When the calendar turns to June in a few days, there will be a convergence of two major events in my life.  I turn 60 on June 2^nd, and a few days later, my youngest child will be leaving home for good.  I’m really fine with turning 60, though this decade milestone seems a bit more monumental than 50 did. But I’m a firm believer that age is a state of mind.  (Just ask my 86 year old father who still travels the world with his 88 year old wife.)  However I have mixed emotions about my baby leaving the nest.  I remember when I got pregnant at 38, her dad and I joked that at her graduation we may be mistaken for her grandparents. Thankfully that didn’t happen earlier this month at her college commencement.  But the time has come for her to launch out into the world on her own, just like her three brothers have before her.

For the last 12 years I’ve had at least one child in college.  Six degrees later (Drew racked up three in those 12 years) I’ve proudly watched them each cross the stage. So in this month of graduation celebrations, here are some of my fond reflections and lessons learned.

We were pretty green when our oldest started the college search process.  I remember taking him to a “college night” at our local community college.  It was overwhelming the number of schools represented.  But tucked in a little room were the Florida “Christian” colleges and a young representative from Palm Beach Atlantic University walked up to Drew, shook his hand, and proceeded to chat with him about his college for the balance of the evening.  We knew that Drew had found a fit and made plans for a visit to West Palm to see the campus.  The lesson to this story—those college career nights are a great way to get an introduction to many, many options in one event.  And start your college research early—sophomore year is not too soon.

Our second son was a totally different child than our first and wanted the big University experience.  The draw of going to a Division I school with a great football program spoke volumes to our athletic child.  So off to Tallahassee we went for a Florida State visit. We knew this was a great fit for Spencer.  We moved him into his dorm literally in the middle of a tropical storm, but laughed about it later that night over pizza with all the other families from our hometown who were dropping off their children. The lesson to this story—let your children each find the right fit for what they are looking for in a college.  One size does not fit all.

When our third son pursued the rival school to Spencer’s, the University of Florida, we knew this would make for a fun “house divided”. Cameron had a tight knit circle of friends during high school, and all but one ended up at UF. This made for a great continuation of these friendships, in addition to building new ones.  The admissions bar is set very high at many of the top Florida public universities, and probably the highest at the University of Florida.  Cameron received a deferred acceptance for second semester when he applied.  He didn’t mind waiting a semester to go to the school he really wanted.  The lesson to this story—if your child is going to pursue a “top tier” school, make sure they start early in building that well rounded resume and strong transcript.

By the time Ali was ready to make a college decision she had the advantage of having been on many college visits to see her brothers.  She decided to re-visit Drew’s alma mater, as she was still in middle school when he graduated from PBA.  Now returning as a prospective student, she took in the campus in a different light and knew without a doubt it’s where she wanted to go.  She auditioned for the dance program and waited to see if she would receive enough scholarship money to make it affordable.  Thankfully she did, and she would tell you it was the best four years of her life thus far. The lesson regarding private schools is this—don’t get scared away with “sticker shock” over the published annual tuition.  Most private schools have more scholarship funds to give than public schools, and their scholarships can come from multiple sources.

 

Here are a few other observations and tips that may help some of you that are new to this…

• The FAFSA is not hard to complete. This is that annual federal government document that determines how much financial aid your child can qualify for.  You literally just pull numbers off of your income tax return and plug them in. But be sure to write down your logins and PINs to make it easier from year to year.  Even if you don’t think you’ll qualify, it doesn’t hurt to complete it.

 

• I highly recommend having your college student work part time while in college. It gives them some “skin in the game” so to speak. My children worked a variety of jobs both on campus and off campus. I also think working some of those jobs made them realize the value of their education.  (Translation—I don’t want to flip pizzas for the rest of my life.)  Also it gives them less free time, and there is something to be said for not having too much free time in college.

 

• If it’s affordable, and available, have your child do a study abroad experience and/or a mission trip. Drew and Ali were both able to study abroad while at Palm Beach Atlantic because their scholarship money followed them overseas.  Drew’s semester at Oxford set the course for him to eventually get his doctorate in English Literature with an emphasis in Renaissance literature.  Ali’s semester in Italy has influenced her to pursue international dance opportunities. Short term mission trips are also a great way to expose your child to the needs of other countries and broaden their world perspective.

 

• Don’t sweat the major your child chooses. Embrace their interests and their dreams.  I ended up with a Theatre major, an English major, a History major and a Dance major.  To me the undergraduate degree is about proving to the world you are a learner and a finisher of what you start.  All of my children have a strong work ethic and some have been given job offers that didn’t necessarily line up with their degree.

 

• Don’t stress if the degree takes longer than originally planned. One of my sons asked to take a semester off and I panicked and told him he shouldn’t and/or couldn’t.  I wish I would have listened to him.  Another son told me after the fact that he took a semester off, and it was exactly what he needed. I balance this with saying when there are hard stretches, you still must encourage your children to press on.  When we were going through a great deal of family turmoil my child wanted to drop out of college, but I knew that would not be a good solution. Pray for wisdom in each situation.

This trip down college memory lane makes me realize what a huge chunk of my parenting years has been spent in this season.  From moving each of them into their first dorm room, to attending Seminole and Gator football games, to seeing them on stage in their drama and dance performances, it has been such a joyful part of parenting.

Now I’ll just keep my nest available always for their return visits.  It’s been officially named “Nini’s House” by my first grandchild Parker.  How beautiful that when one season ends, it overlaps with an equally beautiful new one.

 

 

In this holiest of weeks in the Christian calendar, it seems like God always brings me into a deep place of reflecting on the reality of His presence in my life.  I started out 2018 with intention to make it my “Year of Jubilee”.  I was reminded of the word “jubilee” while listening on a Christmas road trip to a Ron Kenoly song from the 90’s…

This is the season of Jubilee

Singing and dancing for you and me

Thanking and praising because we’re free

Oh this is the year of Jubilee

Everything that was stolen shall be returned unto me

Singing dancing praising shouting increase and victory!

So on New Year’s Eve I created a vision board and wrote on the top, “The Year of Julie’s Jubilee.”  Then I wrote a definition of the word I had found on the bottom, “Liberty, Restitution, Simple Living.”  I proceeded to add items to the board that I felt God leading me to include in my year of jubilee.  Some are practical, like going to the gym two to three times a week and financial goals, but most are relational in some way.

 

When I turned the calendar on 2018 I knew I would be turning 60 this year. For me that seemed like a milestone that was worthy of being intentional in celebrating.  In February I went snow skiing for the first time in over 20 years with my sons Spencer and Cameron in Colorado. For us to be together up in God’s beautiful creation was so incredibly life giving.  My brother and I had grown up skiing these slopes, and it was significant to be back on them, sensing the joy that would bring his heart.

Earlier this week I went with my grandson to introduce him to the beautiful ocean for the first time.  To see the wonderment in his little face as the waves lapped up on his feet was a moment I will never forget.

This past Sunday my daughter presented her Senior Dance Project Concert based on the book of Job in the Bible. In her concert program she wrote…

Job’s story mimics many of the trials and questions and revelations I’ve had during the last three years.  Job is a book of life, loss, surrender and redemption.  I’ve told my dancers that in the darkest of times, I’ve felt the closest to God. I hope today’s audience encounters that same closeness through our movement.

The 40 minutes of her choreography and dance that followed were an incredible rendering of Job’s story, but really each of our stories.  We will all face “Job-like” chaos in our life at some point if we live long enough.  My daughter’s sophomore year was wrecked with loss, but as she danced Sunday, I was overwhelmed with gratitude as a mother.  He didn’t let her pain go to waste.  He took it and used it to draw her into her sanctuary of the dance studio, where He would meet with her as she cried and danced out her pain.  Then He allowed her to take those experiences and weave them into this powerful movement that we witnessed on Sunday.  Liberty and restitution was all over that stage and filled that theater.

It’s in these mountain-top moments, I also remember the valleys I’ve walked through. I’ve had many days in the past three years where the pain was so deep I’ve screamed at God until I was hoarse. At times I’ve doubted the existence of a loving God. I’ve had phone calls from my children that left me feeling helpless as a mother with no way to take away their pain. I’ve had times with my brother’s children that wrecked my heart knowing they no longer had their parents on earth.  Some days are still valley days, but the overriding trajectory of all our lives, mine, my children, my nieces and nephews, has been towards restitution and liberty.  I share this to give those of you sitting in your own ash-heap some hope. There IS hope for your year of jubilee. I can’t tell you how long it will take to arrive and I don’t know what it will look like. But I think there is a sense of knowing when you need to stop reflecting on the past, and move towards a new future. For me, 2018 is that year.

I don’t take lightly the valley that Christ endured on the road to the cross… betrayal, false accusations, brutal beatings and horrific suffering until his death. But this Easter I will celebrate with joy what His resurrection provided for me and my loved ones… a way to climb out of the valley, and back to the mountain top, singing and dancing because we’re free!

 

As I’m wrapping up this weekend with my daughter before she returns for her final semester of college, my heart can’t help but be conflicted.  I’m so excited for her to be finishing up an amazing four years at her little university that has been such a growing place. But then there is the knowing that this will be our last Christmas break together, the last one where we get to just hang out for days on end.

Ali is my baby, my only girl, my princess, and now at 21, one of my closest friends.  Don’t get me wrong, I have a great relationship with my three wonderful sons.  They are my protectors, my go-to guys for advice on many matters, my friends. But there is a definite unique aspect to a mother-daughter relationship.  At times it makes me crazy, but more often it fills my heart with so much joy.

I’ve joked often that I was so grateful that I only had one daughter, and three boys, because daughters are so much more exhausting!  Ali shares her heart with me and as a result I feel deep when she’s hurting. My sons tend to give me sweeping overviews of the current state of affairs, sometimes blindsiding me with news that I didn’t see coming.  Both have their advantages and disadvantages!

When Ali started college back in the fall of 2014 we didn’t know all that would transpire during her four years.  She left with parents that were married, and now she has divorced parents.  She lived in a big family house in Celebration, Florida, and now she comes back to my cozy townhome.  She had a wonderful Aunt and Uncle in Omaha that adored her, and now they cheer her on from heaven. She had never traveled outside the USA, she has now been to ten countries.  She was just a sister when she left for college, but now she also holds the title of Aunt to her precious nephew.

We road tripped to North Carolina for Christmas a few weeks ago, and somewhere along the way our car ride turned into a trip down memory lane.  Ali started finding praise songs from her childhood and soon we were having an “old school gospel shake down”.  As often happens when Ali is around, it turned into a fun video that she posted on Instagram. I love the freedom in this video, I love our laughter, and it cracks me up how sometimes we were so in sync. It’s a wonderful little gift to my heart that I can watch when I miss her.

*Click on this link to share in our fun:  Christmas Roadtrip

I know as Ali embarks on “adulthood” she will thrive.  She will bloom wherever God plants her. As it is with all four of my children, I will be watching and praying from the sidelines.  I have a feeling I will have to board a plane to find her, and perhaps even travel across an ocean or two. But I will blow wind into her adventurous sails and let life take her where she needs to go.

 

 

Have you ever prayed for months, and even years for something, and then when it finally happens you are a bundle of mixed emotions? That is me today. For it is the day I’ve been hoping and praying for—the sale of our family home at 1011 Persimmon Street.

We moved into 1011 in the charming town of Celebration, Florida at the prime of our childrearing years in 2002. Our youngest was in first grade and our oldest was in ninth grade. My mother had passed away the previous year, and so my father helped us with a generous down payment on our two story Victorian home that included a lovely apartment for him above the three-car garage. I remember picking out the terra cotta tile so that our dog Houston’s golden fur wouldn’t show as much! We added French doors to the living room for the baby grand piano that would occupy it, in case someone wanted a quieter music session. Our daughter’s room had its own little “en-suite” bathroom so she didn’t have to share one with her brothers. We got a “Go Big Red” NEV (Neighborhood Electronic Vehicle) to get around town in and plugged it in every night to charge. The neighborhood pool and park were across the street, and Disney World was a quick ten minute drive down World Drive. We literally had the perfect house, in a perfect little town lovingly referred to by locals as “the bubble”.

Today as I stopped by the house one last time on the way to our closing, the memories flooded in as I walked through the empty rooms. I could hear Mike on the piano as I walked by the living room. I could see the furniture being pushed back against the walls in the great room as Spencer’s band played for their “Sunship” fans. Memoires of Cameron’s overnight “Halo” birthday parties filled my mind. We celebrated Drew’s high school graduation with a party at this house with so many theatre friends and teachers. As I walked down the stairs for the last time today, I remembered the moments of Ali coming down the stairs in her prom dress as we waited at the bottom to “Ooo and Ah”. We raised children in this home for 13 years. All of our children launched into college from this home. I remember walking back in and sitting at the kitchen table with my husband each time we had dropped one off for their freshman year, and feeling the loss of their presence. I knew our world would be rattled when our youngest left in the fall of 2014 for college, I just didn’t know how much.

We first put the house on the market in the spring of 2015. Downsizing made total sense, but sadly our marriage was unraveling at the same time. I don’t want to dwell on why our house took over two years to sell. It was complicated, messy, and stressful. Hindsight I would have made some different choices. But I’ve extended grace to myself, knowing that I did the best I could with the difficult situation I was in.

My children and friends have stood with me, interceding for this house to sell. My friends have shown up to pack, clean, and pray through this house. Earlier this fall my daughter shared that she had seen a vision during worship, of a new family in our home celebrating the holidays around a table. She told me the house would be sold by December. A month later she texted me after church on a Sunday, asking if the house was back on the market. (It had been off the market for a long stretch, and I was finally getting it resituated to go back on the market.) I told her it would be by mid-week. She replied, “Good, because God asked me if I was ready to let go. He told me we will have a contract this week.” The house went on the market that Tuesday afternoon, and within 24 hours we had a full price offer. Five weeks later we are done. The keys have been handed over. God came through. Not in my timing by any means, but He came through.

I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why it took so long to sell this house. I have many theories. Mike needed a roof over his head during the time he lived there after the divorce. I needed to have time to “reclaim” the house once he moved away, and heal from the some of the hurt owning the house the past two years had caused me. Lessons needed to be learned about persevering, and leaning on others for help. For a person that prides herself in “getting the job done”, it’s been an extremely humbling experience.

I wrote the new owners a letter this morning. I told them how much love had filled 1011 and I wished the same for them. I cried a lot today, with my husband of 30 years as we said good bye after settling on our final asset, with my daughter as we processed our bundle of emotions, and again when I crawled home and laid down for a nap. I woke up with sweet texts and phone calls of encouragement from friends and family that have stood with me during this long journey. Tonight I’m taking my son Spencer who is in town out to dinner to celebrate. And I think tonight I will sleep very well.

A dear friend shared this quote today with me from Shauna Niequist’s book—Bittersweet: Thoughts on Change, Grace, and Learning the Hard Way:

“There are times when the actual experience of leaving something makes you wish desperately that you could stay, and then there are times when the leaving reminds you a hundred times over why exactly you had to leave in the first place.”

1011 Persimmon Street—I leave you with gratitude for sheltering my family so very well, but it is time to say good bye…

 

This month I am sharing a blog written by my daughter when she returned from her recent time in South Korea. One of the most rewarding choices I’ve made as a parent is to encourage my children to go through the open doors God has put in their lives. Two of them have had the amazing opportunity to study abroad for a semester and I know it has greatly impacted the direction of their careers. All three of my sons live in other states, and as much as I miss them, I would never want to hinder their dreams and pursuits.

Ali was given the opportunity to travel to South Korea on an outreach to minister in dance with her college professor,  It included performing in the Goyang International Dance Festival with professional dancers from South Florida.

I love how God used this time to speak to her heart, and share His deep love for us with her new friends.  Here are her thoughts…

Before I left for Korea I felt like the Lord was healing hurt areas in my life that I had grown accustom to. He slowly started to remove lies I believed about myself. Most of these lies were about my body. Looking in the mirror I would typically say negative things about the way I was created. I was about to go dance with professionals in Korea and I thought my body was going to be an inconvenience to the people I would dance for. But slowly I started to be kinder to myself. When I looked in the mirror I would thank God for giving me a body that I could create art with, a body that was capable of proclaiming the gospel through dance movement. What was crazy was that my body didn’t change at all but it was as if it did when I looked in the mirror each day. Yes, I was not in the best shape of my life but I was going to love myself like I was.

Before departing to Korea I knew the Lord was going to test all I had learned this summer and use it in my ministry. I felt ready. I felt strong. I felt covered in love from head to toe. We arrived in Seoul, South Korea and I immediately noticed a shift in the atmosphere. When we first arrived in Seoul my professor and I began to walk around Seoul and take in all the people and sights. We ended up in the middle of a square and she pointed her finger up to the buildings surrounding us. As she was moving her finger from building to building she read to me all the plastic surgery advertisements and offices. There were more plastic surgery offices than there were places to eat. We piled onto a bus and a loud radio advertisement came across the speaker. My professor translated, “Do you wish you could get your nose, cheeks, mouth, and eye lids done all at the same time?! Come over to New Face Aesthetic Plastic Surgery.” I asked my professor how many people get plastic surgery done here, and she said most women do and many of them start receiving it in middle school. They cut their jaws to have prominent cheek bones, they make their noses pointier, and they sew their eyelids so they look wider. The list went on and on.

I couldn’t believe that this was reality until I entered the dance studio. I trained with college girls my own age and they began telling me about their diets and weigh-ins. If they were dancers, they were expected to be the thinnest girl in every room. I began to talk with one of the students who spoke English and share with her all the Lord was teaching me about loving myself and being kind to myself in the way I think and speak over my body. She became curious about the God that made me feel so beautiful and so loved. It was in this moment that I realized the Lord was using what I had learned to minister in a whole new way.

Now, I am aware that I can’t change an entire cultural mindset through one conversation, but Jesus can. I believe He can heal and reveal to the people of South Korea the beauty of being made in His image and the freedom that comes from grace.

God in His infinite grace took me half way around the world to deepen the truths that were already stirring in my heart. I’m so grateful for his provision in sending me to South Korea to share His love not just through dance, but with words of affirmation of His great love for each of us, regardless of our outward appearance.

It’s been awhile since I posted. I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that our world has been dealing with so many natural disasters that the thought of sharing my heart seems trivial and inappropriate when so many are facing physical destruction in their lives.

But I’ve felt a stirring in my writer’s heart to draw some analogies, to consider the parallels that natural disasters run to our own personal disasters. And if I’m gut wrenching honest, our personal storms can be every bit as devastating as the ones we experience from these incredibly powerful acts of nature.

August marked the two year anniversary of two of the largest storms in my life. I was glued to the TV two weeks ago watching the impending arrival of Hurricane Irma here in Florida, when all of a sudden tornado warnings started lighting up my phone. I thought to myself, “You’ve got to be kidding! As if a category 5 hurricane heading towards us isn’t enough to worry about!” It reminded me of August of 2015. My marriage was moving steadily towards the end, destruction of the family unit I held so dear. Signs of its impending doom had been there for months, probably even a couple of years if I had paid closer attention. Just like hurricanes, we have the radar to see these types of storms coming. The “spaghetti tracker” of my marriage was charted and on course for the day when I would no longer be Mrs. Michael Darr. I drove to the attorney’s office on the afternoon of August 20^th to sign the divorce papers that would keep this disaster on course. But what I didn’t realize is a tornado was happening at the very same time half way across the continent. Without warning, and with zero thought of something this horrific happening, my brother and sister-in-law were killed in a senseless head-on collision on an open stretch of road in South Dakota. There was no time to take cover when the call came from my niece the next morning that they had been killed. I was thrown into the most tragic convergence of storms that I could have fathomed.

I think it is very natural at the anniversary of loss for us to reflect. This two year anniversary of my disasters I found myself visiting my nieces and nephews back in Nebraska. I actually arrived on the anniversary of Ty and Terri’s funeral. It was such a great visit, staying with my oldest niece Emily and her precious husband and three children. Little Violet is now four and warmed up to me right away, asking to paint my fingers and toes as her act of love. As we sat there with the beach towel beneath us and 15 colors of nail polish surrounding us she asked, “Do you miss Nonnie and TyTy?” “Yes Violet I do so much. Do you know that TyTy is my brother, just like Theo is your brother?” I found it easier this trip to share funny stories and special memories with my nieces and nephews about their parents. My love for these four amazing children and my pride in how well they have handled their loss just keeps growing and growing. It brings me such comfort to be with them. To see them making great choices. To see them investing in eternal pursuits that would make their parents so incredibly happy. The hole left by that tragedy will never, ever be filled, but I already see God redeeming it. And I’m so hope-filled two years later, knowing that my brother and sister’s legacy is so secure in these four wonderful souls.

But my other reflection has not been nearly as uplifting. At the two year mark of divorce I don’t feel any better about it. In many ways I feel worse than I did two years ago. Ugly words keep getting spoken, I’m still financially feeling the drain, and it can be lonely. It’s not easy going from married for 30 years to single. Last weekend my sweet friends invited me to go to the Florida Gator home opener. I hesitated thinking about the whole “3^rd wheel” thing. But at the prompting of their persistent invitation and my daughter’s prodding, I went and had such a great time. (Thankfully I’m enough of a college football fanatic that I didn’t mind scalping a single ticket and sitting with a bunch of total strangers at the game.) I am sad that I don’t have my husband to share this season of life with. I cried on my last day of vacation in Europe, because he should have been there with me and our daughter, experiencing these “bucket list” places with us. When I spend time with our precious one year old grandson, I think of how much fun it would be to see his grandfather enjoying time with him. But that’s very unlikely to happen. Please don’t misunderstand me. I still know that I did not have a choice to continue my marriage for reasons that will go unmentioned. But I want to be real about the pain of divorce. It’s the hurricane that comes and leaves an impact for years to come. I’m still picking up debris left behind by its destruction and I probably will never get it all picked up.

People tell me I’ve been so strong through these storms, but I feel that “bubble of protection” period that God provides during the initial shock is wearing off a bit. I believe I’m entering a season where I will be digging deeper into my heart to see what needs repaired. I can’t say I’m totally excited about this, but I think it’s necessary, and I believe in God’s desire to see my heart healed. I’m beyond grateful for the grace He has extended to me these first two years since the disasters collided. I could fill a journal with the times He has used people in my life to lift my head and keep me putting one foot in front of the other.

We were discussing the hurricane and how we dealt with it at church last Sunday. After most had shared I said, “Honestly, it was a distraction from my own personal storms. And now that we are on the other side of it, I have to face those again.” But I love what our pastor’s wife shared from a reading that day. “Turn our Wounds into Wisdom, our Fears into Trust, our Guilt into Honesty.” Let it be so, Amen.

June where did you go?! I must say my re-entry into reality after my May trip to Europe was harder than I expected. But as it is with vacations, it was SO worth it! I joined my daughter at the end of her semester abroad in Florence, Italy. After her semester of study and adventure, we headed out on our own mother/daughter adventure.

Here are some of the stories of our travels and the lessons learned that may help you in your future journeys. I also wanted to share with you the beautiful video Ali created of our trip! Pour a cup of coffee, or better yet, a glass of wine, and enjoy!

 

 

1. TAKE THE TRIP! In the months leading up to this trip to Europe, I often had doubts pop into my head about the wisdom of spending the money to go. Was it the right priority? Did I have the funds to pull it off? I decided that it was more important that I go, than NOT go and regret it. It took some faith to believe it would all turn out well. I was sharing this with a friend when I returned and she said a wise person once told her, “Take the trip!” I couldn’t agree more. As I look at our video and see the smiles on our faces and hear the laughter in our voices, I’m convinced it was the right decision.

 

2. Plan ahead! Our friend that traveled with us, Abby, did an amazing job of figuring out our itinerary.  We started chipping away at the expenses about six months in advance. First I paid for my flights. About three months out, we made all of our lodging reservations and paid for those in advance. Then about a month out, we paid for some miscellaneous items, like the train fromVenice to Florence, the ferry to Greece, and the tickets to the Vatican. Once I actually got to Italy, it was just food, shopping and some local transportation that I had to worry about!

 

3. AirBnB is the BOMB! Most hotels in Europe are “double occupancy”, so with our travel party of three, we wouldn’t have fit in one room. So we went the route of AirBnB. (If you haven’t heard of this—basically it is individuals who rent their properties by the night through the AirBnB website.) We stayed in seven different AirBnB’s during our two weeks, and every single one was a unique and fantastic experience! Our locations included a third floor apartment on a Venice canal, an apartment a block from the Ponte Vecchio bridge in Florence, a Tuscan farmhouse straight out of an 1800’s movie, a penthouse in Athens overlooking the city, and a cave home built into the side of a cliff in Santorini! Our hosts would meet us at the place, check us in, and usually sit down and go over their recommendations of things to do, places to eat, sites to see. Helen hosted us in our beautiful flat in central Rome. A firecracker of a lady, probably in her mid-sixties, she greeted us with her arm in a cast. With her gravely smoker’s voice she pulled out the map at the kitchen table and told us how to navigate the ominous task of seeing Rome in three days! We were right in the heart of the city, and ended up walking everywhere! We spent 15 nights total in AirBnB accommodations and I spent less than $1,000. Do the math!

 

4. Pack LIGHT! Another piece of advice I received before traveling was to pack my suitcase, and then take out half of what I had packed before closing it. I did this and did not end up regretting it one bit. Many of our AirBnB’s were on second and third floors, without elevators.  We got fortunate a few times, like at our Tuscan farmhouse when the brawny farmer hauled our luggage up the two flights of stairs. But you can’t always count on that! (FYI—Ali did a ten day, five country spring break trip, all in one backpack. I haven’t gotten that good yet!)

 

5. Rick Steves is my travel BFF. I was introduced to this famous travel guru by my friends Mark and Michele who invited me over for a wonderful evening of sharing their best Italy travel tips a few months before I traveled. As I drank the glass of Italian wine they poured for me, I took notes, and then took action! They loaned me their Rick Steves Italy travel book. I downloaded the “Rick Steves Audio Europe” app on my smart phone because Mark said I should know what I’m looking at when I’m in front of it! So in Venice I tried the app out for the first time on the Grand Canal boat ride. It was amazing as he pointed out the ancient palaces, ornate churches and famous bridges that we passed on the canal. My favorite audio tour was the “Heart of Rome” walking tour. From the “panoramic piazzas” to the “fanciful fountains,” it was an evening of exploration I will never forget. The only place we paid to be on a guided tour was the Roman Colosseum, and I didn’t enjoy having to be in a group of 30 people, going at the tour guide’s pace, not to mention it cost 25 euros. With Rick’s audio tours you can skip, rewind, fast- forward, and take breaks when you want to!

 

6. Use a map! We discovered the importance of having a maps app that lets you download the map of the area to use without wifi. We used “HERE WEGo” and it worked like a charm. Abby was our navigator and always had the map with a pin dropped for home! This was always a comfort to us whether we were on foot, ATV, or bus!

 

7. Be adventuresome! As we were headed from Italy to Greece, Ali said to me, “Mom! The only thing I want to make sure we do in Greece is ride ATVs!” So when we arrived in Santorini at our AirBnB cave home, our host Aris recommended we rent a small car or ATVs to navigate the island. Needless to say, we chose the ATVs and had a blast! From the cliffs of the red sand beach on one end of the island, to the magnificent sunset at Oia on the other end, we zoomed around the island laughing our heads off. So when given the option of going conventional (a car) or adventuresome—choose the adventure!

 

8. Do your research. When you’re doing a trip of this magnitude, you want to make sure you hit the main attractions, and then leave room for the spontaneous stops along the way. We bought our tickets to the Vatican Museum and Sistine Chapel before arriving, and walked by two city blocks of people waiting in line to buy theirs. Also those little tips in the travel books usually turn out to be spot on. I had read that St. Peter’s Basilica opens at 7 a.m. each morning, and the lines usually don’t start forming until 9:00 a.m. So Ali and I got up early the day we were leaving Rome and walked over. It was breathtaking to walk in with no crowds, and hear the singing of the church service taking place! As we stood in front of the beautiful Pieta, with Mary holding Jesus in her arms, it was a sacred moment. I’m so thankful I had followed that tip to go early and soak it all in as we started our day.

 

9. Comfort over fashion. Don’t dress to impress. Wear the most comfortable clothes and shoes possible. When climbing mountains and ruins, you need hiking boots or tennis shoes, not your cute sandals!  I made the mistake of wearing the cute sandals the day we walked all over Athens.  As we climbed the rocks of Mars Hill I knew I’d made a big mistake and eventually had to go barefoot to get down safely!

 

10. Pace yourself. Europeans embrace the “siesta,” an afternoon break where shops close and people go home to rest and re-energize for the evening ahead. We tried to do this on most days, and it was a huge blessing when we did! Also pace the time of your meals so that you don’t go too long without eating. We didn’t do well with that the day we toured the Roman ruins and had to cut our tour short because we were famished. And finally, don’t pack your schedule so tight that you can’t do the spontaneous. Some of my favorite moments were stopping to hear the gorgeous Florence opera singer in the piazza with the carousel, watching the Roman spray paint street artist, throwing coins in the guitar case of the Athens singer who serenaded us as we climbed the dusty road up to the Acropolis.

There you have it!  Julie’s tips for a wonderful European vacation. Thank you for reading and watching, and I hope you have a special trip in your near future!  Ciao!

Thirty years ago I was eagerly anticipating your overdue birth! Due date—April 10^th, arrival date—May 4^th! All 10 pounds of you (without an epidural I might add)! I was a month shy of turning 29, and I find it a fun fact that you became a father this year just after turning 29!

But now here you are on the brink of a new decade! And it’s the perfect time for me to share some thoughts about you, and all that you mean to me.

Being a firstborn myself, I can appreciate your role in the family order. Just like the character Adam in one of our favorite shows, Parenthood, you carry out the firstborn responsibilities with strength. You are the one your three siblings migrate towards with their big problems and tough decisions. You are always there to listen without judgment, and share your perspective on matters. I’m so grateful for your relationship with Christ, and that you have His wisdom to draw on as you advise those you love (including your mother). Thank you for always being there for our family with an open heart and a listening ear.

Without a doubt my respect and admiration for you has continued to grow, as you have become a husband, and now a father. I love to watch how you honor your wife, caring about her feelings, investing in your relationship, working as a team to provide for your family and raise your son. I remember when you were engaged, and Mary was going through so much pain with her family dynamics. You were hurting so much for her and didn’t know how to make it all better. But you did make it better by continuing to show her your love, and taking her as your bride, and starting a new, fresh life together. And now your little family has grown by one, and precious Parker has filled your life with so much joy! You both are naturals at parenting and it brings me so much happiness to see you enjoying being a dad! It’s so fun to hear you talk about how exceptional your son is. It reminds me of how your dad and I felt when you were little!

I would be remiss to not reminisce just a little about you as a child. As I sat on the edge of my hospital bed on the day they said we could take you home I was suddenly filled with fear. Tears started flowing as I wondered if I had what it would take to be your mom. But thankfully those maternal instincts did kick in (along with a lot of help from your Grandma Schenzel) and we got through those first tough days of no sleep, figuring out nursing and colicky nights! Those first two years just with you were so special! (When I watch you with Parker it takes me back to those years!) But it got even more fun when you became a big brother. Pillow forts, Lego projects and pretend space adventures were all more fun with a brother. I started homeschooling you and it was a breeze. You took to reading like a champ and haven’t stopped! You dabbled in sports, but were more comfortable with a book, and eventually found your place on the theatre stage. When we would take you on mission trips during your childhood, all the high schoolers on the team would comment on your vocabulary. How old is Drew? Why does he speak like an adult at 8? Your dad and I laughed and would say, “Yes, we know, and we go to Drew when we need advice!”

To say you’ve made me proud would be quite the understatement. I tell my friends, “Drew got the best of both his father and mother’s brains—because he’s much smarter than either of us!” It was so wonderful to see you excel at Palm Beach Atlantic during your undergraduate years, including courting the beautiful Mary Beth Shaw! And now your seven years of graduate work will soon culminate with your doctorate. I know it’s been a very long road, but you’ve persevered, and with excellence. (Along with weathering the severe storms life has thrown at our family the past few years.) I will be the proudest mom at Mizzou when they put that doctoral hood on you, representing the years and years of dedication. (Mary will be the proudest wife, no doubt!) But as proud as I will be that you will be Dr. Andrew Darr, I will be even more excited to know how many lives you will impact as a professor. You will not only teach students about writing and Renaissance literature, you will infuse them with your passion, and be an example to them with your life. I trust that God will open the doors where He knows you will be used for His glory.

So let me close by saying thank you. Thank you for making motherhood a joy for thirty years. Thank you for being a wonderful big brother to Spencer, Cameron and Ali. Thank you for being a rock during the turbulent times. Thank you for loving your wife and son so very well. Thank you for showing me that my richest legacy in life will indeed be my children, starting with you.

I love you Drew! Happy 30^th Birthday!

Last night I spent the evening with my father and step-mother in their adorable Florida townhome. I asked to spend the night, so I could fly out of the airport near their home. I am on my way to see my 10 month old grandson Parker. I haven’t seen him since Thanksgiving and can’t wait to hug his little face and watch him play!

So on this morning flight, as I look out my airplane window, I’m struck with thoughts of the spectrum of life. This morning my 85 year old father dropped me off on the airport curb, and now I’m on my way to see his youngest great grandchild, not even yet a year old. And here I am in the middle of that 84 year spectrum, on the edge of entering the next “decade” of life, single, four adult children scattered across the world.

Dad and Gunn (my Swedish stepmom) have a little guest room with a comfy trundle bed tucked in the corner for the occasional overnight guest. The walls of the room are lined with family photos, her family photos on the left shelf and our family photos on the right shelf. In the middle are photos of their blended world, nine sweet years of their marriage represented. My heart aches as I relive so many of the moments in these photos. I miss the seasons they represent in my brother’s and my life; the excitement on our wedding days, our children during the early years…growing eventually to four each, our 2015 extended family vacation in Chesapeake Bay. Little did we know at the time how precious this time together would be.

I started a new book study with some of my closest friends this week. “The Broken Way” by Ann Voskamp explores living in our not-so-perfect world. Some of us wear our badges of the breaks for all to see; divorce, disease, death. In some ways I think these badges of brokenness are easier to bear than the silent ones; depression, anxiety, hopelessness. Much of my brokenness is evident, and my friends have rallied around me to make sure I know I am loved, that I do not have to carry the burden of my losses alone. But the deeper, hidden breaks are there and when they bubble to the surface that is when I have to breathe deep, whisper a prayer of “help” and know that the momentary anxiousness will pass. I know that God’s peace will again invade my soul and balance me out again.

As we enter the Holy Week of Easter, this year I find myself looking at Christ’s death differently. We are so quick to talk about the cross and what it did for us, providing for the forgiveness of our sins, allowing a way for God to see us through the eyes of the perfect sacrifice, dear Jesus giving his life for us to be made whole. I fully embraced this truth over 30 years ago when I submitted my life to Him. But now I am sinking into the depths of Christ’s broken body, what preceded his glorious resurrection. Here is where I am now in my broken 58 year old life. My Lord truly, truly understands my brokenness. He didn’t only go to the cross for my sins. He showed me that there will be broken times in my life, and he showed me how to walk the hard road of disappointment, betrayal, and even death. I’m embracing those difficult days leading up to Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. I’m trying to squeeze out the truth Christ wants me to see in how He responded during those darkest hours.

There is a sacred moment where I hold my grandson and he touches my face all over, my nose, my eyes, my mouth… It makes me laugh from way down in my belly, and I relish his innocence. And I realize how wonderful it feels to laugh hard and loud, with abandonment. Don’t we all want more of those moments in our life?

I woke up early today and peek in to see if my little guy is stirring before I leave for my two hour drive to the airport. Thankfully he is, so I go and pick him up in all his cuddliness. I plant him safely into his daddy’s arms, my firstborn son. And I realize how incredibly blessed I am at this moment. I have the wonderful beginning of a new generation to share my love with, even in the midst of my brokenness.

A dear friend texts me as I sit at the airport waiting to board. “Just checking in on you. How are you?” And I reply honestly that I’m rather blue, and not looking forward to some of the trials I’m heading back home to, but that I’m so blessed to have had the weekend with family.” And she reminds me that yes, my life is full of blessings and heartaches, and it’s sometimes so hard to feel them both at the same time.

Ann writes in her book, “In shattered places, with broken people, we are most near the broken heart of Christ, and find our whole selves through the mystery of death and resurrection, through the mystery of brokenness and abundance.”

Oh Lord, that I could live this truth out with trust, trust that you are taking my broken places and turning them into abundance. Today I embrace your death with deeper gratitude than ever before, and I know without a doubt that resurrection is happening in this tattered life of mine.

I just finished watching the season finale of “This is Us” and they left us hanging. Hanging on the edge of our seats for season two to see how Jack dies. I’ve been thinking about why this new NBC show has so many of us hooked, and I truly think it centers around Jack. Even though he’s flawed, we are drawn to his father’s heart for his children, and it makes us love him oh so much. The father’s heart, it’s undeniably one of the most powerful forms of love when done well.

So with that said, as my own father turns 85 today, I want to speak of the love he has given his family so very well. Many of you reading my blog know my dad, Don Schenzel. He was raised by hard working parents, August, and Nancy, but in a home that wasn’t loaded with affection or financial means. They raised their two sons during the Great Depression era and moved often, wherever the work could be found. I remember my dad telling me he was rarely in the same elementary school more than one grade. The work ethic they taught him has served him well all his life. He also inherited his mother’s gift for selling, and went from a career selling for Hormel’s to an eventual 30 plus years in real estate.

But I truly think my father’s greatest accomplishment is his family. Now that may sound a bit prideful, but I don’t mind if you think so. It has taken me getting to this season of my life to fully appreciate the man that is my father. Here are some snapshots of my life with my dad, and why I think he’s pretty special…

As a child I never worried about our family’s provision. Now, as an adult, I realize that when he quit his salaried job of 20 years, to start entirely over in real estate, what a huge leap of faith he took. We were living in Littleton, Colorado at the time, and he informed us that we were moving back to Nebraska so he could join Uncle Don’s real estate company. I was not a happy 7^th grader, moving from the Rocky Mountains to the Nebraska flatlands. But it turned out to be the best career move of his life. I’m grateful for the courage he had to make a big step like that, and that he shielded us from how risky it was.

My dad has always kept his promises. Part of the deal with moving back to Nebraska, was that he promised us he would bring us skiing once a year, a sport that my brother and I were just starting to enjoy. So every Christmas break, we would take off with our family friends, the Macalusos, and make the long Interstate 80 trek to ski the Summit. Once there, he would wake us up each day before sunrise shouting, “There’s virgin snow out there!” We would be the first ones in line for the chairlift, and ski our hearts out until they closed for the day. Those ski trips will forever remain in my mind as a testament to his commitment he made to us when we moved.

When loss has struck our family, my father has stood strong, but not so strong as to not show emotion. The first time I saw my father cry was when his best friend’s son was killed in a car accident while serving in the Navy. As we stood graveside in North Platte and listened to the guns go off during the military salute, he was shaken. Mike Fiedler was just one year older than me, and now he was gone, and I know he was hurting so deeply for his parents. When my Uncle Don was killed in a private plane accident a few years later he wept again as we left the cemetery. Don was both family, friend and business partner. Little did we both know, there would be even harder losses ahead.

During high school and college, I was definitely much closer to my mom than my dad. If I have any regret in our relationship, it would be that we didn’t know each other better during that season. He was a man of consistency, dinner with the family at 6:00 p.m., real estate appointment at 7:00 p.m. It would be rare that I would have time alone, just with my dad. But he was always there for me, and made the road trips to Kearney for college events, and helped secure my first apartment when I started my career at Arthur Andersen in Omaha. Both Ty and I always knew he always had our backs, and he still has mine at 58.

But I truly feel my dad blossomed when he became a grandfather. He has eight grandchildren that all respect him beyond measure. When we celebrated at his recent birthday party, I said during my toast that his legacy will live on in the lives of his eight incredible grandchildren. Ask any of them, and they will have stories about grandpa; trips he took them on, cousin sleepovers at their house, McDonalds Ice cream runs, hours logged pushing them as they learned to master the bike, money invested into their dreams. When my mom passed away he decided to sell their house and help both me and my brother build new houses with an attached apartment for him. Six months in Florida with us, six months in Nebraska with Ty and Terri’s family. He had his personal space, but he would also spend hours hanging out with family. These were the pre-teen/teenage years for his grandchildren, and they had the privilege of getting to know him even better during those years.

I respect my father so much for the husband he has been, first 44 years with his beloved Alice until cancer stole her from us. The day we received the news of her diagnosis sitting in the hospital waiting room together will be imprinted in my mind forever. It wasn’t a journey he and I would have chosen to take, but I’m so grateful we could do it together. Over the course of her many appointments, I would talk to the doctors and nurses, and he would sit quietly holding mom’s hand as I asked the tough questions. I’m so glad I was able to travel with them to M.D. Anderson in Houston, and then Staten Island Hospital in New York. My dad wanted to exhaust every potential avenue for a cure. I will never forget one of the final days my mom was able to get out of her hospital bed. As he helped her up, she had to rest in his embrace to catch her breath. He gently stroked her horrible patchy hair and told her she was beautiful. And I knew right then, I was seeing a love that was in its purest form.

After my mom died, my dad would tell me that he would never want to have to go through that kind of loss again, but he risked it when he opened his heart to loving my wonderful stepmom Gunn. Now nine years into their marriage, I am so grateful that he has her companionship. Their zest for life is admirable, and I know they both feel so blessed to have each other to share life with in these “golden years”.

But if I’m going to be honest, I wish I could change how life looks now. I wish with all my heart that my mom, my brother and his wife were still alive. I wish my marriage would have survived. I find it ironic that it’s down to just “two” of the original “four”. I wouldn’t have scripted it this way. The last song at my dad’s 85^th birthday party was, “What a Wonderful World” and I had the blessing of dancing it with him. Tears filled my eyes as I thought, eventually, it will most likely just be me, left behind for now. But as hard as our losses have been, they have brought my dad and I closer. And I remind myself that I am blessed to have a dad who has loved me well, taught me how to love my family well, and indeed has made my world wonderful in so very many ways.