There

Every night she has this habit of placing her head in the palms of my hands to fall asleep. There, in her crib. Me sitting in front of it, reaching through the bars. She places her head right there, feeling the warmth, smelling the skin, sensing the connection. The vivid chatter slows to a trickle. After some minutes one might think she is asleep.

Every now and then she moves her eyelashes. My hands feel it. Like little greetings from the wakeful state they signal the ongoing intense processing of a long day. There, in the dark room. After a full day.

Every now and then she utters some words. Words of her own making. Words with her own meaning. The air is dotted with a few familiar ones, too. Like little stars. There, in the dark room. After a full day.

Every now and then she says Papa, says Mama. And again: this lump in my throat. Mentioning us as some protagonists of her day. Speaking with such affection in her sweet, bright voice that I hadn’t thought possible for the intonation of a 1.5-year-old. And then she comfortably turns her head again. In my hands. There, in the dark room. After a full day.

Every night I have this habit of reflecting on the immensity of all the moments I experience with her. Some days it feels like a drowning. A pleasant one, vibrating with the fullness of life, affection, exuberance. Yet it is also a drowning in the unfair impossibility of storing all these moments as memories in my mental archive. There are hundreds of life’s most meaningful memories each day. Yes! Pictures are taken. Videos recorded. Ultimately memories made. But nothing would come close to the ability of storing every moment, accessible for future enjoyment, future reference, future delight. There would be hundreds – no! – thousands of memories inside my head, waiting to be revisited. There, in the dark room. After a full day.

Breathless

Sometimes the joy of being alive overcomes you with full force and takes your breath, so that – breathless – you can only shout and laugh relaxed-frantically at how beautiful and deeply satisfying life is. Funny to consider this beautiful illusion that any volume and pitch of vocal utterance would be able to do justice to the wonder of simply being.

Sometimes the weight of being alive in a broken world overcomes you as well, takes your breath, so that – breathless – you can only scream without voice, feeling your innermost parts recoil in sorrow and despair, nerves shattering to pieces. Countless pieces. Oh, this ill-informed illusion that any internal breaking could rightly reflect and do justice to the brokenness you witness and experience.

And then there is the Crucified. Hanging, like a laughing stock, between heaven and earth. Naked. Shattered. Breathless. And slowly, maybe painfully, things start to make sense. They are still horribly complex, yes, even more complex than ever before, because the Crucified reveals the whole complexity of life – but he infuses it with meaning. And having risen from the dead, he infuses it with the breath of new life.

Two strong words:

“Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.” (Hebrews 9:22)

“I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” (Jesus, in John 10:10)

It has cost life to re-give life. Something to remember… next time, when I am breathless. So that I may breathe again, and breathe fully. And essentially never having to stop breathing ever again.

I gotta eat…

Because I depend on it.

Because my baby depends on it.

Because I produce the food for a human being.

Because I cannot afford to lose more weight than is healthy.

So, I gotta eat.

… whether I feel like it or not.

… whether I have a lot of appetite or not.

… whether I have the time and leisure for it or not.

… whether the food available is fully to my personal liking or not.

I gotta feed myself holistically. I have to constantly have my vision and understanding of God’s kingdom renewed – and my love for Christ. 

… whether I feel like it or not.

… whether I have a lot of appetite or not.

… whether I have the time and leisure for it or not.

… whether the food available is fully to my personal liking or not.

So, I gotta eat well.

Because I depend on it.

Because my neighbor depends on it.

Because I produce food for human beings (“Feed my lambs!” John 21; Matthews 14:16).

Because I cannot afford to experience weight loss of my trust in Christ and the character that comes from it. (… as king B. in Daniel 5:27).

I gotta eat. Well…

Beautiful Neediness

The appeal “If you don’t become like little children…!” takes on a whole new meaning when observing a little human like my daughter.

When I nurse her, she wraps her tiny fingers around my thumb, holding it tight, not wasting the slightest thought on letting go. When we lie down next to each other, she throws her little feet and legs into my lap, on my legs, annexing them. It’s the most delightful occupation by a “foreign” entity. 😉

And then she rests her hands on my chest, as if she claims the whole thing. Her little body is curled up onto mine as much as is spatially possible. The whole moment is stripped of formality. There is no politeness whatsoever. No asking whether I still have other plans for the following minutes, whether I’m comfortable lying like that, whether she may occupy me as she does, or whether I like any of it.

No! Politeness is not part of the scene. Neither is consideration, tact, or pretense.

This moment is full, however, of the most innocent desire, fully understood by my child as entirely reciprocated by me. It’s dense of unbridled need, without shame or excuses. It’s heavily breathing the wish for closeness and comfort. This moment feels eternal in its beauty, character, and cosmic meaning…

… a human’s essence condensed into the 20-minute nursing of an infant.

Fragile Depth

Thousand little moments, seemingly insignificant fractions of time, strewn into the daily routine of care taking. These sprinkles of connecting, of locking eyes, of recognizing our bond, acknowledging it – and nurturing it some more!

There is a beautiful depth in viewing you as you, in being fully aware of who you are and of what I have in you. This depending on me being present, though, is what makes it difficult. Sensing you, truly seeing you, wanting to see you is not possible without intentional presence. In every necessary mundane moment, in every feeding, every diaper change, in every cuddle, yes, in every right routine can be seen the meaningful of the mundane – a moment like a pearl on a string of seemingly pale, repetitive instances that help(ed) create a bond, a story, and a together. But not if I am not present. My true presence – in mind, emotion, sensing – makes it deep. This my presence, however, is never just secure. I have to be intentional about it. I have to want to be there. With you.

Yet I know how often I am not there, wandering off in my sensing and thinking, not seeing the meaningful in the mundane, but trying to fill fleeting time with fleeting musings, imaginations, activities.

Presence. What a fragile endeavor. 

Man. Medium. Message.

” ‘The medium is the message.’ […]

Marshall McLuhan’s revelatory soundbite enjoys an awkward status in our industry. It’s often parroted but less frequently acted upon and in  fact pre-dated a period where agencies and brand-owners actively (and perversely) de-coupled message and media.”

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–> Laurence Green: Why the Medium is Still the Message (Campaign, Feb 23, 2018)

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Observing for some years now how message and medium relate to each other (in public as well as in my own life), this brief article by L. Green hits home for me. It is relevant for its primary audience – media, brands, marketers – but for sure also for every reflective human and especially for value-seekers and Christ-followers. After all, what was Christ if not the message imbedded in the medium and the medium in the message!?

Sweet Travel

Let’s travel, darling!

Show me the world – the beautiful places! Breathtaking national parks, enchanted villages, vast meadows of bloom, impressive cathedrals, ancient ruins, dreamy beaches, marvelous forests, provoking galleries, educating museums, secluded cafés, soul-shattering memorials, light-infused woods, buzzing metropolises, crowded subways, fine restaurants, productive conferences, entertaining shows.

Show them to me, would you please?

But also, take me to the grandest of beauties. To people who met God. To men who changed course. To women who found peace. To families who foster understanding. To guys who sacrifice for others. To girls who independently choose warmth. To people who infuse life into others by sharing their stories. Their visions. Their hopes. Their ability to wisely differentiate between good and evil in this utterly complex world of ours. People who undergird their stories with deeds. Deeds of authentic kindness. Deeds of unpretentious benevolence. Deeds of silent unselfishness. Building up lives. Working on communities. Healing one soul at a time. They themselves broken, but oh!, so beautiful.

Show me these beauties of the world. Each of them bearing the image of God the Almighty. The Eternal One. Show them to me. Let us meet them. Listening to them. Working with them. Drawing energy from them. Show them to me! More than anything else. So that I may return rejuvenated from our journey.

Yes! What sweet travel that would be…

 

[Photo Credit: @jordhammond at Instagram]

 

 

Give me Words.

Words of life. I want words. Keep your pictures. Keep your images. Give me words.

That my eyes may fast and my mind feast. That my ears may reawaken and pull the brain along. That they may run again like young children. And explore. And argue. And wrestle. And grow. Like children, without straining their gaze, yet learning to see. Without plowing through images, yet digging in views and panoramas. What a celebration that would be!

Give me words. Keep your images. Keep your pictures. I want words. His words.

Entlang der Linien

Und wir tanzen…

Das Gewahrwerden von Grenzen, das Anerkennen, dass ein Mensch an bestimmten Stellen anfängt und an bestimmten Stellen aufhört, dass seine Freiheit irgendwo beginnt und irgendwo endet, gehört meines Erachtens zu den schwierigsten Studien und Lektionen die man ein Leben lang betreiben muss. Tatsächlich ein Tanz um Grenzen. Ein unnötiger, wenn uns Nähe egal wäre. Denn der Tanz als solcher ist uns nicht wichtig. Die Nähe schon. Die brauchen wir zum (Über-)Leben. Die brauche ich zum Menschsein. Doch mit der Einzigartigkeit jeder menschlichen Persönlichkeit und jeder menschlichen Geschichte kommen andere Linien. Andere hochkomplexe Parameter für Liebe und Freiheit. In jeder Begegnung, in jeder Beziehung (und sei sie noch so platonisch, distanziert oder gar langfristig irrelevant) tanzen wir. Freestyle oder nach Regeln. Meist nach verschwommenen oder gar missverstandenen Regeln.

Die Aufmerksamkeit, den Willen und das Handeln des Anderen zu beugen kann grenzwertig werden und bis ins Unethische gehen – oder, positiver ausgedrückt, sich mühsam an der Peripherie des Wohlwollens entlanghangeln. Wo beginnt Beeinflussung? Wo beginnt Manipulation? Wo beginnt Zwang? Und zu fragen, wo sie beginnen, ist dabei ja moralisch noch ein Tick wertvoller als zu fragen, wo sie enden. Denn: “Wehret den Anfängen…!”

Die Unsicherheit und die Spannung, die man beim Tanz um Nähe und Distanz empfindet, kann bis ins Unerträgliche gehen. Es hängt letztlich von den Erwartungen, der Verletzlichkeit und schlichtweg der Liebe ab, die man in den Anderen investiert, ob die Spannung mild, mittel oder stark ist – leicht zu schultern oder nur mit Schmerzen zu ertragen. Spannung, die sich manchmal in Fußtritten, Ausrutschern, zu festem Griff oder mangelnder Führung zeigt. So ein Tanz ist halt komplex.

Nur, wo kann man Tanzstunden nehmen?

More Than Motivation: How Language Learning Is Like Life

Ever wondered how to boost your motivation for (re)learning a foreign language? Or how language learning fits into life? I mean, not just as another activity, but in a holistic sense?

Check out my article below, and let me know what you think.

More Than Motivation: How Language Learning Is Like Life