On a journey...

“They gave me your number and said I could contact you.” I’d pulled over while driving as my phone just kept ringing. Not being good at multitasking while driving, I decided that to find out what was so urgent, it was better to pull into a parking lot and attend to the persistent caller. The voice caught me off guard, and it took me a few seconds to connect the voice speaking in Spanish to the conversation I’d had which led to this one.   The next day I met her outside the cafe where we had arranged to meet. A small lady with a nervous expression and a quiet demeanour came to the door of the cafe. I asked her if it was her I was meeting, to which she responded that it was. We sat down on the benches covered in cushions, and while I slowly sipped my double-latte, she started to tell her story. A story she’d carried alone for so many years. A story of deep despair mixed with glimpses of miracles. The story of a journey of seeking for more to life then what her country could offer

As we pulled up it looked like a normal house, but rounding the corner we saw that it was larger than it appeared. Through the lit windows we spotted people moving about and we walked up the steps to the front door with anticipation and curiosity. Waiting for them to open I wondered what it was like inside and how we would communicate. Stepping in we were met with faces and languages unknown to us, combined with the normal activities that would characterize a home with teenagers in it. Our purpose was to visit one of these, a teenage girl who had made the long journey from Africa to Norway, walking into a more secure future. After a few minutes we found one of the staff who took us to meet this beautiful girl. She and the other girls were bustling around in their living space, and there was much life and laughter. What you would expect from teenage girls. The pink roses were received with joy, and in want of a proper vase, a makeshift one was made out of the base of a coke b

As we were walking along the cobblestoned road with beautiful bushes and plants along the side in the village of Omodus, we spotted a little old man coming towards us. He was definitely a local and was carrying a blue bucket on one hand. As he spotted us, he reached into his bucket and took out a cluster of small, green grapes. When our paths crossed, he handed us the grapes. I thought he might be selling them, but he insisted it was simply a gift from him to us. Gratefully we received his generosity, and I think he was even more excited we had received his gift then the joy we had in getting it. After thanking him as best we could we all continued on our way. Us to our awaiting tour bus, him probably to his home in the village. As I savoured the lovey sweetness of the grapes later that evening, I was thinking what a privilege it was to interact with one of the locals here. And to get to receive what this man wanted me to taste as part of the goodness of the country. As a tourist you

Sometimes it is so good to get on a plane and go somewhere completely different for the sole purpose of rest and refreshment. Yesterday I was walking home from work in pouring down rain with my raincoat tightly wrapped around me. Today I woke up to blazing sunshine. As the afternoon nears evening, the warm breeze and reflection in the blue pool water reminds me that this is just the first of many days of sunshine with no agenda. After a busy getting used to my new job, and finally starting to find a flow at quite a busy pace, it is so nice to have a break. Time to enjoy family, get recharged and reflect on the past 4 months of working with people whose lives represent challenges and journeys so different from mine. And yet at the same time it is possible to find a meeting point, because at the end of the day it is really just about me as a person meeting another person and hoping to see and bring them hope and courage to live and face life. After landing in Larnaca airport,

It’s been a full day which has filled my heart. Getting to walk alongside different people, and through conversation discovering such treasure in them, is a privilege. Being invited into someone’s life and journey is a privilege. It is so interesting how an open question can lead to a specific conversation. How listening and accepting with no preconceptions brings a safety that unlocks a heart further. I love that we are different and that God created us so unique. I love relating to people whose lives are different from mine. And I love to see the sparkle that comes into someone’s eyes when they start to talk about something that truly makes them come alive. And in that there is so much beauty. At the end of the day I don’t think beauty is about becoming something determined by someone else, or even yourself. Beauty is on the inside, and it shines out when you discover the freedom of being who you are and doing what brings you most life. Being alive on the inside is what true

Finding home. To some it’s the clearest thing in the world: “home is of course where you live”. But is it really? Is it a physical place or a state of the heart? Does it have to do with location only or people as well? The term “home” easily becomes something not so straightforward when locations, places, people, and heart-connections have changed numerous times. It leaves you feeling like a little bit of your heart remains in every place where you lived; every place where you made your “home” for a season. And I think you can have many “homes”, yet there has to be one place where you’re settled, whether it’s just for a season or forever. Uprooting and moving is so much more than the physical relocating of oneself and ones belongings. It's like when you pull something from one place to another, it leaves a mark, and moving leaves a mark on those who go through the process. And sometimes it can take a while to actually “move”. Being back in Amsterdam this week was so good.

Amsterdam. It still has that muggy feeling in Summer, and a constant flow of people which if you stop to think about it, it's quite amazing that there would even be space to accommodate them all. But then I guess they are not all staying. Just passing through on their way to or from somewhere. It's always good for the heart to visit somewhere that was once home. The familiarity of streets and customs makes it easier to embrace what might be new as well as the joy of being reacquainted with old friends. Friends. So many of them to be found in this city, ready with hugs and good words that are uttered when seeing someone who was away again. Friendship. A treasure that cannot be bought. Cobblestones trodden by many, including myself. Sitting on a bench. Praying. Remembering the first time I stumbled upon this area lined with windows with red lights and curtains. An area which has come to represent no longer windows, but people to me. Some still behind a window. Others who have

Sometimes I wonder what it really means to live life in the moment. What it looks like to be present in the now without sharing ones attention with what has been or is to come. What does it feel like to be fully living what is being lived right in that moment, and would it be more joyous? Does joy come merely from what is being experienced right then, or is there a place where joy is also generated through the remembering and anticipating? And do events have to fit into one of the categories or is it possible that a single event could end up bringing life before and beyond it's moment? Sometimes I think we forget the joy of the moment. So often we are watching life through the camera on our smartphones, and miss those unique moments,  where the simple act of taking a deep breath as you watch something like a beautiful sunset or someone smiling, brings a sense of amazement. Amazement which is uninterrupted by thoughts of how and who will "like" the photo. Amazement which

It's a strange sensation to be starting my holiday time from my "normal" job. A slightly new sensation to have two weeks off and not have to think about what awaits and will be pending on my return. Strange to enter into the rhythm normal people in Norway live their lives by. I am not fully immersed, choosing two weeks as opposed to four, but it is a start. And that is why I find myself at the airport. Sat in a very comfy sofa eating a raisin bun and drinking a latte that was made by pushing a button, I am packed and ready to pop for a long weekend to England. Might sound very flashy, but it's not really. It's simply a time to visit a few good friends. As I sit here reflecting (airports are really good for that), I am thinking back to the past 6 weeks in what is now my permanent job. Six very good, but also challenging weeks.  A time of figuring out what it means to be allowed into the lives of those who are in vulnerable places of their journeys, and help them

This week I stepped into memory lane. As I got into the car to drive I realized that I needed to drive barefoot. As is common knowledge, driving in flipflops is quite risky. And so when one wears flipflops, which in my case were silver-grey-peacock-feather-decorated-havaianas, the safest option is to take off said footwear, and drive barefoot. As I drove along, with the weather warm and sun shining, it made me feel so at home. Like I was right back in Fortaleza cruising along on bumpy roads in blazing sunshine (in a car without air conditioning). The memories flooded my mind and instead of a simple drive from one place to another, the journey became a lovely trip of remembering good times in Brazil. It’s funny how something as simple as barefoot driving can transport you into a sequence of good memories, if only for a moment.

Settling into a new job with new expectations. My expectations and the, some known and some yet to find out, expectations others have of me. And yet I’m finding the greatest challenge is knowing how to expect hopefully when it comes to those I am there to walk alongside. What do hopeful expectations look like without them being totally coloured by my perspective? Perspective. The way we see life is coloured by our lives; what we have lived and are living. What does hope look like through my perspective, but more importantly, through the perspective of the ones I am wanting to carry hope for? Potential. Interacting with people who walk with less hope. Seeing the potential they have which has been quenched by choices they’ve made. Or rather, the potential is there, but the walking fully in it is a different path than the one they have chosen. How do you help them look at themselves not through a lens of failure, but through the lens of hope and possibility? Patience. I a

It’s a quiet Sunday morning. I am sat at my dining room table typing while drinking a cup of strong Dutch coffee for a change. Outside it promises to be a nice day with specks of blue in the sky and a distinct appearance of sunshine. I feel at peace, and yet a bit apprehensive and excited, all at the same time. Tomorrow I start my new job working with follow-up of those who have come out of difficult situations. Tomorrow... and yet it feels like I am still winding down from the whirlwind of this week. On Monday I had my final shift working with adults who need extra care in their homes. And where it could sometimes be very draining, my final shift was so good. So good that it made me wonder if I could possibly fit continuing to work there into my week... I mean we do have 168 hours a week available. And yet I know that it isn’t a realistic option and instead of thinking of “maybes” I choose to simply be thankful. Thankful that I got to be a part of the lives of these adults, and

As I received the beautiful bouquet of flowers and “thank you”, I realised that it’s that time again. Time of transition; time of change. Time of letting go so that I can grab a hold of what lies ahead.   As I sit here thinking about what the past 9 months have been and what the years ahead might be, I realize that transition is so much more than a simple changing into something new. It’s an invitation to reflect with thankfulness on what is being stepped out of, and look ahead with expectation to what is being stepped into. And I am deeply thankful. Thankful that I got to know Kirkens SOS (crisis hotline) and be a part of the amazing work we (for another little while) do as we are always available for those who are facing the darkest times of their lives. Thankful that I got to learn that nobody wants to die, it’s just that for some life gets too hard to keep living. Thankful that I got to work with some amazing colleagues and volunteers who are literally saving

I got home yesterday after a quiet whirlwind of a week in Romania. Even as I sit here sipping my Earl Grey and wanting to write down what has so impacted my heart, it’s hard to find the words. It’s hard to make the words communicate something as opposed to become a muddled collection of moments. But I will try. Try to write down the fun with the heartbreaking with the interesting. And even if it promises to become quite a long anecdote, I hope that as I write, what I’ve seen can be translated into prayers of hope for this nation that has somehow snuck into my heart. The little girl at the train station. She couldn’t have been more than 6 years old and had some kind of paper attached to a string around her neck. At first glance she looked like a normal child traveling with her family. And yet on observing her, she didn’t seem to really belong to anyone. She caught me off guard. I was stood outside the McDonald’s at the train station, getting ready to travel a few hours out of