On Airplanes and Altars

in Old Town Stockholm, sometime close to Christmas 2000

enjoying Swedish summer, out on a tiny island, with friends and my sister, summer 2001.

Midsummer in the country. Summer 2001

Mason explores our 'garden'. Spring 2001

Madi and I Outside our Chapel in Tabby; Autumn 2000.

In August 2000 my life changed forever. We moved abroad. John had an assignment for 12-18 months in Stockholm Sweden. We left our first Texas home. I was scared.

And I was excited.

We traveled with 3 small children. We brought my sister to help us handle roudy kids or insolent travelers who couldn't handle our roudy kids. We got to Sweden. Everything was beautiful.
And inventive.
And timeless.
And ingenious.
And European.
And amazing.

I loved all of it. I loved our house that looked like a barn and had (I've always wanted one since) a WHITE kitchen. I loved our Pram, which came with a cool 'kid board' so not only could my little girls ride, but my 'big boy' too. I loved our British School. I loved the chocolate and I loved the trains. I loved being a grown up, doing things I'd never done before and learning that ;
1. The world is HUGE
2. The people in it are INCREDIBLE
3. I could love another people and culture as much as I loved my own.

I especially loved the people.
I learned from them. I tried to learn their language. They were so good to me, to let me try even though I massacred the accent and mumbled because Swedish words came out in Spanish most of the time.

The women in my church group, the Relief Society Sisters, they were my dearest friends and my closest allies. They helped me navigate the road ways and the train stations. They helped me learn how to cook without cream of mushroom soup (!). They taught me how to make Swedish buns and they loved me. They loved me and I loved them more right back.

Our time ended. We came home. I have always wanted to return. When memories of Sweden come to my mind I stop what I'm doing and close my eyes. I welcome those thoughts. I invite them. I remember the time when I was part of the greatness of the world and it was good to me.

This year John was invited to go back to Sweden. He will lead a 'crew' of 8 boys (one of whom is Mason) to Rinkaby Sweden for an International Venture Scout Jamboree. When we were asked if he could go there was no hesitation. Our son would be included. They could return to our 'second home' and enjoy it and remember, and learn new things and have new experiences which will make Sweden mean more to them than ever.

And I will stay at home.

The night the invitation came for John to lead this group, I entered my room alone. I cried out of jealousy. I didn't really want to lead the boys myself. But how I wanted to go back. I knelt and asked if I could be helped to make this a generous offering. To put the good of my spouse before my own desires. To place the value of time spent with father and son ahead of a selfish longing to see the tiny islands that make up the coastline of a country I love.

I want to make this offering. A willingness to set aside my longing to have an experience for myself and give that instead to my son and my husband. To set my selfish desires on an altar and give them up in the name of sacrifice and selflessness.

There is a story in the bible about a wealthy happy man who followed Christ and wanted to 'enter the kingdom' and be a true disciple. He approached the Lord and asked what was needed in order for him to be worthy. The first answer from the Savior was to love God and follow after His son, and to keep all of their commandments. The eager follower promised that he would do these things. Then the the greater challenge was given; give all that you have away, your possessions and your wealth, and leave those things to follow wherever Christ would lead.

The man went away, sorrowing. And kept his comforts, his goods and his wealth. He didn't have the faith to believe that by giving it all he would find himself and his joy would be made full. It was the hardest sacrifice that could be asked of him-the one he needed to make the most.

I think I know how he feels. I bet he wanted to give all that away. I bet he wished he was stronger and more faith filled. I am sure even more that he wished he could keep them and still be counted with Christ. But he clung to those things instead, and didn't place them all on the altar.

At the end of July my boys will board the airplane bound for a place I long to go. And I hope that in the days when they are gone my time will be happy at home. Full of joy at the offering I've placed on the altar. Sometimes I feel that sorrowful, and I realize my pettiness and the truth that I keep 'wishing it was me' a little too close to my heart. But there is still time for me to prepare to give it all, and I believe in a God who is willing to accept my whole heart whenever I have the faith to place it all, on the altar.