Amsterdam Asp

Getting Better All the Time

2007-01-07T21:09:00.000+01:00

Have you visited my new website yet: www.ericasp.com? It's a great site that keeps getting better and better. Just this weekend, we added a Pictures section that is especially cool, with all the latest (continually updated) images of our family, our ministry, and the city of Amsterdam...

Don't forget to make the switch to the new website! Go now (before you forget) and check your computer's web browser, to make sure that the new website is listed in your favorites (this blog is being phased out)... If you use an RSS aggregator to keep up with your blogs, why don't you just cruise on over to the website right now and subscribe using the handy syndication feature at the bottom of the right sidebar... And if you have a website or blog of your own, please be so kind as to direct your links (I love the publicity!) to my new website: www.ericasp.com (and remember, there's no better time to take care of it than right now -- before you forget!).

I hope you're not too annoyed with my repeated reminders for making the switch to my new website. But I know that such adjustments can take time (and if you're reading this announcement in this space, even after having seen the other two reminders, it seems that you may very well need some continued encouragement).

We'll see you at the new website (hopefully)...

Road Trip...

2007-01-06T14:40:00.000+01:00

Our family just got back yesterday from a road trip to Düsseldorf (Germany). Actually, I don’t know if you can technically call it a “road” trip because we took the train -- but you know what I mean…

[The remainder of this post can be read on my new website: www.ericasp.com. Don't forget to adjust your Favorites, RSS Feeds, and Links so you can keep in touch!]

New Year, New Blog

2007-01-01T08:36:00.000+01:00

Gelukkig nieuwjaar! (Happy New Year)! To start off the new calendar year, I'm extremely excited to unveil a new website: www.ericasp.com.

It's more than a blog (although it includes a blog and will, in effect, replace this more generic blog) -- it's a full-blown website. You can take a look for yourself, but the site currently includes an extra "About" section, a still-developing "Ministry" resource center, and an expansive "Recommended" section, offering recommendations for some of my favorite books, films, music, and websites. In the coming weeks, I (with much help from my good friend Will Lafferty) am also planning to add an extensive photo gallery and expand the resources offered from the website to include everything from teaching notes to Bible studies to stories...

Please add www.ericasp.com to your web browser's "Favorites" and your RSS aggregator. And please redirect your links to set up www.ericasp.com as my new blog (and so much more!).

Progress Report - Number Umpteen

2006-12-30T16:55:00.000+01:00

I fear that I may become boring at times, with my relatively repetitive updates about the seemingly snail-paced progress on renovation of our church's new ministry space at the Herengracht 88... But I sometimes feel that I don't have much else to talk about these days. Our church's relocation has been quite consuming -- not just on the practical level (i.e. number of hours in my week), but also on the physical level (I haven't really gotten to immerse myself in any good ol' fashioned physical labor since summer jobs during my early university days) and on the emotional level... It's hard to explain, but I feel like this project has a metaphysical dimension to it.

At any rate, we had a couple more "work days" at the Kelder this week.

We didn't get quite as many volunteers as I might have anticipated (or at least hoped for) in the week between Christmas and New Year's Day... But the people who did come by to help worked hard (like Avantia, pictured above), and we were able to take some significant steps forward. As you can see from the pictures, the two biggest rooms of are nearing completion. Ninety percent of the surface area in this area has been painted. Our furniture, appliances, and boxes have all been moved in, neatly stacked, and covered. We just have a bit of trimwork to finish up and some general touch-up work -- and then we'll be as done as possible... for the time being (the kitchen, hallway, and the two smaller rooms in the other half of the facility are still under construction by the contractors).

The Lounge area (pictured above) has become a bit of a personal project for me (although, let me be quick to point out there have been numerous other individuals who have also worked extremely hard on this space). In my original estimation of the renovation work required, I anticipated that this room would be a relatively "quick fix" (famous last words) in comparison to the other parts of the facility... However, we found ourselves unexpectedly spending hours and hours in scraping and sanding the ceilings... only to be followed by unexpected hours and hours in preparing the walls for painting... only to be followed by unexpected hours and hours of applying layers and layers of paint (some walls have now received no less than five layers of paint!).

But it's finally getting close to being finished (or at least so I assume).

There's been a lot of discussion about the choice in paint colors (for which I cannot take credit or criticism -- as I let other, more qualified, individuals make the decisions about aesthetics). Some fear that the shades of brown will be too dark and overwhelming -- creating a cave-like effect in a room with no natural lighting... But personally, I've come to really like the brown. It's earthy and strangely warm. It's reminiscent of the famous "brown cafes" celebrated for their gezelligheid in the surrounding Jordaan neighborhood of Amsterdam. The color seems to flatten out a lot of the imperfections in the walls, and it creates a nice resting place for the light. Especially once we get some furniture in there, and some artwork on the walls (it's intended to be a sort of art gallery, in addition to a lounge), I think it will be a very cozy space.

So that's the progress report from the Herengracht these days. Keep praying for us. I'll keep you informed of our progress (for better or worse)...

Which Way to Waterloo

2006-12-27T19:18:00.000+01:00

The Napoleonic allusion is a bit obvious -- perhaps even cliché -- but under the circumstances, I find it simply irresistible. A 170-cm (5'8") Frenchman trying to push my solid frame over the threshhold, nervously pushing buttons on his mobile phone and crying out: "Gyet out! Gyet out! Zis is my a-part-a-ment!" He did not care if it was as cold as the Russian tundra outside; he was determined to maintain his heading at all costs.

After a brief moment of resistence, I decided that it wasn't worth the struggle -- though I must confess that I momentarily considered how enjoyable it would be to manhandle such a thorn in my side. In the end, I chose to step deliberately and carefully out into the hallway. After all, I had just been trying to do a simple check-out -- a business formality, really. And if the diminuitive French tenant was going to handle things like this, then so be it.

The troublesome business relationship with this particular renter was symbolic of the greater struggle experienced by the non-profit organization for which I work, over the course of four years in trying to navigate the real estate market of central Amsterdam. Although the stichting had been set up to provide the legal framework for establishing a church in Amsterdam's city center, we also found ourselves enmeshed in the business world when the church ended up renting a space that happened to include a number of extra apartments intended to be used as short-term rental space for business clientele. It was a brilliant idea, really, to creatively generate income for the notoriously high start-up costs of a new ministry project... but unfortunately, the idea backfired on us. We quickly found ourselves in over our heads, under declining market conditions and general inexperience. And even now, as we're nearing the completion of our unentanglement from the situation -- which I can only hope and pray that we are -- nothing ends up coming easy.

In the matter of this particular check-out procedure, I had come at the tenant's request -- his urging, as a matter of fact. He didn't want to wait for our originally-scheduled check-out time; he wanted to depart for Paris immediately. So I obliged him... And the check-out was actually going relatively smoothly. The apartment was in decent shape. We were good to go...

Until the question of payment came up.

We were fully prepared to settle up with the moving costs, as had been (albeit reluctantly) agreed. But when I asked for verification of payment for his last three months of rent -- a routine request, really, given that the man was about to slip across the border and disappear into his native French society -- Monsieur Bonaparte threw a hissy-fit. His face turned the color of spoiled tomatoes, he paced dramatically while waving his arms in the air, and he just - kept - yelling. The cacophony was terrific: he was complaining to his friend en Francais, I was talking on the mobile phone to my colleauge in 't Nederlands, we were going back and forth with each other in English... And, well, the situation just kept escalating. If I do say so myself, I managed to stay incredibly cool, and calm, and collected while the angry Frenchman raged -- but my composure seemed to only fuel the tenant's rage. And I could see that we were rapidly approaching the threshhold scene, both literally and figuratively.

So under the hurried counsel of businessmen and lawyers, I walked away from the situation. Napoleon may be choosing to lay siege to the empty apartment -- and I can imagine that there may be more fireworks in the future. But it seems that our position is quite fortified: a veritable Moscow in January (or, if Biblical analogies are more your thing, you can think of it like Jehosaphat's Judah up against the Ammonites and Moabites, i.e. 2 Chronicles 20).

And even though the present situation presents some hassles and hindrances, I can't help but hope that Waterloo is just around the corner.

A Christmas Love Story

2006-12-25T15:27:00.000+01:00

Christmas is a season of love, and light, and magic… and well, so is this story. It’s a Christmas story from long ago—so long ago, in fact, that its precise date has escaped recollection. But rest assured: it’s only the day of the calendar that has been forgotten… because the rest of that day was imprinted on my consciousness like a footprint in a field of virgin snow.

It was, in fact, a snowy day—a winter day. Not like in the thick of winter—not harsh and dry and bitter. No, it was a day of new snow—soft and romantic, like cool white butterflies dancing. The gentle flakes were sparse and sporadic on the drive down to Columbus, and the two of us felt like we were in the opening credits to a romantic holiday film where something unforgettable happens.

Of course, as with any day consigned to the distant past, the memories of that day are vague and incomplete. I don’t remember parking the car, for instance, or stopping to fill up with gasoline at any point—though I’m sure we did… But I do remember walking through the zoo with her, gloved-hand-in-gloved-hand, two of the very few visitors to be taking in the subfreezing sights by the last hours of cool gray daylight preceding the more popular “Lights Before Christmas.” As we walked along the way, oblivious to the rest of the world, I remember stealing a moment behind the sea lion tank for a kiss… Ah, I remember the moment well. The kiss was sweet—like cinnamon—and long. Warming. It would not be decent of me to speak of it more than this… But it was a memorable kiss.

As darkness fell, we continued to wander through the zoo, which took on the appearance of the Land of Sugar Plum Fairies as the twinkling lights glowed from every snowy edge and orifice. We strolled past an open fire which was attracting the bowing adoration of many a frozen stranger. To our amazement, chestnuts actually roasted over this open fire—just like in the song. The experience seemed too classic to pass up, so we bought ourselves a bag: our first time eating roasted chestnuts… It turned out that the idea of the chestnuts turned out to be more appetizing than the chestnuts themselves… So that was likely also our last time eating roasted chestnuts. Still at least we could say that we did it together.

Shortly after the chestnut experience, the pace of the snowfall started to pick up. I guess you could say that it was becoming a snow storm—still a generally pleasant, romantic sort of snow storm, but a snow storm nonetheless. I still vividly remember the bombardment of thick, fat flakes—actually more like small snow balls more than flakes—being playfully tossed from the heavens. Since we had been out in the elements for several hours, it seemed especially appealing to hail one of the horse-drawn carriages to take a little ride, to enjoy the scenery from a different vantage point and to momentarily escape the pummeling snow storm. In the back of the black carriage, we huddled close as we listened to the clop-clop-clopping of the horses’ powerful hooves penetrating through the piling snow to the stone surface beneath—and then, as we rode, we heard another sound. A familiar sound, but strangely incongruous with the wintry setting. We listened again, more carefully, to verify what we had heard… and after a hushed moment’s pause, punctuated solely by the ticking equestrian cadence, we heard it again beyond the shadow of a doubt: thunder echoing through the gardens. The snow was familiar enough to us, born Midwesterners. The thunder, too, was a regular experience throughout decades of Ohio summers… But “thunder-snow”—it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Absolutely unforgettable, much like the rest of that day.

At the end of the evening, we found ourselves back on the road, driving home through the snow in a Ford Taurus the color of glüwein (I remember the car because it was my parents’ car, a special car). The windshields were wick-wick-wicking away watery snow, and we were enraptured in the moment, saying very little. Just listening to Christmas music. And holding hands… And falling deeper and deeper in love.

On that car ride home from the Columbus Zoo, in the confines of that Ford Taurus soaring through the snow-streaked night, I knew that I wanted to spend a great many more Christmases with the woman sitting beside me. I wanted to savor her cinnamon kisses, warm my hands in her tender touch, drink up the sights and sounds of Christmas together for years to come.

And that’s exactly what we’ve done ever since. The best part about this Christmas story is that it’s not over. We can’t just tack on some corny “And they lived happily ever after” line to finish out the account. The story of these two young lovers is still in the early chapters of its ongoing development. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Sensation of a Solstice

2006-12-21T20:43:00.000+01:00

Ever since moving to Amsterdam -- 52 degrees and 22 minutes north of the Equator -- this day has been an important day on the calendar: the 21st of December... the Winter Solstice.

There's simply no getting around it. The natural phenomenon of the Earth's revolution around the sun has a visceral effect on an Amsterdammer. The darkness creeps in on the day, like a dark fox hunting its helpless prey, circling in on the sunrise and sunset each day from June to December. It's unnoticeable at first, just a few minutes here, a few minutes there... But as the apex of darkness draws ever closer, the sensation is attacking, strangling, overwhelming. These days, we must will ourselves to get out of bed at the "usual time" -- even though the sun will do no such thing until hours later -- and again we are forced to don safety lights in the middle of the afternoon, as we ride our bicycles to complete a day which the sun is content to finish hours before us.

Ironically, when the winter solstice arrives -- the shortest day of the year -- it is actually a time for celebration. Not celebration because the day is so temporary, so weak, so dim... but celebration because it's the beginning of the end. From this day forward, each day becomes a little bit longer, a little bit lighter. And such a realization is a subtly significant source of hope.

To be honest, I can understand why the pagan religions of northern Europe -- the Norse, the Celts, the Druids, and whatnot -- celebrated the winter solstice as a holy day. And even though Christians are sometimes criticized for adopting such pagan holy days for their own holy days, I can understand why early Christians decided to appoint Christmas to fall roughly around the same time as the winter solstice. The parallels are beautiful.

The prophet Isaiah spoke of hopes for a coming Messiah in the following way: "The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine." Zechariah the priest, just a generation before Jesus echoed Isaiah's prophecy, saying, "Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace." The first chapter of John metaphorically speaks of Jesus as "the light (that) shines in the darkness." And Jesus himself later spoke of himself as "the light of the world..."

Anticipation and renewal and hope -- such natural responses to the beginning of darkness's end at this time of the year -- found their fulfillment in the birth of Jesus, the Messiah, the Christ, the Light of the world.

So... Happy Solstice. And Merry Christmas.

Getting There

2006-12-19T10:40:00.000+01:00

We're getting there. We really are. We still haven't completely arrived... but we're getting there.

I like the above photograph of my friend Jeroen, standing in front of an empty moving truck with his arms out to the sides as if to say: "Ta-da!" or "We did it!" or "Wie wist dat het zo makkelijk zouden zijn!?!?" It definitely seems like we're turning a corner in our church's relocation process, and yesterday was a key step in getting us to such a point.

Our work days over the last couple of weeks did not go quite as smoothly as we would have hoped. We kept running into unexpected obstacles (isn't that always that case?) -- some caused by our own stupid mistakes and some caused by unavoidable circumstances -- but we pressed through it all. And even though all of the painting is not completely finished (not even in the two big rooms, which we had been hoping to complete by this point), enough of it was done that we could move our church's vast collection of stuff from its temporary storage location to our new ministry center on the Herengracht (making it more accessible for when we are completely finished with the painting and avoiding the extra €400 per month in storage fees). So that's precisely what we did yesterday: we moved our stuff in.

Again, as with each stage of the process -- from moving out of the Zolder, to fixing up the Kelder, to moving into the Kelder -- we had the joy of working together as a team, as a family, to make things happen (this sense of teamwork is very evident from the above photograph, where Leslie and Maria offer "moral support" as Kor does the dirty work and Andrew stands by with a strange look on his face!). Seriously, I'm consistently surprised by how much fun we can have together -- even while we're working our butts off (and I should certainly mention that Leslie and Maria were not sitting down for the whole day!).

Working on the Kelder end of things (we had a separate crew at the storage facility, loading things up), I really enjoyed the time with Jozalien, Leslie, Kor, Maria, (myself), Andrew, and Claire (pictured above, from left to right). We decorated our piles of stuff with Christmas lights, we sang songs and pretended that we were playing "Tetris" with the boxes and furniture -- and we worked hard to accomplish our objectives for the day.

So you still couldn't exactly say that we're "moved in" to our new facility. More or less, we just transferred storage facilities. But still, I feel good to know that we're getting there. Langzaam maar zeker -- slowly but surely -- we're getting there.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

2006-12-16T19:55:00.000+01:00

I don't know what my old professors from BGSU's telecommunications department would think... or the production staff from good ol' WBGU-TV27... But for the first time in a couple of years, I've made a video.

My side of the family decided to send personal Christmas gifts this year which focused on our family connections (as opposed to adding to our collections of material possessions)... So this video pageant was our offering for the holiday (together with a personal letter, looking back on some old memories -- family members should be getting their copy in the mail soon!).

I thought others might enjoy seeing it as well. So... um, yeah -- enjoy! And Merry Christmas!

Work Days #2-6

2006-12-15T09:03:00.000+01:00

Things are moving right along at the new ministry facilities on the Herengracht... I haven't had much time behind my computer in the last week, and in fact I still have to leave for another work day in just a few minutes. But I thought I could at least post a few more pictures (from yesterday).

It's definitely a work zone in there...

The help from volunteers has been great...

We're having a lot of fun together...

Soon, we hope to be done!

Work Day #1

2006-12-08T07:03:00.000+01:00

We had our first real work day, yesterday, on the new ministry facilities at Herengracht 88. You may remember that our church has a history of "work days" -- not always with the most positive of connotations attached to such a phrase -- but let me tell you, at least from my personal perspective, it felt good to be in there yesterday, finally getting our hands dirty and making things happen together as a church community. The renovation project had been stalled for a little while, but things took a big jump forward yesterday -- and the situation is more optimistic than it's been for a long time.

I love the effect of sawdust on photography. From a purely technical standpoint, the tiny particles filling the air can be a hassle for getting images properly focused and properly exposed (as you can see in several of these pictures) -- but the sawdust lends such a quality of authenticity to the photographs. And to me, any such picture seems immediately nostalgic. Indeed, days such as these are significant days in the history of our church!

The above image is more or less the "standard" shot of the ministry space, and I've basically tried to take such a picture every time that we get a little bit further on the project. You can compare the image above to the picture taken on the 23rd of October and the picture taken around the middle of October. Slowly but surely, we're getting there...

While we were working yesterday, the contractors were also working to tear out the existing kitchen (with hopes of reinstallation later). It turns out, due to fire regulations, that we have to install some extra walls to seal off the kitchen and create a more divided space between the "Lounge" area and the "Studio" area. We were a bit bummed to lose the openness of the Kitchen, Lounge, and Studio being all together -- but there are some practical advantages to the new arrangement, and we kind of just had to roll with the punches. So it goes...

My personal project for yesterday was ripping out the mirrors in the Lounge. I've been looking forward to tackling this project for quite some time. There had been some squabbles with the contractor and the owner about whose responsibility it was to remove the mirrors (which we never wanted) -- but since there had never been an explicit arrangement ahead of time, and since the contractor was saying that it would be an additional €2000 to take out the mirrors, we decided that we'd do it ourselves. I decided, in fact, that I'd do it myself.

And after two hours of hard work, the mirrors were out -- and I was feeling a whole lot better about where things were going with the Herengracht 88 facilities.

This is ministry?

2006-12-06T22:28:00.000+01:00

Why did I go into ministry? Why was it that I decided to make a career of working for the church? Hmmm...

Was it so I could be involved in high-stakes business negotiations? Was it so I could spend my time talking with lawyers and mitigating areas of legal exposure for the church? Was it so I could familiarize myself with the real estate market in Amsterdam? Was it so I could write employment policies and training manuals? Was it so I could keep track of time cards and vacation request forms for a moderately-sized staff team? Was it so I could answer e-mails and voice-mails and post-mails? Was it so I could spend my days in administrative oblivion?

Or was it to make an eternal difference in people's lives? Was it to serve God and others? Was it to be a part of fulfilling the Great Commission: making disciples, baptizing believers, teaching the ways of God, changing the world one life at a time?

Hmmm... Well, I thought my reasons for getting into full-time ministry were more of the latter and less of the former... But during this week -- and this season of life and ministry in general -- it would be hard to prove it empirically. My time and my priorities feel like they've recently been consumed by lawyers, e-mails, contractors, phone calls, paperwork, and administrative what-not... These days my job can be a thankless job, an invisible job, an insignificant job. Frustrating, to tell you the truth.

Yet, when it really comes down to it, I feel that I am where God wants to use me, for the time being. I've been reminded of some of the last words of Jesus, spoken to his disciple Peter and recorded in John 21:15-25 -- who didn't want to fill the role that had been assigned to him, who wanted someone else's job instead, or who wanted someone else to carry out his assignment instead of him... I believe Jesus understood the frustration and entrapment that Peter was feeling in this conversation. Yet Jesus said simply and directly: "If I want (such-and-such a purpose for such-and-such a person), what is that to you? You must follow me." And that call to follow included a command to take care of God's sheep -- which I feel is a call that God has placed on my own life as well... Even if that means managing a staff team, or negotiating business transactions for the ministry, or mitigating areas of legal exposure for the church. These things may not be the reasons for which I went into ministry, but perhaps they are the very reasons for which God wants me to be in ministry this week.

And who am I to question that?

Sinterklaas (for the English speakers)

2006-12-05T13:36:00.000+01:00

Congratulations, my Dutch friends [note: "Congratulations" is the standard birthday greeting in the Netherlands, offered both to the "Birthday Boy/Girl" and -- oddly enough -- to the other members of the immediate family]! Sinterklaas -- your good saint, your dear saint -- is celebrating his birthday today. Yesterday, Elliot celebrated the occasion with his school (see the picture from the last post) -- but today is the real day!

We really have no comparison in American culture -- kind of perhaps, a little bit, with Santa Claus and Christmas... but not nearly so exciting, so hysterical, so real! It's obvious that the children (and also the parents, the teachers, and the people playing the roles of the Zwarte Pieten and Sinterklaas himself) enjoy the day of Sinterklaas such as none other in the Netherlands. Sinterklaas is not merely some strange disconnected symbol in this culture. Sinterklaas is a friend -- no, actually, a family member!

Therefore, I offer my congratulations to all of you for the birthday of your beloved Sinterklaas. Have fun, and have a great day...

Sinterklaas

2006-12-05T12:24:00.000+01:00

Gefeliciteerd, mijn Nederlandse vrienden. Sinterklaas -- jullie goede sint, jullie lieve sint -- is jarig! Gisteren vierde Elliot met zijn school de verjaardag van de favoriete sint van Nederland (zie foto boven) -- maar vandaag is de echte dag!

We hebben geen echte vergelijking in Amerikaanse cultuur -- wel een beetje met Kerstman (Santa Claus) en de Kerst... maar niet zo spannend, zo hysterisch, zo echt. Het is zo duidelijk dat de kinderen (en ook de ouders, de leerkrachten, en de Pieten en Sintje zelf) Sinterklaas genieten zoals geen andere dag in Nederland. Sinterklaas is geen vreemde figuur van het cultuur. Sinterklaas is een vriend -- nee, eigenlijk, een familielid.

Dus, ik feliciteer jullie met de verjaardag van Sinterklaas. Veel plezier en fijne dag...

You'd Never Know

2006-12-01T14:11:00.000+01:00

The first of December is a meaningful day for our daughter. It was this day, exactly one year ago, when Olivia underwent surgery to remove her hemangioma (a benign tumor, about the size of a golf ball, which had been bulging from the right side of her forehead).

Though she has -- and will always have -- a small, flat, colorless scar right along her hairline, we've never regretted the (elective) surgery from a year ago. It gave our little girl's personality a chance to emerge from the shadow of her rather prominent medical anomaly. It permitted other people to fully see the Olivia that we knew so well. It allowed our lives to become more ordinary...

Or at least as ordinary as possible with an extraordinary girl like Olivia.

Something Different

2006-11-30T13:54:00.000+01:00

It's been an interesting social experiment.

I've been growing a moustache for the last week and a half or so, and I've been intrigued to see the responses to the 'stache -- or, more accurately, the lack thereof. A moustache is not an extremely common form of facial hair for twenty-somethings in the world today -- and especially not in the Netherlands (where facial hair of any kind is quite rare). Furthermore, facial hair is also pretty unusual for me, as I almost always opt for the clean-shaven look... Yet oddly enough, the response to my moustache in the last week has been negligible. Almost non-existent.

I might have suspected that nobody even noticed -- except for the fact that those who know me better were immediately responsive to the moustache. Todd seemed concerned when he first noticed it last week, apparently fearing a flailing sense of fashion and mentioning the moustache like the way he would have politely muttered under his breath if I had left the fly of my pants open in public. Marco saw it on Sunday, and immediately started laughing and joking with me about it. Jason also noticed it immediately -- even though he only got to see it for about 30 seconds, on a low-resolution webcam image in a failed Skype conversation! So apparently, the moustache has been plenty noticeable. In addition to the comments from good friends, at times I've sensed that people are grinning at me extra wide, trying to catch a glimmer in my eye that would reveal if I was joking or not. But very few people have said anything about it...

Isn't that interesting? So be honest: if you've seen me in the last week or so, what were your thoughts about the moustache? Why did you or didn't you say something about it?

For the record... the moustache is gone now. I shaved it off this morning, just after taking the photographs above. I had just been taking advantage of the opportunity to grow out some facial hair in the absence of my wife (who is not a big fan of the prickles). The beard got too itchy, so I shaved it off. But since I was taking some vacation time this week and basically hanging out around home -- not feeling socially obligated to make a good impression on strangers out in the city -- I thought it would be fun to try hold onto the moustache for a bit longer. And, like I said, it's been an interesting social experiment.

Beautiful Body

2006-11-29T13:27:00.000+01:00

I suppose it has a lot to do with the fact that my wife has been out of town, in America, for the last week or so... But I've recently caught myself admiring the beauty of another feminine body. Not in an erotic way, mind you -- on the contrary, my admiration for such a beautiful body is completely honorable, I assure you. But I would be lying if I said that such beauty has gone unnoticed.

I'm just awe-struck sometimes by the way that the Body of Christ (also referred to as the Bride of Christ, or the Church) works.

Today, my mother-in-law and father-in-law are moving. Almost three decades' collection of mementos, appliances, furniture, and other miscellaneous stuff are being packed up, loaded onto a U-Haul, and delivered to a new domicile (which is actually a very old farmhouse that's been in the family for generations, but which has required a massive renovation effort to host the new tenants)... As you might anticipate, the project requires lots of heavy lifting, lots of cleaning, lots of physical and emotional energy over a sustained period of time... And it's all coming to a head today.

Yet here I sit -- typing at my computer in Amsterdam, an ocean away, while my children nap in their bedrooms. It's pathetic, really.

On such an occasion when family is supposed to rise to the occasion, when the call goes out for "all hands on deck," when a strapping young son-in-law (if I may so identify myself) could be extremely useful -- I am rendered useless, powerless, and ineffective -- constrained by our son's school schedule and the thousands of dollars that would be required to transport all of us back to Ohio to help out. Days like today are some of the hardest to be following God's call to live and lead a church in the Netherlands. Days like today honestly make me wonder if I'm doing the right thing, living with my family in a foreign land -- even if it may be "for the sake of the Gospel"...

In spite of the situation, though, I find contentment and hope in the fact that I'm part of a big, beautiful Body that's able to extend past the conventional constraints of time and space. My hands may be tied today, figuratively speaking, "holding down the fort" in Amsterdam -- but my membership in the Body of Christ allows me to have hands that are available, able, and active to help my extended family in this time of need. Even as I'm typing here in Amsterdam, ten strong, young, able-bodied believers should be driving the roads from Bowling Green to the home of my parents-in-law in order to offer the helping hands that are so desperately needed today. Old friends from our previous community of faith, h2o, have responded to the "nerve impulses" sent through the Body of Christ and are enthusiastically embracing the opportunity to be my family's hands and feet in Ohio today. Today will actually be their second trip to help! And if past experience is any gauge of what will happen today (which I'm quite confident it will be), the help offered by these young men and women is that of no ordinary "volunteer work force," or even the work of well-paid hired hands -- oh no, our brothers and sisters from Bowling Green will apply themselves like true family. Like the Family of God. The Body of Christ.

It's beautiful. I'm telling you: the only way that we're able to be active in "missionary" work -- serving the greater Body of Christ in Amsterdam -- is through the other members of the Body that allow us to cover our bases in America, that allow us to be financially supported in our ministry, that allow us to receive the spiritual protection that we so desperately need through prayer, that allow us to feel loved and supported on both sides of the ocean (let's not forget that we have a beautiful surrogate family on this side of the ocean as well!). The Body of Christ is a beautiful thing. Don't you agree?

The Puzzle

2006-11-28T21:34:00.000+01:00

We got this puzzle on Koninginnedag (the end of April) this year. Second-hand, of course, from the vrijmarkt (think of it like a city-wide yard sale). I don't really remember how much we paid for the puzzle -- not very much, I'm sure -- but it seemed like a nice little find. A 1000-piecer, with a painted image of the Dam, in central Amsterdam, as it would have been in the 1600s. For whatever reason, puzzles of Amsterdam are not very common...

I sorted through the puzzle pieces for a little while a few months ago -- you know, putting the edge pieces in one pile and the sky pieces in a different pile and so on and so forth... But really, the puzzle just sat on a shelf for half a year. That is, until my parents came to town (in the second week of November). Since my Mom likes to put together puzzles, and since a puzzle can be a good down-time diversion that offers an alternative to television and allows for casual conversation, we set up a card table in the living room and started working on the puzzle in earnest. Well... maybe not "in earnest." Maybe just a little bit here and there. But still, by the time my parents left (two weeks ago, now), we had basically passed the "point of no return" as we couldn't bear to simply scrap the work that had already been done (perhaps 10-15 percent of the total puzzle). So we kept the card table up in our living room and kept chipping away at the puzzle from time to time.

Marci pieced together all of the people on the plein... I built the paleis, in the left foreground of the picture... Over time, the picture slowly started to take shape. The chaos was ordered. The jaggedy surface was smoothed out. The holes were filled in. The confusing pieces (a person that actually turned out to be part of the building, or such) slipped into place, often in unexpected ways. The piles of pressed cardboard pieces became a piece of art.

By the time Marci left, a week ago, pretty much everything had been assembled except for the sky (it's always the sky, isn't it?). Unfortunately, a full quarter of the puzzle (if not a third of the puzzle) is composed of drab whitish-grayish-bluish sky (very true to the real skies of Amsterdam)... But I didn't want to give up on the puzzle. I didn't want the card table to stay up in my living room for another month, but I wasn't going to let a stupid puzzle beat me! So I kept chipping away at it. In between tending to the needs of the kids, or while I would be trying to think in the midst of my writing project, I would systematically work through pieces of the sky -- painstakingly bringing everything together. It was only this morning that I started to feel that the end was near.

But now I can say that I've done it! I finished the puzzle today... or at least I mostly finished the puzzle today.

The truth is that I came up one piece short. Our masterpiece is actually only 99.9% completed, and we will never be able to say that we completely conquered the puzzle. For being a second-hand puzzle, bought on Koninginnedag, for the price we paid for it, verification of 999 out of 1000 pieces actually isn't so bad... But the lack of completion still bothers me.

And if you've every worked on a puzzle yourself, I'm sure you know what I mean.

Me and the Munchkins

2006-11-25T22:31:00.000+01:00

I love my children. And I feel like I'm getting to know them better this week. Marci has gone out of town for eleven days, as she's helping her parents move out of the home in which she grew up -- thus I am running the household on my own for the time being. And although it can be quite a heavy load to keep the house clean, maintain a regular routine, prepare healthy food for three of us, and provide emotional and spiritual leadership for two young children (full-time "stay-at-home" Moms deserve so much respect!), I've actually been enjoying the time with me and the "munchkins." It's like I've been getting to see sides of them that I've never fully noticed before...

In particular, I got to know my daughter a little bit better earlier this week, as we pedalled through the streets of Amsterdam on my bicycle. Early on Thursday morning, I had told Olivia that we'd get to go on a bicycle ride together later in the morning (while Elliot was in school), so I could drop off some documents at the church office. Thus, after having Olivia finish her breakfast, put on her shoes, and use the potty, we prepared to leave for our "bicycle ride" -- at which point Olivia resolutely informed me, with the candor and clarity of a true two-year-old, "Not bakfiets. Bicycle ride." As opposed to riding in the plastic-domed comfort of our three-wheeled "mini-van of bicycles," Olivia made it clear that she wanted to get out her helmet and the single children's seat that can be affixed to the front handlebars of my brown Batavus bicycle -- for a faster ride, with the wind in her face, and in close proximity to her Daddy who was powering the bicycle just behind her.

As we started picking up speed on the ride, Olivia gleefully sang, "Wheeeeeee!" Then, for the rest of the ride, she was like a microphoned tour guide on a bus tour through the city of Amsterdam. She pointed out every dog that we passed on the way, and barked "Arf! Arf!" to solicit their interaction with us. She pointed to the boats on the Amstel River, as we pedaled over the Hoge Sluis, and she laughed freely when I affirmed her by saying "Good eyes." She pointed to trams along the way, but she called them "trains" and made heartfelt sound effects -- "Choo-choo" -- to make her point. Occasionally, as we rode along in the brisk November air, Olivia would say, "Oooo. I chilly." So I would place my gloved hand on her shoulder or her arm and rub some warmth back into her a bit -- to which she would faithfully respond with a touch of her mittened hand on my hand and coo, "Thank you, Daddy." It was so much fun to be seeing the city with my daughter in such a way...

Olivia was a true lady as we completed our errand and continued on the return trip back toward home in Amsterdam Oost. Crossing the Amstel on the return trip, she saw another boat out on the water and gleefully shouted "Look! Look! A boat!" And when I failed to compliment her on her observation (as I had done on the first pass over the river), she complimented herself: "Good eyes!" As we turned onto the home stretch and pedaled into a fierce wind, I put my right arm around Olivia's midsection to shield her from the cold and encourage her that we were "almost there." And when Olivia again affectionately responded with resting her arms on mine and sweetly singing "Thank you, Daddy," I had to consciously resist the urge to throw my other arm around her as well in a full embrace (otherwise, we might have ended up in a nasty "Look Ma - no hands" bicycle accident). In any event, it seemed like the "bicycle ride" together that day cemented something in my relationship with Olivia...

With Elliot, too, I feel like I've gained further insight into his character this week. And -- just as with Olivia -- I like what I've been seeing.

My son -- like the rest of school-aged Dutch society -- is totally obsessed with Sinterklaas (a Dutch holiday, with many similarities to the American Christmas holiday, celebrated on the 5th of December) these days. In the last day or two, in fact, Elliot has taken to wearing his red Sinterklaas hat (a tall bishop's hat emblazoned with a golden cross) and carrying a basket full of pepernoten (dime-sized gingerbread cookies) whenever we go out in public. Essentially, he's campaigning for the job of Sinterklaas. If he manages to make eye contact with anyone (and often even when he does not) -- in the grocery store, at the coffee house, on the sidewalk -- he cheerily greets the stranger with a question: "Wil jij een pepernoot" (Would you like a pepernoot?). Of course, it's kind of embarrassing and awkward -- but it's also kind of cute and definitely well-intentioned...

Of course, most urbanites (and particularly Amsterdammers) are unaccustomed to eye contact, conversation, or interaction of any kind with strangers -- thus unfortunately, Elliot's (or should I say Sinterklaas's) solicitations have typically been falling on deaf ears. But to his credit, my boy is indomitable; and you've just got to admire him for his cheerful persistence. I've explained people's lack of responsiveness to his invitations by suggesting that people simply "tune out" when they're out in public with so much noise and so many people around. Thus, when someone doesn't listen to Elliot's incantation of "Wil jij een pepernoot?" or when he is refused his kind offer, he just looks at me with a look of innocent incredulity and graciously shrugs: "He tuned me out." And if, by chance, someone accepts his offer and thanks him for a tasty pepernoot, he beams with joy and satisfaction, doing a little dance, and singing to me: "She didn't tune me out!" It's such a beautiful image of innocence and kind-heartedness that should make any parent proud... At least, I know it does for me.

These times of increased parental responsibility and rearrangement of standard schedules can certainly be challenging on a number of different levels (I'm sure I could write an equally amusing post on some of the trials of the last week)... But such times as these can also be so rewarding. So I'm looking forward to the week ahead -- striving to look past the sibling rivalries, screaming tantrums, and messy clean-ups... and seeking to soak up the opportunities to warm chilly little arms and encourage generous hearts... enjoying a more intimate connection with my children.

Quagmire

2006-11-24T22:01:00.000+01:00

Have you been wondering about what's going on with the new ministry facility on the Herengracht? I know I sure have...

It's been a few weeks since I last posted about our church's new home in the heart of Amsterdam's grachtengordel. And even though there's been a continued process of renovation (some plaster work, reconstruction of some wider doorways, installation of some technical fire safety measures) -- and even though I've got the inside track on all the up-to-the-minute information -- I have to admit that I myself am somewhat uncertain about what's going on with the Herengracht 88.

To put it succinctly, the Herengracht 88 has become a bit of a quagmire.

It is neither rational nor relevant to disclose the particulars of the situation -- suffice to say that we've run into challenges on just about every front: with the building owner, with the contractors, with the city officials, with members of our own team, with our own consciences... At times, I'm content to let the process run its course -- as I know it should. But at other times, I worry that we've gotten ourselves into a land war in Asia. As with about a thousand other instances throughout the last four years of establishing a church in the heart of Amsterdam, we've found ourselves in way over our heads, just a bunch of hacks trying to figure things out as we go. And yet -- and yet... God always seems to always find a way to take care of us.

I've been told that virtually all such building/renovation projects always seem to take longer than expected, require more money than expected, and run into more problems than expected... So if that's the case, then this project is right on track! Still, I would hope that we could soon see a resolution to the renovation process, so we can move into the space and be done with it. Of course, I'll do my best to keep you updated... And if you could, please pray with us for God's intervention in the situation.

November Day

2006-11-23T09:27:00.000+01:00

It's an absolutely November day in Amsterdam. Skies the color of concrete, gusting wind and driving rain, temperatures hovering just above the freezing point... What leaves have managed to hang onto the trees so far are today being unceremoniously dismembered and dumped into the gutters. Dawn and dusk blend together with a sickly gray light, as temporary as time... Indeed this is as November as it gets.

Nevertheless, children must still be brought to school. Groceries must still be bought. Meetings must still be had. Life must go on as it does in May or September. It's just that... It's just that everything seems to take on the palor of November. Do you know what I mean?

November should be an adjective -- a word to represent everything cold, gray, damp, and dark... And in that case, this day is not just November. No, it's Novembest.

Classic

2006-11-19T08:47:00.000+01:00

The image quality was, at best, choppy and vague -- like some kind of Monet stadiumscape (and at worst an indistinguishable blur of scarlet and maize that occasionally blacked out entirely). The audio quality was muffled and mumbled, as if listening an early-20th-Century phonograph recording of a turkey farm. We had to stay up until 1:30 in the morning to absorb the entirety of the broadcast, even though our wake-up time and breakfast schedule could not be mitigated...

But it was so worth it. In fact, it may have been the finest experience of "The Game" that I've ever had.

Back where I come from, the weekend in which the Ohio State University Buckeyes and the University of Michigan Wolverines play their annual football game against each other is a very significant weekend. It's much more than "just a football game." It's a cultural event. Similar to the running of the bulls in Pamplona or the experience of Queen's Day in Amsterdam. Personal lives and community events are scheduled around the kick-off time of the OSU-Michigan game. I remember a friend who encountered relatively severe relational difficulties with her father when it was discovered that her wedding day (for crying out loud!) happened to have been scheduled to coincide with the day of the OSU-Michigan game (by the way, I seem to remember that they worked it out by coordinating the pause between the wedding ceremony and the reception to coincide with game time -- and several of the wedding guests even complimented her for her "prudence" in allowing them an opportunity to watch the game as well!)... Suffice to say -- that Saturday in November is an important day for people where I come from: parties, foods, traditions, superstitions -- the works.

Nevertheless, the day means virtually nothing for Europeans. Or for most Americans living in Europe, for that matter.

Therefore, it was especially meaningful to join with a handful of Ohioans (all church leaders in various parts of Europe) -- and even a couple of Michiganders -- to fight through technological issues together and enjoy a shared experience of this year's rendition of "The Game" (which turned out to be a classic). Locating an internet feed of the game on a laptop computer, routing its audio through a dilapidated computer speaker and projecting its video onto a white wall, we managed to experience to OSU-Michigan game for the first time in years. In a castle. On a lakeside. In the middle of the Austrian Alps. In the wee hours of the morning. In the company of Dutchmen and Ukrainians and Ohioans and Michiganders...

It doesn't get much more classic than that.

Austrian Adventure

2006-11-18T20:54:00.000+01:00

[with apologies to "Gilligan's Island"]

Just sit right back, and you'll hear a tale -- a tale of, well, a rather uneventful trip. It started from the hamlet of Obermillstatt, upon this alpine trail...

The hikers were an enthusiastic bunch -- though perhaps not fully physically fit. There were eight of us in the group, all told, for a four-hour tour. That's right -- a four-hour tour...

The weather actually stayed quite pleasant (at least for November). We didn't quite manage to make it to the summit, but we didn't want to get lost. As dusk approached, we definitely didn't want to get lost...

So we managed to return (mostly) intact, to our castle on the lake. With Todd (an American Amsterdammer)...

And Michaël (a Dutch Amsterdammer)...

Samuel (a British Amsterdammer)...

Anthony (an American from Torino)...

Mark (from Orlando)...

Drew (from Detroit)...

Lee (an American Amsterdammer)...

And, of course, me.

Here in the Austrian Alps!

The Sound of Music

2006-11-17T08:49:00.000+01:00

Austria is all that... and then some.

I never had any reason to doubt Maria von Trapp -- what with that innocent face and angelic voice -- still, visiting Austria for the first time, seeing it with my eyes and hearing it with my ears is an epiphany. The hills are indeed alive with the sound of music. The songs of the mountains, which have been sung for thousands of years, cause my heart to expand, inflate, elevate, and reach out in an experience of rediscovered life.

Hiking through the misty dawn around the majestic expanse of the Millstatersee seems to be exactly what my heart has needed. The fresh mountain air has awakened parts of me which I didn't even know were sleeping. These past couple of days, I've felt like a puppy -- panting, pulsing, pounding my talk against the floor -- hoping at every moment for another run through the Alpine trails.

Oh, to be in the mountains! I don't know why a boy from the flatlands of Ohio, living in the flatlands of Holland, should have such a built-in desire for the mountains...

But I do. And I thank God that I'm in Austria this week.

Learning to Pastor

2006-11-14T20:26:00.000+01:00

Learning to pastor a church is like learning to speak Dutch: a practically infinite learning curve, regular feelings of inadequacy that gradually (though never fully) become displaced by a sense of confidence, and an unpredictably meandering path toward "completion" of the process...

And I guess that now I can say that I've "completed" both.

When I first started with Dutch, I just picked up a few phrases here and there. A "Colloquial Dutch" cassette tape/textbook package gave me the basics for pronunciation and such. Over time, as opportunities presented themselves, I just started practicing -- sometimes with a degree of effectiveness, and sometimes with embarrassing and/or laughable results. Slowly, slowly, I gained "fluency" in different aspects of the Dutch language: first it was "restaurant Dutch" -- then "tram Dutch" and "casual-greetings-with-a-stranger Dutch." Eventually, I was able to enroll in Dutch classes and gain more regular exposure to the language (personally, I think the greatest benefit of these classes was simply the opportunity for systematic exposure to a Dutch-speaking environment, more than the formal education process). Along the way, I discovered ways to express more complex thoughts in Dutch and communicate more effectively with Dutch-speakers. I found that my greatest strides in language acquisition came as I was able to build friendships in Dutch and experience both successes and failures within a loving and nurturing environment. So when I finally took the NT2 Staatsexamen 2 (Dutch as a Second Language National Exam Level 2), it was merely a formality when the results came back saying that I could officially speak Dutch. The slip of paper with my passing scores -- although valuable for authenticating my linguistic abilities for strangers -- did not essentially alter the universe... It just officially recognized what had already come to pass on the practical level.

In the same way, learning to pastor started very simply and casually. I learned how to lead small group Bible studies and simply serve within the context of a church community. Over time, I took more responsibility for other tasks and "shepherding" people's lives on the most basic level (organizing teams of volunteers, forming deep friendships incorporating accountability and learning together about God, handling "problem" issues that might come up in a small group setting)... I made lots of mistakes along the way but also learned how to allow God to work through me to produce good spiritual fruit. When other opportunities for leadership fell in my direction, I was able to trust God and see Him work in bigger and more varied ways in my life and in the lives of those around me. And with systematic exposure to pastoring opportunities, I was able to grow in my ability to pastor. Over the last year or two in Amsterdam, God's work in my life (and in the life of my good friend Todd) seemed to gain a wider recognition among the church here. So when it finally seemed right to lay hands on us and formally ordain us as pastors for Zolder50 (this past weekend), the ceremony simply served to officially recognize what had already come to pass on the practical level.

Even so, there is something meaningful about an ordination ceremony (my analogy paralleling this to the NT2 Staatsexamen 2 is a bit imperfect). The laying on of hands is a symbolic act, concretely representing something that happens on the spiritual level -- kind of like a baptism. And more than a formal ceremony, ordination is an impartation of blessing from one generation to the next. Thus, it was especially meaningful to have Daniel Goering (director of Great Commission Europe and founding pastor of the movement's first European congregation in Dortmund, Germany), Joe Dunn (director of Great Commission Europe, off-site pastor of Zolder50, and personal mentor for the last three years), and my father, Dave Asp (who also happened to be a pastor for the better part of two decades, as well as being my life-long mentor) lay hands on us and pray for us at the Zolder50 Soul Gathering this past Friday. It happened in the newly acquired (but still-unfinished) ministry facilities at the Herengracht 88 -- which seemed to be an appropriate setting for the new beginnings represented in the ordination ceremony itself.

No less meaningful was the follow-up recognition at our Sunday afternoon worship gathering in De Poort this past Sunday. All of the home group leaders and members of the board of trustees for the church gathered around me and Todd to pray for us and bless us in our roles as pastors for the church. Again, on the one level it was just a formality -- but on the other level, it was a very special, very meaningful symbol to demonstrate something truly deep and powerful in the life of our young church. And in the lives of two young men given the task of shepherding the flock in Amsterdam.

Todd and I are still very much learning and growing. Pastoring is like Dutch -- not our first language, not our most natural state of being. We've come a long way, and God has taught us lots over the last few years. Following the past weekend, we've got the "official" recognition of the role that we are playing. However, we still make mistakes, and we've still got lots to learn. Thanks to all of you who are praying for us. Please don't stop now.