I am absolutely terrified of mice. It is beyond irrational. For the first time in over 26 years of marriage, we had a mouse in our house. I literally went to pieces. My initial scream of stark terror was followed by hours of sobbing. You'd have thought my life was over. I wish I was exaggerating. A known terrorist breaking into our house would have invoked less fear. At least I can envision myself taking on the terrorist...my hair is standing on end just thinking of catching a glimpse of that mouse again. It's a sad reality that a mouse could scare me more than a terrorist with a machine gun.

As flight attendants we are required to attend recurrent training every year. Since 9/11 we have had additional training on ways we could stop a terrorist attack. Situational awareness is key, and we are reminded of the various "weapons" we have at our disposal...scalding coffee to throw in their faces, oxygen bottles to bash their heads in with, fire extinguishers to squirt in their eyes, and various other objects you wouldn't ordinarily think of as weapons. We watch self-defense videos and even practice on a rubber dummy--punching his face, kicking his privates and poking his eyes out. I get all tensed up picturing and practicing all the ways I would hurt him. I feel empowered, really believing that a terrorist would rue the day he ever thought about blowing up my airplane. We are shown a video re-enactment of a foiled terrorist attack on an Israeli airline. At the end of the video, the Israeli flight attendants that were solely responsible for thwarting the attack are interviewed. They tell of running their carts down the aisle and blasting into him. As an aside, that's one thing I can't picture doing. Their airplanes must have much wider aisles than ours because I can't keep from bashing into every armrest, not to mention the unfortunate shoulders, knees and elbows that I clip on my way up the aisle. These Israeli flight attendants know they are in a life or death situation. The last lines of their testimony are (in heavily accented English), "after we subdued him...we took him out." Took. Him. Out. They killed him! Can you even imagine? No getting "lawyer-ed up" for a long drawn out trial, no referring to him as the alleged terrorist. Nope, instant justice. What's up with this alleged business anyway? Dozens of eye witnesses watch a guy shoot and kill people and he's only the alleged shooter? A guy ignites an explosive device in his underpants and he's only an alleged terrorist? Puh-leeze!

Anyway, back to the appallingly speedy little creature that turned my beloved home into a house of horrors. Are mice even capable of doing anything but darting around with lightning speed? Bob went into serious hunt and kill mode (he who doesn't even like killing flies). He chased that mouse into the wee hours of the night without success. He went online and researched their habits and all the different ways he could "take them out." He was at Home Depot as soon as their doors opened and purchased close to a hundred dollars worth of traps. Mercifully, the next night his mission was accomplished and we haven't seen or caught any since. The happy result of all this drama is that I've never felt more like a damsel in distress rescued by her knight in shining armor nor have I ever loved Bob more.

I recently reconnected with some old college friends. What a gift! I was reminded of why I loved them so much then and dearly wish I could see more of them now. Reminiscing is priceless, and I was surprised at how many memories we were able to retrieve from the "corners of our minds."

Robin, my old roommate, was almost as tall as me but weighed about half as much. My mom knew Robin made me feel like a moose and gave me the old, "you're just bigger boned than she is." I never bought into the big-boned, small-boned rationale. Seriously? The reason my thighs are twice the circumference of hers is because my thigh bone is that much bigger than hers? Hmmm.....anytime I've seen horrifying pictures of piled up skeletons or starving people that were practically skeletons, I've always thought they looked relatively the same size. So there goes that little theory.

Robin always had snacks in our room. Since I was forever trying to lose a few, I never bought snacks, but it didn't keep me from sneakily munching on hers. One day I came into our room and found Robin peering into what she thought was a toy surprise from her cereal box, possibly a little magnifying glass. She had accused me earlier of eating some of her "Donkey Kong" cereal, which I had flatly denied. When I walked in and saw her with her "toy" I was thrilled that she had somehow managed to find the missing glass piece from my watch. Busted. Not only had I been sneaking some of her cereal but I had pawed through it so much that the face of my watch had come off in the box. How gross, how mortifying. Surprisingly, I remember that Robin seemed more hurt than mad, or maybe it was just pure pity. As I've gotten older I've realized just how hurtful lying is. No wonder it's one of the ten commandments and on God's list of seven most detestable sins. Honesty is one of the most important building blocks of any great relationship.

Fortunately, God provided us with the greatest gift ever given: forgiveness. Robin forgave me (though she probably never trusted me around her food again).

Of course, no gift can surpass the sacrifice of God's only Son to redeem us, but I sometimes forget what a precious gift it is to be able to forgive each other. There are things that I've done, and things that have been done to me that I thought were unforgivable,  and yet, with God's help there has been forgiveness and healing. I am always inspired with stories of people that have (by God's grace) forgiven the seemingly unforgivable...like Corrie Ten Boom's forgiveness of that monstrous Nazi guard from the concentration camp. I love verses that talk about removing our sins "as far as the east is from the west" (Psalm 103), and that remind us to "forget what is behind and strive toward what is ahead." (Phil. 3)

I love how C.S. Lewis put it, "to be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you."

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).