricate artwork. I am especially blown away by the fact that they were built centuries ago (centuries!!). I am glad I have read the novel "Pillars of the Earth" because it gave me a greater appreciation for the massive amount of work and genius that goes into building such grand, lasting structures.

If Caitlin ever feels a dip in self esteem a trip to Italy should cure it. Men are constantly telling her how beautiful she is. They even yell it out to her as she passes. I am beginning to feel even in more in awe of her myself. I see her wild blond hair, sun-kissed face, bright blue eyes and infectious laughter with new eyes. No wonder all these men are wild for her...who wouldn't be? I, on the other hand, am feeling rather old and invisible, which I actually kind of like. Well, the invisible part anyway.

While we wait to get into one of the cathedrals, Caitlin jumps out of line to get a gelato. A young woman with a plastic cup inexplicably picks me out of the entire line to beg money from. I try to look away and ignore her but she's insistent, she is right up in my face and talking non stop. I only have a ten euro bill in my purse and just when I decide to tell her to wait for my daughter to return with some change she reaches in and pinches me. A skin twisting pinch. Ouch.

Caitlin had an experience with a beggar too. She had risen before me to visit some churches. On the steps of one of them sat a very old woman with a plastic cup. Caitlin felt moved to put a few coins in her cup and touch her cheek. The woman took Caitlin's hand and gently kissed it. It brought tears to Caitlin's eyes. A kiss for Caitlin; a vicious, twisty skin pinch for me.

We take full advantage of everything Florence has to offer. We climb the 493 claustrophobic steps to the top of the Duomo where we have a spectacular view of the entire city. We walk back over the Arno river to visit a beautiful park with another breathtaking view. We do lots and lots of climbing, walking and shopping.

Unfortunately, the galleria that houses Michelangelo's David is closed just one day a week: Monday. We are there on Monday. We delay our Tuesday morning departure to L'Abri a few hours so we can see it. It is well worth it. It stands almost 18 feet tall and was carved out of a flawed, discarded piece of marble around 1502. I am moved by the incredible God-given talent that could carve something so magnificent from a chunk of marble. Even the veins in his arms look real, the musculature of his body captured perfectly...it is truly spectacular.

When we finally pull out of the city, Tommy-girl ever so properly and politely directs us on to the motor way to Switzerland. It is only when we reach the Italian alps that she starts pulling her mean shenanigans again...taking us on death defying, terror filled roads to nowhere. I am convinced it is only God's grace that brings us safely through them and high up into the Swiss alps where we finally, miraculously find L'Abri (a mere thirteen hours after leaving Florence). 

All the employees at the airline I work for were given two positive space tickets to anywhere in the world. Since my husband, Bob, doesn't have a passport, I decide Caitlin, my daughter would be my lucky traveling companion and I let her choose our destination. 

She had heard of a commune-style, Christian retreat in the Swiss Alps that she'd alway wanted to visit, so we decided on that. We would fly into Rome, see the sights there, drive to Florence for a day and then head up the Mediterranean coast to Switzerland. 

Our trip begins with an unexpected bump up to Business Elite (the international First Class). What a treat! You'd think flying on an airplane is a rarity for me as excited as I am to embark on our nine hour flight.

Caitlin and I yuk it up in our big, comfy seats, sipping on champagne and enjoying every delectable treat that comes down the pike. Unfortunately I watch two stupid movies and can't sleep a wink. I am insanely jealous of Caitlin sleeping soundly next to me, her mouth wide open. I begin to worry about the energy she is going to have after all this hard sleeping (she's even dreaming). 

When we land in Rome about 10:30 a.m. local time I've been awake for more than 20 hours. Standing at the rental car counter I feel an unfamiliar rumbling and cramping in my stomach. I say "unfamiliar" because I usually have just the opposite problem, especially when I'm traveling. As we wait for the car I'd booked for the wrong day (forgetting that we'd be arriving the day after our departure), I start breaking out in a cold sweat. I need to find a restroom, quickly. To my great dismay, I discover none of the toilets have toilet seats. Thinking I must be in the men's room, I go out and recheck the door, but no, the figurine is definitely wearing a skirt. I suffer through my bout without the heretofore vastly under-appreciated toilet seat. Apparently Italians want to ensure people don't linger on the toilet, as all of the restrooms I visit throughout the day are equally ill-equipped.

It has already reached 90 degrees and I am roasting in my black sweat pants and black turtle neck. It is not helping my whole "situation." Caitlin offers to lend me a more comfortable outfit which I describe as a floor length, strapless muumuu. Caitlin describes it as an adorable, flow-ey, floor length sundress. I don't care, it's cool and comfortable. So there I am, wearing my sensible tennis shoes with the floor length, strapless muumuu, made even more attractive worn over my matronly, thick-strapped black bra. Throughout the day Caitlin and I both randomly erupt in laughter at the picture I make...traipsing around Rome in a ridiculous get-up I wouldn't be caught dead in at home...an outfit that is soo not me.

When we locate our car (barely bigger than a bumper car), we realize it's not the requested automatic but a manual. Caitlin asks if I even know how to drive a stick shift.

"Of course." I answer.

"When did you learn?" she asks.

"When I was a teenager."

"When was the last time you drove one?"

"When I was a teenager."

When we finally make it out of the parking garage, driving in Rome is not too difficult, despite the lack of traffic lights, stop signs or any discernible rules of the road. We need to see all of Rome in a day because Caitlin plans on having dinner in Florence.

The first few hours of walking around I am doing okay, albeit exhausted. After waiting in line to see St. Peter's Basilica and getting rejected for admission (no visible knees or shoulders are allowed), I begin to feel like I really need to lie down somewhere. I remind Caitlin we don't need to see it all in a day, she can return someday... the only caveat being that I need to be, you know, alive for her to enjoy the benefits of my job. She agrees that I had better listen to my body and lie down for a bit, so after enjoying lunch at a quaint outdoor cafe we head back to our car that is parked in front of a church. I had envisioned myself stretching out on a pew in the cool darkness, but alas the church is locked and so I settle for sitting in our bumper car and closing my eyes for an hour or so.

Caitlin continues her tour of the city and when she comes back suggests we visit the Vatican and then head out for Florence. We dubbed our GPS Tommy-girl (taken from her given name of TomTom). Tommy-girl starts acting up, giving us one crazy bum steer after another in our search for the Vatican. Frustrated with her increasingly ridiculous directions, we finally give up, promising ourselves a return visit. After Tommy-girl gets us safely onto the ever so lovely Italian motor way, we pull into a rest stop and I give Caitlin a quick lesson in driving a stick shift. After a dozen or so "lurch and stalls" she gets the hang of it and drives most of the two and half hour trip to Florence.

Florence is beautiful. We look for one of the hotels that Caitlin has looked up in her guide book. We don't find any of them, but stumble upon Hotel Roma and take a quick tour, we love it but decide to make one more loop around to see if we can find a better deal. We don't find one. Hotel Roma is the ticket. Their rooms have toilet seats. Really, what more could we ask? By this time I have been on the move for over 30 hours. I am tired and hungry. My legs are beginning to ache. The first restaurant we try has a two hour wait. No can do. We stumble upon another one (not nearly as nice) a half a block away but Caitlin wants to continue on to see if we can find one that looks more appetizing. A walk around the entire block ends up being a fruitless "penalty lap." The food is rather bland but it fills the void and we blessedly head back to Hotel Roma where I fall into bed and sleep like a baby.

Today is my brother Jeff's 50th birthday. I can hardly get my mind around it. He certainly doesn't look 50. For at least the past 20 years people have assumed he's my younger brother. Not exactly a boon to my confidence...but understandable nonetheless.

As a protector, Jeff has been the epitome of the perfect older brother. I've always felt safe with him. When we were little Craig and I were both terrified of thunderstorms, especially ones that came in the middle of the night. We'd run to my parents room and plead with them to allow us to climb into bed with them until the storm passed, but we were always told to quit being silly and to get back into our own beds. So we'd go to Jeff and he'd always let us curl up with him....the three of us all huddled in his small twin bed. Comforted by his lack of fear.

After my dad's funeral I accompanied my mom back down to Florida and spent eight days there. They were the most difficult eight days of my entire life. I'd never witnessed such intense grief. I thought she would never recover, that I'd essentially lost her, too. I didn't know how to comfort her. I feared for her sanity. At one point I looked up every "doctor" in their address book and begged them to prescribe something for her, anything. Even if I had scored on some drugs she would have refused to take them. She said she didn't want to mask anything.

Neither of us took a shower for days. It seemed somehow like getting cleaned up would have been disloyal, a signal that life was continuing on without my dad. She had put a few articles of my dad's clothing in a ziploc bag so she could open it up and smell him. When the day came that she couldn't smell him anymore she curled up in her bed and cried such deep heart-wrenching sobs that I could hardly stand it. I was so unsure of myself, so unsure of how to respond to her. Should I give her the privacy to mourn in her own way? I could hear her talking to my dad and to God, would I be interrupting by going into the closed bedroom? Should I go in there and just hold her and cry with her? Or would my very presence stifle a necessary grief process? In the end I stayed huddled in my own bed, crying and begging God to give her the comfort I knew only He could ultimately give her.

At the end of the eight days, Jeff flew down. I've never been happier to see him. I could have fallen to my knees and kissed his feet in gratitude. He took over. The endless paperwork, the financial wrangling, all my dad's belongings, all the myriad of distasteful tasks that had to be accomplished that we were incapable of doing. He was just what we needed. It never occurred to me then to think what Jeff may have needed. How he may have needed to grieve.

My mom tells of watching him from their balcony as he sorted through some things in the trunk of their car. Unaware of being watched, he pulled out the ever-present tow rope, and as he looked at it and held it he slowly dropped to his knees and sobbed. Who knows why such a seemingly innocuous object would awaken such deep emotions. I don't know if it was because we never drove new cars or we just happened to be the hapless recipients of lots of "lemons," but a tow rope was as integral a part of our cars' accessories as a spare tire was to others. You just never knew when a towing might be necessary. Nostalgic memories of being towed must have overwhelmed Jeff at that moment.

We've relied on Jeff for all sorts of unpleasant tasks since my dad's death in 1999. Horrifying things, really. I don't know how we could have managed without him. I've never given him the proper kudos for always being willing and able to tackle the tough stuff that needed to be done.

Reflecting on Jeff's life today, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for him and wanted to acknowledge him as the unsung hero he is.

Happy 50th Birthday, Jeff!
I love you.