The Unofficial Official (or, don’t cross on a red light)

Last week I returned, once again, to the local authorities for an extension on my visa which allows me to live and work in Germany.  The Landratsamt – Breisgau — Hochschwarzwald is like many other government buildings, functional and institutional.  There is a lot of concrete, and only one flight of stairs down has the feel of being subterranean.

I have spent a great deal of effort photocopying my forms and checking off lists of documents that are full of official stamps.  A hefty file folder sits in my bag and summarizes my basic existence in Germany.  As I stand at a cross walk waiting for the lights to change my thoughts begin to wander.  A few men are standing behind me, and a few other people standing at the street corner.  The men are loudly speaking a language that I do not recognize.  They seem to be having a conversation well known to them which is punctuated with what I considered to be sarcastic laughter, but they seem to be in good spirits.  I realize that in my own nervousness in going to visit the government building and its power-welding employees that I am probably feeling a bit threatened for no good reason.  A bunch of traffic drives past and there is a pause of absolutely no street traffic.  There are no cars, nor bikes of any kind.  I, and the several people gathered on either side of the cross walk stand and wait for the ‘green man’ walking light.  The three men behind, push and bump there way through the little crowd standing at the corner and walk across the street.  I find myself shaking my head along with the others, and seeing what looks like one parent across the road standing with a hand on the shoulder of a child, shooting daggers at the men as they amble across the quiet intersection with the blazing ‘red man’ crossing signal burning a hole in the grey air.

I find myself irritated that the three men have now successfully crossed the road, but now stop on the opposite corner as the crosswalk light turns green for pedestrians, so that they can turn and stare – no, stop and ogle – a young woman crossing the street.  The scene prompts whispered remarks and shaking of heads again from the other people gathered.

By this time, I think that I really don’t need the negative thoughts racing through my head prior to my visit to the visa office so I hurriedly walk past and ahead of the three young men still laughing and still rubbernecking the women crossing the road.

It isn’t a long before I turn the corner and see the building looming on the next city block and I begin to think to myself, “Do I have that form? Did I take that document?”.  Like checking for watch, wallet, glasses…I am padding myself down and opening my bag to check for the umpteenth time my list of items which I might need.  I feel a fool.  Now the three men are past me again and seem to be going to the same building.  This would not be unusual.

As it turns out, they are heading to the same building, and the same department.  And this is where I start to think to myself about my hidden anger.  Despite being 30 minutes early for opening time, there is already a line up of about 50 people, just for the ticket dispenser.  There are some changes since the last time I visited, notably, there are two security guards giving people, in a friendly way, instructions on how to line up, and how to speed up the process by having your Personalausweiß (ID like my Passport) handy, as your name and place in the line up will be required by the woman entering the information into the ticket machine.  Having an employee at the ticket dispenser is also a new feature, and it certainly seemed to speed things up.

This process did not seem to impress the three young men who now stood in front of me in the snaking line. For one, they did not seem to understand the instructions, despite the repeated attempts to clarify by one security guard.  Once the instructions seemed to be understood there seemed to be a lot of disbelief on a couple of accounts.  One was, that only one of the three had business to conduct in the office, the other two were just buddies or relatives along for the journey.  Only the one conducting business needed to be in line.  This seemed hard to understand that not all three needed a ticket.  The other complication was that the fellow which needed a ticket, had no personal ID in order to get a ticket.  He argued that he would use his friends ID instead.  This was also met with more clarity around the rules offered by the still smiling security guard.  To my dismay the one fellow left the line up and walked up to the front of the line and after some waving of arms and shouting back and forth this his two friends, or family members, tried to explain to the guard that he doesn’t need to wait in the line up, and that they don’t need a woman to help them at the end of the line.

This ended up to be the end of the line for the three men who were politely told by the still smiling security guard that there is a procedure and rules that need to be followed.  The three men left for home to get the necessary documentation, and I hope, a bit more humility.

These events are relatively uncommon, but they are part of the ‘gut-reactions’ that often lead to miscommunication and prejudice.  I know that I was dismayed at the behaviours around the treatment of women while crossing the road.  What I am left with after the relatively brief encounter is the professionalism of the staff, especially the smiling security guard.  Crossing on a red light is a cultural ‘no-no’ in Germany, and even Germans will have a laugh about this at times.  My own personal cultural taboo was crossed with what looked like the disrespect and objectification of women, especially women in some role of authority like a the ticket giver.

After not too long a time, I found myself at the front of the line and greeted the woman asking for my ID so she could see my name.  After saying good day, the woman looked up with stunned shock that I had spoken to her.  She even said this aloud and was glad to return a final greeting as I departed to look for a hard plastic seat for my long wait.

The procedure past the ticket dispenser is a long wait sitting in an uncomfortable chair glancing up at a tv screen waiting for the opening time to start and the various ticket numbers to start flashing next to room numbers.  There are all sorts of different tactics and behaviours for this wait.  Some people, like a man sitting next to me in a chair, rocks gently back and forth with breathing that sounds like he’s in a pre-natal class preparing to give birth.  Then there are those who ‘camp out’ with computers watching foreign shows and movies, spreading a small banquet over one of the few tables.  Then there are those, who are the opportunistic type that go from door to door in this circular hallway knocking quickly and then going in to the small office.  One such fellow did exactly this to the office door which was nearest where I sat.  A slightly tired and irritated voice of a woman came through the shut door explaining that, “No, you cannot just come in and jump the cue, there is a process.  No, I cannot help you with these papers. No, you will need to wait outside please.”  Then, out comes the man, and off he goes to the next door.

It was not as long a wait as I had thought until my ticket Letter and Number ‘pinged’ on the many screens.  I jumped up with my belongings and ran for the door like I’d won some jackpot.  A quick knock on the door before entering and an official looking across the desk asked for proof of my number so I gave over my ticket.  I was asked, “What do you want?” and I blurted out a very long German word which basically means a-permission-to-sit in the country.  My file was pulled up on the screen of her computer and a trainee perched next to the official reviewed my status.

I was asked, “Did you get a letter from the state to apply? Or are you doing this on your?”

I meekly said, “I am doing this on my own,” thinking that this is where the rejection starts.

The Official replied, “do you have form X?”

“Yes,” I said. And I handed over the form.

(Then in the tone of her voice it seemed we were playing card games like ‘go-fish’) “Well, do you have copies of Y?”

Yes!

This went on a few more times as I handed over documents and letters and stamped copies of translations.  I brought out of my bag the entire file folder with orange label tabs as a statement that I was well prepared.

“Herr Parsons, please wait in the hallway until you see your number again. We will deliberate your case.”

In twenty minutes a few other officials came and went from the office as I tried to imagine their thoughts from the expressions on their faces.

Eventually my number came up again, to the astonishment of the crowd around me, and I returned to the office.  In the end, I got another appointment not during business hours and with ‘no ticket’ required to bring a photo along with my passport.  I was then presented with a small document giving permission to stay in the country for a few more months, a “fiction”, or an unofficial official document until my personal card arrives for pick up.

I can stay in the country, thankfully, and the extra document helps cover the gap of an old visa until the new Personalausweiß arrives.

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Lost in Translation

Hier ist mein Versuch, einen Blogbeitrag auf Deutsch zu schreiben. Es wird kurz sein!

Ich hatte die unrealistische Idee, dass ich in eine sehr kurzer Zeit (etwa ein Jahr) fließend sprechen würde. Ich kann jedoch viel Deutsch verstehen, und auch nur deutsches Fernsehen, Filme schauen und deutsches Radio hören. Es gibt sicherlich Momente, in denen ich das Gefühl habe, in meinem Deutsch angekommen zu sein, und andere Momente, in denen ich das Gefühl habe, einen Schritt zurück gegangen zu sein.

Ich habe heute gemerkt, dass sich für mich in den Jahren hier in und um Freiburg Deutschland viel verändert hat. Ich kenne die Straßen und wie ich mich fortbewege. Ich kann auf einer bestimmten Ebene kommunizieren. Was hat mich veranlasst, an die frühen Tage in Deutschland zu denken? Ich sehe zufällig einen Student aus meinem Sprach- und Integrationsunterricht. Gemeinsam haben wir gemerkt, dass wir in Deutschland leben und arbeiten und besser miteinander kommunizieren können als zuvor. Da es keine vorherige gemeinsame Sprache gab, auf die man sich verlassen konnte, da er kein Wort Englisch spricht und mein Solvakian schrecklich ist, war die Veränderung wirklich riesig.

Jetzt Antwort ich auf deutsche E-Mails von unterwegs, aber merke, dass selbst meine Rechtschreibung und Grammatik nicht oft richtig sind. Und ich viele Fehler mache, aber ich bin besser als vorher. Früher habe ich meinestest einen Tag gebraucht, um eine deutsche E-Mail zu versenden, und jetzt sende ich mehrere am Tag. Die Rechtschreibfehler beschuldige ich Autokorrektur. Wenn Sie andere Sprachen kennen, war sicherlich nützlich, wenn wir auf Reisen waren, wie wir in Frankreich bei einem kürzlichen Familienurlaub erlebt hatten – der Kellner (der auch mehrsprachig war) war verwirrt, wenn wir Englisch, Französisch oder Deutsch sprachen.

In the Dog House?

Actually not the dog house, but the dog bed.  The warm weather (mid to high 30’s) mixed in with humidity makes for some changes.  As I don’t have any administrative assistance in the sense that I had in a previous parish (Hilary telling me what appointments were on and taking care of all the Sunday service sheets for two congregations) I find myself this week sitting behind a computer more than I would like to.  This administrative load is not an onerous duty most weeks, as I have my routines that I stick by to make sure I don’t get snowed under.  However, as I plan to take three weeks of holiday I am planning further in advance which means making sure the visiting clergy are well prepared, the volunteers ready, and the presentation built up for Sunday worship (we don’t use any paper for our worship services).  Being in the heat and sticking to the chair and desk are now hazards of the job, which is where the dogs bed comes into action.

My wife found at Aldi or Lidl a cheap cooling mat for the dog.  Apparently this extraordinary mat is non-toxic which is a big plus when it comes to our dog Skippy who still tends to chew up beds.  The blue cooling dog bed turns out not to be at all popular with the dog who viewed it with deep suspicion, preferring to lay motionless on the tile floors as a way of remaining cool.  Today I decided to try out the dog mat at my desk having it migrate under foot so that I’d feel cooler.  Just like a dog which creeps with affection slowly up onto your laps as you sit on the sofa the dog bed has made its way to my chair and it really does work. Whatever magic is inside this blue pad is certainly working.

It is too bad that all of us cannot find relief from the heat.  The river that runs through the village has dried up for the most part, only pools remain at this point downstream and a smell of decaying fish fills the air every so often.  Two little boys were busy with net and bucket taking some of the trout out and carrying them up stream to larger pools of water.  Apparently this is a normal summer occurrence to have the rivers run dry around Freiburg (so far it has happened every year we have lived here), but it still surprises me.  Waterfalls run wild year round in the river behind my parents house in Canada, even with small pools that we can swim in when the weather is warm.  Even when we don’t have the rivers running dry there are certainly other concerns to be aware of when out along the trails.  IMG_20180530_171030#1

In the church we have had, and will continue to have a run on baptisms.  As we do not own the building, rather rent from the German church, the protestant tradition of having a shallow bowl of water on the Lord’s table as a baptism font.  Certainly, not every church is in this situation as I have seen plenty of massive old stone fonts in other churches, but this is not the local experience at least in our church building.  Water is a unique symbol where we can say it can give and take.  Too little water is not good, neither is too much water.  Freiburg may feel dry, but Japan seems to be washed out.  After a hot Sunday baptism service with a church so full of people that there was standing room only I was secretly thinking that a parishioner might do the church equivalent to the sports team prank in which team members pick up the large field side drink cooler and pour it all over the coach after wining the game.  Even though the weather is hot, I still pray that that one child (and others) experienced the refreshing life-giving waters of baptism.

Wise Ones on Humour

One of the many church groups that meets from month to month is called The Wise Ones and it is for people who retired.  The group is facilitated by a capable group of women and men as it brings together people from a diverse number of nationalities and backgrounds for some light discussion, refreshments, and usually homemade cakes.

I enjoy coming to the group as an ‘honorary’ member since it is a while until I reach the age of retirement.  (But one can never be so certain nowadays as I recently met a fellow at a wedding reception who told me that he retired at the ripe old age of 38 after inventing some gizmo that computer companies are still interested in using).  I love being with the people who have so many interesting stories to tell.

Most months there is a topic that is discussed where memories can be shared and I am fortunate to bask in a collective wisdom.  Yesterday the theme was humour (which I spell with a ‘u’ because with out u it wouldn’t be funny).  Everyone expresses humour in different styles and forms.  I think the group tried to avoid the generalizations that some nations seem to be more appreciative of humour than others, but it is an interesting social phenomenon to look at how humour is used from place to place, and from person to person.

I have come across people who have found themselves living in Germany who have named an inability to use their sense of humour to their full potential and therefore, they feel diminished as a person.  Their sense of self shrinks.  Not only is there the language hurdle, but humour can be, well, different for cultures and groups than ones own preferred style.  German humour, at least what is on the television shows, tends to be very ‘heady’ and often political, and truthfully, some of what is deemed funny just doesn’t tickle my funny bone.  If you are someone who loves witticism and word play you may find yourself at a loss.  However, during our group discussion the question asked of me, “what is Canadian humour like?” has remained with me, and I am not sure how I could summarize it as it differs from person to person.  I do think that some of the funniest things, be they jokes or stories, are ones that emphasize the shortcomings of one own self.  To laugh at ones self seems to be important…at least for me.  However, I don’t know if that is a particularly Canadian attribute.  Certainly we have political satire and slap-stick comedy which appears on tv, and there were comedy shows which often had dreadful comic routines which we watched because we knew that there would be at least one ‘zinger’ that kept you thirsting for more.

In a former parish there was a young woman whom you would be hard pressed to consider a comic genius, as she seemed to be shy, moderately funny but not outwardly so, and to look at her, one could imagine her being an middle level office manager.  In reality she was a comic writer for a variety of Canadian comedy shows, like ‘Kids in the Hall.’  One would be hard pressed to see her as one of a team of comedians but she was cutting with her razor sharp wit and observations on life.  Be it comic writing, or stand up comedy, her personality would almost change, or morph, once in the limelight.

One of my favourite comedians was Robin Williams, and having met him once while he was hiking with his young family you would never have thought he was funny.  He seemed like anyone else a nice parent out with his children, but whilst on stage, or in front of a camera he became something completely different.  In some early documentary about William’s life the stage persona and the backroom persona were vastly different.  Which makes me recall a quote from Robin Williams that is reflective of a lot of humour and the people that we find ‘funny’, he says, “I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy. Because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anybody else to feel like that.”

German Education: Lions, Tigers and Trees

The school year is coming to a close and so begins the season of school projects, class parties, and general year-end celebrations.  The various activities keep parents busy either attending events where the children proudly show off their projects, or skills; or there is the effort of getting children to different locations be it a forest grillplatz, or a outdoor swimming pool.

For my oldest daughter she is staring in a theatre production where the children have written the script, set the scenery and will be acting out their show for two different groups of parents, family and other school children.  As for my youngest daughter, there was the year-end grill party where we all got to say goodbye to one of her much loved teachers who will be moving.  A few weeks ago the same daughter performed with her entire school in a circus.

The circus culture is alive and well in Germany with any number of travelling shows that make their way from village to village setting up a large tent in some generous farmers meadow.  There are also, to my surprise, professional circus performers that travel from school to school.  The children get a week of circus training in areas which they can choose to participate.  Students get to sign-up for their top three activities in the hopes that they will get to be part of the team in that particular area.  Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) ours was not picked for anything she signed up for – the top being fire juggling.

I will admit that my initial reaction was a bit harsh and critical as I heard that there would be no homework, nor classes (in the strictest sense) for a whole week as the children practiced their ‘routines’ in circus training.  Maybe I was just a bit jealous of the deal.

A huge amount of effort was put into the production of the circus.  Two shows were offered, each show being about 3 hours long (including the 20 minute intermission) and had all that you could think of in a actual circus.  There was music, song, trapeze, lion taming (kids in the lion costumes were very funny), clowns (not so funny), rhythm and dance, fire juggling, acrobatics, magic show and even intermission snacks and toys sold by the kids.  The large gym hall was full of around 300 parents for each of the two shows, and the decorations around the room were made by a team of kids working as stage hands.  The various acts all had special costumes and the adult supervisors were very discreet in their stage presence so as not to detract from the show.  After having seen the show, it did occur to me that it was a bit sexist in that all the flame juggling kids were boys, and all the trapeze kids were girls. I guess this is my own resentfulness in not letting my own daughter play with fire.

As for my older daughter who performs in her class production in the evening, she has recently had a two week school trip into the Black-forest. This two week long trip was a forestry practicum where the class learned about the care and maintenance of the forest as a economic resource for the country.  As well, the kids had to work every day helping to construct wooden tables and benches that are frequently seen all over the place in parks and forest.  The professional foresters helped to supervise and teach, and the day’s were packed with activity and learning.  The students returned home with a growing sense of appreciation for the forest and plant-life, as well as, a sense of pride in the work of some basic carpentry skills have all been the result of a two week trip into the woods.

This evening we are set to watch my oldest daughter preform in her class theatre production and I am sure that we will be amazed and entertained at what has been learned, achieved and celebrated.

Despite some of my personal challenges and disagreements with the way the school system works in Germany, on the whole, the process of learning is good.  While I still disagree with the ‘streaming’ of kids at an early age that sets them up for a certain path in life; I do appreciate the style of learning which gets the children outdoors and active.  The circus week and the forestry practicum have certainly added to the learning accomplishments of our children, and their parents have been entertained and rewarded with all the learning and accomplishment that is put on display at the end of the school year.  Lions, and tigers, and trees, Oh my! – we are not in Canada anymore.

 

Religious Education Class

In Germany students receive Religious Education as a weekly subject and the classes are usually divided into Roman Catholic and Protestant, with a small group of ‘others’ that have instruction in another religion, or none at all.  The classes may be taught by specialized teachers and/or clergy from the local area.  I know from my colleagues in the local German churches that a great deal of their time is spent in classrooms.  The Religion teacher for my youngest daughter got in contact with me to see if I would be interested in teaching the class about the Anglican Church.  I think the words, ‘fear and trepidation’, would nicely describe my agreement to come on a Thursday morning to speak about the Anglican Church.

I spent some time going over what I might like to say.  What, in a nut shell, could be something easy enough for both the students to understand, and that I would feel comfortable speaking about in German?  Needless to say I steered away from the Doctrine of the Trinity and Atonement theology because even in English I would have a difficult time with explanations.

Well on the morning of the class I packed my laptop into the bag and my daughter and I set off on our bicycles toward school at a little before 7:00 AM.  As we sped along the bike path I came up next to my daughter and said, “we can take it slower if you want.”  To which she replied, “Why? This is my usual speed.”  Well, as we zoomed along with me clearly lagging behind we made it to the school where many of the students gathered at the front door waiting for the classrooms to be unlocked and to greet their teachers.

The Religion teacher greeted both myself, and another father who would be speaking about an ‘Evangelical Free Church’ in the area, as he worked as the youth pastor beyond his usual ‘day-job’ as a health professional.  As the classroom door swung open the other father and I were presented with the Audio Visual corner which was a nest of wires and plugs for all sorts of makes and models of computer.  Having both laptops tested out and working I graciously let the other father present first. Phew! I though, I don’t have to present first, as I was already nervous as it was.

The students were very well behaved.  A ritual of lighting a candle and passing to each person gave the students a chance to say what they were grateful for, and what concerns they may have in their lives.  I did not expect to be passed the candle, but soon found myself with it shining brightly in my hands.  I stammered out that I was glad to be here, but that I was also a bit nervous speaking German since a great deal of my work is conducted in English.  This seemed to break the ice for myself and for the students.  One student happened to be a new arrival from elsewhere in Europe and also finds learning German a real challenge. It seemed to brighten this pupils day when an adult made all sorts of grammatical errors.  Then it was my turn to feel more relaxed as the other father grasped the small candle and said that he also felt a bit nervous, so we were all a bit on common ground to begin with.

I watched with growing anxiety the first presentation which had a lot of slides and copious notes.  I began to think that I had totally underestimated what I should be doing with the class.  It was a good presentation with some questions to grill the students and I was not too sure that my work would go over so well.  The presentation was going on a long time too, and I wondered as I watched the big school clock which hung over the doorway, exactly how much time I really had before some bell would ring and students would want to change subject lessons.  Unfortunately, do to the gremlins that seem to always get into the technology, a video of a church outing did not work, so that seemed to put a spin on the mood of the class as they wanted to see, but could only hear what was going on.  That’s when my turn to present happened, and low and behold, the computer still worked for my presentation.

After a brief introduction, and having my daughter stand up beside me to help with any translation that might be useful, students arms were quickly in the air to ask questions.  I was stuck with what to do.  On the one hand if I let them talk now I may, because of nerves, loose my train of thought.  Yet, on the other hand, if the kids talk now it could be like what sometimes happens at church and an overly excited child gives an excellent second sermon about how God has been in their life, which would have the effect in this scenario of using up a lot of my time; which would mean, less speaking by me and more speaking by the kids.  In the end I quickly decided to hold off on the questions for the moment until I could at least get to the second ‘slide’.

The old Kodak slide carousel had its day, and could bore people to death over family trips and other adventures.  Now with electronic powerpoint presentations we can go on for infinitem with gigabytes of stored photos seeing possibly several hundred slides at a time.  So, I won’t bore you with the details of all seven of my slides, but I can say that I opted to have only pictures.  A picture speaks a thousand words anyway, plus no one could report me for poor German grammar.

Having briefly taught children at Christ Church Cathedral School in Victoria whilst being the Assistant Curate, I am a big believer in the pedagogical style of thinking like a child so that they learn what I want them to learn.  Images, stories and objects all help to make links from what may be called theoretical to the practical.  I may have an idea of the Anglican Church, but it just floats around as an idea until you tie it to something that a child can comprehend and then you link the idea or theory, with the practical and experienced.

Well, the photos flashed up on screen and we talked a little about each.  More and more hands were shooting into the air so I started to field questions and even got to learn some of the students names in the process.  I felt like some kind of relationship was growing and that I could really pull this off.  For me, the important picture was a photo of a Mohnschnecke a sweet desert like a cinnamon bun but with sugar and poppy seed.

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 Mohnschnecke                             (Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com)

It is often a familiar lunch item, or treat for kids so they all have an experience.  The students all agreed with me that the best part of the pastry is the very centre.  So, the Anglican Church with all its long and winding history, its debates and traditions, the best part of it, the central thing, is that we are called to love God, and neighbour, just as God loves us.  There were lots of nodding heads.

 

My presentation wrapped up with an activity in which each student (and  the two other adult’s) in the room had to find a partner.  I know that the kids play a game in the school ground called, Michael Jackson, where you quickly clap hands together, do silly dances, and swivel your hips like you are playing with a hoola-hoop and then as you pronounce each syllable of ‘Mich-ael-Jack-son’ you swivel your feet outwards making your legs spread further and further apart with each round of the game.  The game continues until one, or both people topple over because they cannot spread their legs any further (unless they can do the splits!).  In using this fore-knowledge of a fun and silly game, I had all involved use different words, and similar actions to remember that the Anglican Church has ‘Orders’ (Archbishop’s, bishops, priests, deacons), that prayer is very central to our lives, and that reading the Bible is important.  The classroom erupted into fits of laughter as the students tried to imitate my daughter and I as we slowly approached the point of tipping over.

 

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In the end, there was a small presentation from the teacher, a round of applause from the students and a small token of thanks which is meant to be a small oasis in the hot days of summer.  I tiny message in a bottle to take with me as I left the classroom and would enjoy a more leisurely bike ride to my next appointment.

 

On the Run

After making what was a rather hasty visit to Canada I realize that I have not had the time to write for a long time.  Much has happened, but little of it is of significance.  I recall reading the words of Roald Dahl in “Going Solo” that “A life is made up of a great number of small incidents and a small number of great ones.”  As well, what may be “enthralling” to me, is not necessarily memorable for all.

I’ve decided to change the template on the blog, and have considered going to a paid rate to get better services, as well as many other features.  Now that the GDPR rules are enforce I wonder if I should write anything at all, and if so, shall I still link them to Facebook, or Twitter.  All this is not the real reason I write.  The real reason I write is that I have an assignment in a Spiritual Direction course to complete, and well, the procrastination is ever present.  I have made several stabs at writing my paper on “How does one grow in intimacy with God?” and I am now in the editing phase.

Intimacy with God is a fickle thing.  There are times when some of the basics become just that – too basic – and I search for some other possibilities.  I am loth to write an easy answer that sounds like a self-help easy 10 steps to Spiritual Enlightenment.  At the moment, along with the classical examples of prayer and Bible reading, I have found running to be a quiet centre where I commune with God.

I have been active in running or jogging since living in Vancouver.  As a child I recall loving to run, until a diagnosis of Asthma happened and it felt as though I had a pillow stuffed over my face, or like I was trying to breathe through a thin plastic straw.  Eventually, having a lot of time alone and going to university, I was determined to run as some kind of exercise – an activity that was not expensive.  Over time, running along with walking became easier and easier.  The asthma no longer seemed present and I felt that I could extend my runs for longer periods of time.  I participated in the Vancouver Sun Run a number of times, the Grouse Grind Race, various seasonal ‘fun runs’, and several other Vancouver area runs.

The journey back to Canada to visit family was focused and short, but I wanted to include a race to help keep my mind set on some kind of goal.  I found that the Shaughnessy 8k was on so I submitted my entry form and fee and waited for the big day. The run had appeal as it was around the area in which I began running in ernest, and it was also a race for the good cause of cancer research.  Lapping up the nostalgia as I lapped the neighbourhood was what I was expecting.  What I did not remember was how hilly the route was!  From a steep initial incline, to the gradual rolling streets, it was a far cry of running for many kilometres down the German side of the Rhein!

My daughters stood on the side of the street screaming at me to run faster as the finish approached, and my father was able to be present for the race as well.  After having intended to go for a short run a couple of days prior to the race I became lost (poor signage) and circumnavigated most of a nature park only to return to the parking lot 5 minutes after other family members had finished their 4 km hike to see that I had completed 17 km of running through what was mostly elbow-high grass rather than trail.  Having now over-trained prior to the 8k race I felt unprepared and more than just a little winded as I climbed the first hill.  Running, with feet pounding the street, breathing paced, and sweat dripping down the forehead, are all paths to growing in intimacy with God.  “God, when will this end!”, may have been the prayer at one point in the race, but overall it is a style of meditation that draws me closer to God.

At the end of the race I was shocked to learn that I had won a door prize, and later, that I was called up for winning 3rd place for my age category.  And if you are thinking as my brother did; I can tell you there were more than three people in the 40-44 age group.

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And the bronze medal goes to…

Now having returned for some weeks to Germany I continue to run on a regular basis looking for scenic routes, for longer and longer distances, or even a quick jog that I can fit into my schedule.

Reading in a German running magazine the responses from various runners when asked if they thought it correct to greet other runners while out on your own run (I think only in Germany would this be an issue) I liked one gentleman’s response, in that he waves to everything but the trees because as he runs through the forests he doesn’t often see other people, so takes every opportunity to wave.  So far, of the places I have ventured to run in Europe, I have enjoyed Switzerland the most.  The scenery of both the Rhein, the Münsterplatz of old city of Basel, the parks, and the people (all of whom waved), have made it an enjoyable place to grow closer in intimacy with God.

Now that I have probably outdone myself in word-count and run-on-sentences for this blog post it is probably wise to head back to the paper on spiritual direction…or maybe there is still time for another run.