The picture of me on this page was taken in Copenhagen at a historic soccer game between Denmark and Sweden in June of 2007. Dave had gotten free tickets through work and we went, super excited and it actually was a lot of fun to soak up the noise, the buzz of the place, the blue and yellow multitudes on the one side and us red and whites on the other. I have never attended a national game except that one time. Lots of jumping, shouting, singing, it really was an adventure. But the game ended suddenly when a drunk Danish guy ran onto the field and hit the ref. The game ended right then and there, and the Swedes were declared winners even though the game was tied at the time of the attack. We did not really grasp what had taken place, it had happened so fast. We were afraid the sudden tension would turn into fistycuffs so we snuck out quickly. There was a lot in the media about it during the first couple of weeks, the guy apologized profusely and went to jail for 20 days, because the poor referee had to limp out of the stadium. A tsunami has come and gone since then, as has several wars and famines. In that perspective it really was just a tiny ripple in the ocean of history. Until today. Because today the guy has been in Court. He has to pay a fine of 2.2 mill. Danish Kroner, an amount that he can never ever earn. Teary-eyed he stated that he wished he could apologize to each Dane personally. An employer terminated a work contract because of these fatal 20 seconds of stupidity. "And I will never be able to marry the woman I love because I do not want her to get tangled up in this mess I have made". It made me think. About choices, results of choices and regrets. In this society we let drunk drivers off with a slap on the wrist, rapists get a couple of years in jail and con artists who swindle for millions get out of jail the month after they get in. "The wages of sin is death" says the good book. Our choices have results. It seems that this society does not always meter out "the wages of sin" in proper proportions. We are all sinners, we all need grace. Personally, I am so thankful that Jesus has taken the load of guilt off my shoulders. I have made lots of stupid choices in my day. He died on the cross in my place. And every day His mercies are new, His grace equips me to make better choices. I am thankful for forgiveness. In my heart and in the church where I rub shoulders with lots of different people who bear the brunt of my insensitive remarks, wait patiently to start meetings because they know I always get lost on the way. It is good to have a church home that is a place of grace. It is great to live free of guilt. And if TV had just reached that interactive state that is just around the corner I would have looked the poor soccer guy in the eye and told him that on behalf of the 60 thousand spectators in that stadium in June of 2007: I forgive you!

"Those whose journey never ends belong". These were the words that met me when I reemerged as a Dane at the Copenhagen Airport this frosty morning after more than two weeks' vacation on another continent. The words were in light above my head, an ad for Diners Club. I am not a member of Diners Club, but the words struck a chord with me. My grandmother never left Danish soil, only once in her life did she visit another part of Denmark. Her parents never even left their own village. But here am I, at the end of time, speaking several languages, transversing time zones, tasting different cultures, thanks to that wonderful invention called the flying machine. Slightly befuddled I arrive, ready for bed, because in L.A. where I spent my vacation it is bedtime. But my night has been stolen, a beautiful peachy and frosty sunrise announces the arrival of a new day. New beginnings. New doors opening, even if slightly creaky from jet lag.

Over the last two weeks I have marveled at the expanse of the blue sky and the endless ridges of mountains, driving through the Mohave Desert on my way from L.A. to Phoenix. Greeted tiny lizards on desert hikes, had my stomach do flip flops on turbulent rides in Disneyland. I have stood outside the courthouse where Michael Jackson's Doctor is being tried for murder and stumbled upon movie shoots, so you may spot a slightly befuddled overweight Dane on a street corner in a future episode of C.S.I.

There are a lot of people in L.A.! A lot of cars. And a lot of convenience and consumption. "I consume, therefore I am" seems to be the adage of that nation. I caught on quickly and filled a suitcase with purchases. In that vast city which is home to 25 million people I really felt like a displaced farm girl from Liliput Land. My eyes eagerly absorbed all the impressions, and Dave and I took turns exclaiming our amazement at the sheer size of the place. But I think that inadvertently I must have felt like a sock during the spin cycle in a washing machine. Was there anything here I could identify with? I am merely a drop in a bucket in the ocean of people in this world. Maybe Piet Hein did not draw his globus quite right, perhaps Denmark is not the cultural center of the universe, though I and my countrymen like to think that it is.

Belonging. I was a guest in a foreign nation and was welcomed with incredible hospitality at the home of my good old friend Susan. A few years in a row she came to Denmark every April and preached in our church and held a couple of retreats for us, and we became good friends. And she had graciously invited us to come stay at her beautiful home in Southern California and explore that part of the world. So after an unusually good summer for our business, we could afford the tickets and enjoyed every minute of our trip. However, at times a small part of my soul felt dislocated, minimized by the sheer number of cars, people and their different ways of doing things over there.

To belong. Not just to skim the surface of another continent. A longing deep in my soul. It hit me when the worship team struck the first chord last Sunday in Reveal Vineyard in Surprise, Arizona. It brought tears to my eyes and even to the eyes of my less sentimental husband. Worship connects me. Worship transcends culture and reminds me that I have another home. The notes of worship open the door to that home. Deep down inside these Arizonians knew the same God, belonged to the same kingdom, longed for the same powerful presence. That day I was reminded that I belong. Between songs they thanked God for the beautiful cool weather they had had the last couple of days (the usual temperature is min. 35 degrees) and I smiled and thought about how sometimes our worship leaders at home thank God between songs if we have had some rare sunshine. Different perspectives. But the same connection to another kingdom, the same allegiance to a God above all.

"Warm fuzzies" is what my friends in Canada call the feeling you get if you are particularly thankful and have had a great evening with friends, watched your kids excel at something or have a meaningful conversation with a good friend in front of a fireplace into the wee hours of the night. "Warm fuzzies" is a word that makes me smile and cherish. Warm fuzzies lingered with me in the car after we had said our goodbyes to Susan and thanked her for a wonderful two weeks of generous hospitality and a great mix of regular everyday small talk and deep spiritual conversations. We prayed for her and she prayed for us, and we drove off, teary-eyed and thoroughly hugged. We may live at opposite ends of the earth, but we have this connection, this Papa God who binds us together and makes us one in spirit.

So here I am, back in my small cold country, unpacking suitcases, doing laundry, answering e-mails, calling my friends to hear the voices I missed. Feeling like the richest girl in the universe. Because I may scitter and scatter across the earth, but what really defines me is that I belong. And for that reason, my journey never ends.

I was at the Strandqvists' house the other day and discovered a book they had and borrowed it. Now I am chewing my way through it. It is a work book connected with a tape series that I really enjoyed a few years ago. I lent the tapes to someone and forget whom - too bad - but now I am enjoying the book. It is an old book by Mark Virkler called "Communion with God" and has good tips for becoming quiet enough to hear God speak. I need that big time! Often when I sit down to meet with God my mind gets invaded with thoughts of shopping lists, people to call, dinner plans, loads of laundry that need to be hung up to dry and other very important matters that make the world go under if they are postponed five minutes. Believe me, I need all the help I can get to learn to be still before God, and this book is good, although the woman on the cover looks like a bad joke from the eighties. It is a real work book, it even has quizzes and questionnaires so that you can find out what "worship style" you are, sort of like what the teachers always talk about with learning styles.

In it is this little poem that is so good that I just have to share it, a poem by Helen Mallicoat:

I was regretting the past and fearing the future.
Suddenly my Lord was speaking:
"My name is I Am."

He paused. I waited. He continued,

"When you live in the past, with its mistakes and regrets, it is hard.
I am not there. My name is not I Was.

When you live in the future, with its problems and fears, it is hard.
I am not there. My name is not I Will Be.

When you live in this moment it is not hard. I am here.
My name is I Am"

Coming home from church full of excitement. Another great service, and it's always so unpredictable. Worship was great and it was my turn to do Children's church. After the Bible lesson I took my group outside to play with the new parachute I bought. But just then it started to rain. Yikes,I had planned to spend the last half hour outside, and now it rained. Where's Elijah when you need him? Fortunately I am good at improvising.

We have so many kids in childrens' church now that we have them split up into three groups. I had the middle ones, from Kindergarten to Second grade. Awesome fun. The new room we were allowed to use for the first time had a bunch of pillows in different colours. I stacked them up and asked the kids to think of a fairytale, and a bright girl immediately guessed that it was the Princess on the Pea. That led to new adventures: I laid down on the floor and played pea, the kids piled all the pillows on top of me and took turns being the princess. I couldn't see much, but my guess is that there was more than one princess at a time up there, because I could hardly breathe. Partly because the pillows were suffocating me and partly because I was laughing my guts out. The kids had fun. I had fun. And in grown-up church I think they had fun too, because some of the usually calm and collected ladies had just been at a conference where they had heard that they were lionesses and they were going crazy with excitement. The sermon I didn't hear, but I am sure it was great too.

I got home and logged on to Facebook and meant to update my status with a statement that my church is the best church in the whole world. Then I see status updates from all over the globe from friends who claim that they have just been to the best church in the whole world. It makes me grateful. Church, when it works as its builder intended, is a wonderful place. One newcomer to our church once exclaimed, after a service, through tears: "This is a place of grace". This was about three years ago and this man is now one of our leaders. Our church is growing a lot right now, and I just hope and pray that through these phases of growth we would hang on to that precious DNA and never let it go: I want Roskilde Vineyard to always be a place of grace. A place where children can laugh (with old ladies) and a place where docile declawed housecats can be changed into lions. I am so thankful that God is building His church, all over the world, a sometimes disheveled but yet precious masterpiece of living stones. He loves His bride and I am so thankful to be in a church where our services are a foretaste of the great Heavenly wedding to come. And based on Sunday evening's status updates, there are enclaves of joy and grace like that all over the world. "I like"

A few years ago a little girl from Poland moved into our street a few houses down from me. She and her mom are renting a basement in one of the somewhat posh houses in our neighbourhood. She couldn't speak Danish and her mannerisms were a bit strange, so the other kids would not play with her. At our monthly dinner parties with some surrounding houses the other neigbours complained that she would sometimes go into our front yards and just start playing with our kids' toys as if they were her own. Most neighbours would shoo her away. Not so me. I grew up as an odd child myself, an only child born to old parents, so I also wore strange clothes and lacked social skills. So I treated her like a friend when I bumped into her in my garden. Running a B & B means I spend a lot of time outside hanging laundry on the line, taking it off and folding it. Not the most exciting occupation, so I welcomed Mona's company. Dave scrounged the basement and found a few toys that Andreas had grown out of. She was very thankful. It was obvious, for example, that she had never owned a puzzle before, as a wooden puzzle designed for four-year-olds kept her occupied for a long time. Dave and I also played a simple board game with her one lazy Saturday summer afternoon when she had been here about a year.

Once when we had a church party in our yard I had invited her and her mom, our church being so international anyway. But the mother told her off that day for joining our party and when we went to her door to urge her to come, the mother seemed very fearful, almost hostile, and did not want to join us. I hear other neighbours telling Mona to leave their yard, not to follow them on her roller skates when they are walking their dog etc., so over the years I have tried to take a different approach and be friendly because I figure she might not have many friends.

Anyway, Mona's Danish has improved over the years, her clothing seems more fashionable now and she is a beautiful little girl, probably about 10. I still never see her with any friends, but from time to time she still visits with me in my garden and tells me about new clothes, trips to Poland etc. I don't mind her company.

The other day I came home from a busy day at the office and crashed on the couch for a few minutes, checking my mail before having to clean rooms upstairs. The summer season can really stretch me, it is tiresome to come home from work and have to start work. So I crashed for a few minutes. Then the doorbell rang. It was Mona. "I was wondering if you can come out and play?". That's when I started my lecture. "I am a grownup and grownups don't play, because we have to work in offices and clean houses. I don't ever have time to play, so I don't want you to ring my doorbell another time and disturb me, because I am very busy. I don't mind talking to you when I am outside in my garden, but I don't want you to come to my door and disturb me. I am an adult, you know, you need to find kids to play with". She apologized, shrugged her shoulders and left. And I started my cleaning upstairs.

That's when it hit me. Jesus said something about our responses to children. Something about receiving them like we would receive him. Something even about becoming like little children to receive the kingdom. I think this is to be understood literally, but I also think hanging out with children helps us loosen up. Children just crawled up on Jesus' lap. Pharisees asked him complicated religious questions, cynically and analytically. I think we adults need to hang out with children to lighten up. We get so caught up in typing important case files and dusting and vacuuming. I think I missed an invitation from Heaven that day. It would have probably done me good to toss a ball around for a few minutes before heading on to the next important point on my crowded to-do-list.

A former boss gave a speech at a company Christmas party a few years back. He had had a bit to drink, so he started speaking about me towards the end. "You Solvej, you are so naive, it is almost like you are a child" he said. The others chuckled, but I knew he liked me, so I took it as a compliment. I want to have the heart of a child. A heart that believes the best about people, a heart that trusts, a heart without walls and sediment left from years of let-downs and disappointments. I was reminded of that again that afternoon a couple of weeks back while fluffing pillows, reflecting on my serious and important adult speech minutes earlier. To help us keep childlike hearts God sometimes sends us children to play with. Do we turn them away? We might turn Him away in the process....

A handful of people from our church just attended a Bill Johnson healing school in Malmö last week. I wanted to go, but this is such a busy month in my B & B that I am spending hours a day making beds and doing laundry, so I just couldn't get away. But I almost regretted my choice yesterday in church as the group shared their excitement about what God did. My usually laid-back friends were shouting and jumping with excitement as they had seen cartledge in knee caps formed, injuries healed etc. God is good and it seemed that they had managed to tap into an extra surge of His goodness at that conference. It made me hungry for more and encouraged me to press on in my own pitiful but determined quest to flow in healing.

Apparently the rings from that conference are spreading in the water. This is a translated blog from a famous Swedish singer who has thousands of blog followers. This is what she experienced on the train Saturday:

"Sitting on the train headed home to Stockholm something very strange just happened in the seats right behind me!!

A young guy is sitting next to an elderly woman and I can't help eavesdropping as he talks about his strong faith in God. Excitedly he describes how he really feels that God lives in him and how much God loves everyone. The lady tells him about her life, mostly about the intense pain in her shoulders. They hurt so much that she can't even blowdry her hair. Suddenly the guy asks if he can pray for the lady?

She says yes - but I can hear a bit of apprehension in her voice....
Then he lays his hands on her shoulders and starts praying.
He prays that she would know His love and that the pain in her shoulders would go away.
When he is done he asks her if she feels any differently?
"NOW you mean?" asks the lady, somewhat apprehensive.
"Yes" he replies "Try to lift your hands up in the air right now"
She does and now the strange thing happens. She lifts her hands high above her head and does not really seem to grasp how she did it. "I haven't been able to lift my arms this high for years" she says.

I don't want to sit there and stare but I must admit that I was very fascinated by the whole scenario that took place right before my eyes.

A little while later the guy got up and offered everyone in that traincar who felt sick or had any kind of pain to pray for them. He said that his hands were tingling and that seemed to be the sign from God that someone else in that train car needed help.

Apparently nobody was ill in this train car. Or perhaps it was just because they did not dare or want to..... we are a little bit scared of anything "Christian" in this country ... aren't we?

If he had offered that on a train in the US there would have probably been many lining up hoping for a miracle! We Swedes are too cowardly to even dare try I think. If I had suffered from something I would have let him pray for me! What have you got to lose I am thinking.... It was a really nice prayer that he prayed, and he didn't talk in tongues or get hysterical like you see them do sometimes on TV. You know, they push on peoples' heads and scream so loud that people get pushed over and fall. I would NOT have gone for testing that!!
But this guy was easygoing, happy, positive and had a strong faith that he could heal people (and it was actually proved that he could!) ... he just wanted to reach out a hand on that train car to see if anyone would take it.
The little old lady was brave enough, but nobody else.
So my question is - what would you have done?!
Do you believe that miracles can actually happen?"
-----
I Solvej am most encouraged by this story from a lady who just happened to be on that train and report on how natural the supernatural can be. It encourages me to keep praying for the sick no matter how low my "battering average" of actual healings is. I really am a chicken in that department. It is easy to pray for people who come for prayer on Sundays after church, but it is entirely different to reach out and volunteer to pray when talking to a stranger or non-Christian friend.

I did do it on the rainy sidewalk on our quiet street a few months back when a neighbour told me about a broken shoulder that just wouldn't heal up. I swallowed a toad (Danish figure of speech) and asked if I could pray for her right there. She said yes, so I did and then there was a bit of an awquard silence and we went our separate ways after some small talk. I said to God that since I had finally gotten with it He could have done something --- a visible healing or even a ray of sun shining on her head. But the sidewalk remained grey that day and I felt stupid and a bit disappointed. Well last week she told me that this prayer had meant a lot to her. She wasn't healed but she said that the blessing I had prayed over her that day had made a difference and all through the different treatments and sick time she had felt the strength of not being alone. That was so encouraging to hear from her, because the enemy had of course used her "silence" to tell me that I was no good at praying for the sick and should lie low in that department and move in other gifts. But this story of a friend who was NOT healed but encouraged and this wild story from an ordinary train on an ordinary day in Sweden encourages me to keep at it. God is awesome and able to heal! In planes, trains and automobiles .... and on grey sidewalks outside my house.

It takes four minutes to soft-boil an egg. It takes five minutes to play a game of on-line Scrabble. It takes six minutes to prepare a bag of microwave popcorn. And it takes seven minutes to hard-boil an egg. So we are back to the egg. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? That is one important question, but another one I was introduced to in high school when I first heard the concept of existentialism is: Are you what you spend your time on or are you something or someone else?

I don't spend a lot of time praying. I know I should pray, and after I have prayed I always feel more grounded and lighter around my heart, it is as if prayer makes me more me. Strange, because a prayer that John the Baptist prayed was that there would be more of Jesus and less of him. I pray that too, sometimes, when I get fed up with mulling over my own endless circuit of pocket-size troubles and decide to start focusing on Jesus instead. It is sort of like an alignment of your wheels, it is as if I find my bearings and become more ..... me. I have also seen a lot of answers to prayer during the thirty years that I have followed Jesus. Like we sing in a worship song: "No one else can touch my heart like you do". It's true. God's loving gaze penetrates my heart, soaks it in love, brings the muck to the surface and washes it off.... prayer is a wonderful thing.

Hours can go by during which I do not pray. But Sunday I was reminded again of how little it takes. I saw once again how God can answer even a one-minute prayer powerfully.

I was scheduled to do children's church and I love the kids in our church, I have done childrens' church at least once a month for the last 25 years. It keeps me young. I came to know the Lord as a child myself, so I know children are just as much targets of God's love as adults.

But Sunday I was just wasted. I had held my 5oth birthday party for all my female friends and we had had a blast. It was such a marvelous day and I felt so rich to have that kind of friends, the high of it kept me awake all night, I just couldn't sleep. But I had to get up and clean up and do dishes and entertain overnight guests AND clean the rooms in my Bed and Breakfast for the next group of guests due that afternoon. And then do childrens' church. Just thinking the thought made me want to roll over and sleep.

Just as the coffee break in church was starting my friend leaned over and prayed for me. Spontaneously, without warning, at first I thought she was talking to me as she hugged me, but then I realized she was asking God to strengthen me and bless the kids in the group that day. I don't think the prayer took more than one minute, but it made a big difference. Right away I felt motivated and strengthened ... and thankful that someone cared enough to pray. Several new kids came that day, we had a big turnout, and some big boys who can sometimes give me grey hairs listened attentively and gave good contributions to the story. First-time visiting parents commented on how good it was. I could sense the presence of God there in the midst of puppetry and fun. He was speaking to some young hearts. And it was not because of my hours of preparation, but because of a one-minute prayer of a friend who noticed I could use some help.

So go ahead and boil that egg, play that Scrabble - but realize that there is a special place near the heart of God where you can make a difference - even with a one-minute prayer.

I want to recommend a new website www.vineyardwomen.com, an inspiring forum for women in the Nordic Vineyards. I just found out that this website links to my blog, and am honoured! And challenged to update it more regularly. And prompted to change my blogging language into English so my dear Finnish friends can understand too.

If any non-Nordics are reading along, let me explain: Danish, Norwegian and Swedish are very similar languages, with only a few different words. Sort of like Portuguese, Italian and Spanish. At first you may not understand your new friends from the neighbouring countries at all, but after listening for a while your ears get attuned and you understand more and more. It actually is a lot of fun and provides some good laughs. A few days ago I was translating the word "rattle snake" from a stage and all the Swedes were laughing like crazy when I translated the word into "klapperslange" (Danish and Norwegian term). Then I learned the Swedish word and mentioned that from the stage also, and it turns out that the Swedish word is "skallerorm". Well, then all the Danes and Norwegians were roaring with laughter for the next few minutes. If we talk slowly together, refrain from slang and dialect and use some sign language, we can actually have meaningful conversations, and it is especially easy to read each other's languages.

Not so with the Finns. They are very similar culturally and politically, but their language has absolutely no similarity to either Danish, Norwegian or Swedish. The lovely Finns are totally unique, so all our communication with them has to be in English. So hence my sudden switch into English in my blog, which a few Brits and Yankees might appreciate also.

Every year I attend a Christian summer camp in Sweden with attendees from all four countries. Many years of attending this week surrounded by blueberries and mosquitoes in a beautiful lakeside setting has increased my understanding of my neighbour languages (except of course Finnish which I will probably never decode!) and I have made some great friendships over the years. Facebook helps cultivate them throughout the year. Every summer I return from camp thankful and inspired by the faith we share and by awesome stories I hear of how churches around our countries live out their faith in their communities. We worship together singing in Norwegian, English, Danish and Swedish, and I must admit that Norwegian and Swedish are better song languages than Danish, it just sounds so beautiful and I love to add their twang to the songs we usually sing in flat Danish at home. It adds new perspective. And when almost 1000 people sing accompanied by great bands and wonderful worship leaders, the songs just soar and connect us with the Most High God. I feel so privileged to have Finns, Norwegians and Swedes as precious friends because of these camps and other conference encounters throughout the year. It actually makes me want to rewind history thirty years and join Denmark to a Nordic Union instead of to the EU, which is a mixed blessing with much fewer cultural similarities, not to mention the Greek, Irish and Portuguese national debts which we have now been forced to share. But that is a different story.

The worship service Friday night at this year's summer camp started like any other. But after a couple of worship songs the Norwegian pastors solemnly informed us of the terrible incident in Oslo, where a bomb had exploded downtown a few hours earlier. "This is a terrible day for Norway, probably the worst since WW II, but we refuse to be gripped by fear" said the Pastor of Oslo Vineyard. "There are rumors that right now there are also some shootings at a small island near Oslo" he continued. "Let us pray for Norway". And scattered in the rows of the audience shocked Norwegians stood up among us. We joined in small groups around them and prayed for them and their country. That God would protect their friends and give them peace at this difficult time. It was so good to share that moment with them. Good also to be able to lay my hand on a shoulder in front of me a few minutes later, when we had started singing and a lady from Oslo started crying quietly as the gravity of the situation hit her.

The news Saturday morning was even more devastating. The bomb that had shaken Oslo that day was only the prelude of a sick symphony composed by a warped mind. Over 80 young people had been shot and killed that late afternoon on the idyllic island in the Oslo Fiord. Almost unfathomable in our usually so tranquil and peaceloving countries.

These days we are all Norwegians. Our hearts go out to our Norwegian friends and the many families who have lost a loved one. And the bond formed through the years together at Vineyard Summer Camp seems even stronger and more meaningful at a time like this. They are just like us! It could have happened to us! And we must continue to lift them up in prayer and ask God that this terrible deed would draw Norwegians together in the faith their country is founded on. That democracy would continue to be what characterises our countries and that respect and peace would rule. That fear would not overwhelm any of us, but that the godly values of peace, respect and forgiveness deep at our roots would again be held up, binding us together.

As the news keep coming of yet another young person succumbing to injuries and passing away in the hospital in Oslo, let us remember what one of the young people who escaped said after her terrible ordeal: "When one man can show that much hate, just think how much love all of us can show together". And let us also remember God's promise to that mountainous nation: "The mountains might shake. The hills might be removed. But my faithful love for you will never be shaken. And my covenant that promises peace to you will never be broken," says the Lord. (Is. 54:10).

Kan du mærke Gud? Det spørgsmål har jeg fået stillet et par gange, når kolleger har undret sig over min stærke tro og synes, at det er mærkeligt, at man sådan har lyst til at gå i kirke hver eneste søndag, specielt nu hvor jeg ikke længere er præst og bliver betalt for det. "Kan du da sådan ligefrem MÆRKE Gud?". Så svarer jeg som regel at ja, ind imellem gennem de 35 år jeg har forsøgt at følge Jesus, har jeg faktisk nogle gange haft helt fysiske oplevelser af, at Han kommer nær og berører mig dybt inde på en måde som intet menneske kan. Et par gange har jeg oplevet, at han endda kom med så stor kraft, at det slog benene væk under mig og jeg røg i gulvet og lå der og var salig nogle minutter. Andre gange, hvis jeg har bedt for nogen, der havde det svært, har jeg modtaget en guddommelig sorg for dem, der har gjort, at jeg græd som pisket helt nede fra dybet af mit hjerte. Uden at jeg måske selv var særlig personlig knyttet til den person, jeg bad for, og uden at jeg i øvrigt var ked af noget. Og som kvinde bør jeg måske tilføje: Også uden pms! Disse fysiske berøringer har været meget forskellige og givet forskellige udtryk. Jeg oplevede det en del da jeg lige var begyndt at tro og læste ordene i biblen for første gang og så dem som en personlig kærlighedserklæring fra Gud. Så gik benene nogle gange som trommestikker i sengen af begejstring, når jeg sad og læste min bibel inden jeg skulle sove. Men efterhånden er der længere imellem, jeg mærker Gud rent fysisk, måske er jeg blevet en stiv gammel pragmatiker.

Ikke desto mindre ved jeg, Han er der. Hans nærvær giver en stille ro i hverdagen, et overskud når jeg møder bøvlede situationer, der måske kunne slå mig af pinden, hvis jeg ikke kendte Gud. I stedet for at panikke, som jeg ville gøre, hvis jeg selv var eneansvarlig for mit liv, sender jeg en lille bøn op, og så kommer roen. Det er så trygt at vide, at der er en, der er større end mig, som har styr på tingene.

Her i weekenden har jeg løbet meget stærkt for at få vores kirkelejr til at fungere. Masser af indkøb, uddelegering af opgaver, træden til, når noget glippede, - jeg er helt træt i dag, hvor de engelske inspirationsgæster fra lejren er rejst hjem og jeg igen har huset for mig selv efter en uge i turbofart. På lejren fik jeg ikke rigtig tid til at gå i halleluja-selvsving, for der var hele tiden noget jeg skulle følge op på. Men jeg ved, Gud har været der. Ligesom jeg ved, min mand som jeg elsker, er der i huset ved Strøget hver dag i arbejdstiden. Det var vældig morsomt engang jeg gik forbi, hvor han tilfældigvis var nede på gaden lige i samme øjeblik. Jeg kom vandrende henad Vestergade sammen med alle de andre arbejdsmyrer med deres attachétasker, bare en af mængden, men pludselig stoppede jeg brat og kyssede en mand, der kom ud af en gadedør og gik videre som om intet var hændt. Det var så sjovt at se folks bestyrtede blikke, de par gange det skete. Jeg er gået forbi mange gange i Davids arbejdstid. Det er kun et par enkelte gange vi har ramlet sammen i et kys på fortovet. Men alligevel ved jeg, han er deroppe, for vi har en relation, vi deler alt, vi er hinandens bedste ven. Og sådan er det også lidt med Gud.

Et sådant "kys i gadedøren" fik jeg pludselig helt uventet af Gud i går, da vi alle var på vej i seng efter en travl weekend. Jeg havde seks englændere fra teamet boende og tre af os bad lige spontant sammen for en person, den ene havde fået på hjerte. Så gik det over i at bé for mig .... og så zappede Gud mig pludselig helt uventet, det var som om jeg blev ramt af et kærligheds lynnedslag. Hele dagen i dag har jeg gået rundt og været så taknemlig og glad. Og tænkt på, hvor længe det egentlig er siden, jeg sidst har oplevet sådan en fysisk berøring fra himlen. Alt for længe. Og aldrig mer' vil jeg løbe efter falsk trøst, tænker jeg, for det her er da ti gange bedre end fjernsynet. Aldrig mer' vil jeg tvivle på at Gud er god og vil mig det godt, tænker jeg. Sådan et zap gør mig glad helt ned i maven!

Jeg oversatte engang en manual for en slags stødpæle, som skulle forhindre hunde i at løbe væk fra deres ejers grund. Hvis hunden kom for langt væk, aktiveredes en sender i halsbåndet, og den blev zappet. Og så tænker jeg, at jeg ikke vil være sådan en, der skal zappes til at holde mig tæt på min Herre. Jeg vil holde mig tæt til ham altid. For Han er altid god. Med eller uden zap. Med eller uden "kys i gadedøren". Så nu vil jeg læse lidt i min bibel i stedet for at tænde for fjernsynet.

Det er svært at styre verden. Jeg har endelig fri igen ovenpå en måned med fuldtids arbejde. Jeg har vikarieret inde i København oveni mit faste almindelige job for at kompensere for at der ikke sker så meget med værelsesudlejningen lige for tiden. Jeg har løbet stærkt men er endelig landet. Og nu ved folk, jeg er hjemme og sender igen sms'ser med ting jeg skal bede for, ringer når de er fortvivlede og dropper ind til kaffe når de har brug for en skulder. Lige sådan som jeg gerne vil leve - at have tid til Gud og mennesker. Jeg er en rimelig flegmatisk, letkørende person, som ikke er sådan at slå ud, men i dag har bare været sådan en dag hvor jeg har hørt så mange dårlige nyheder på en gang at ørerne har været ved at falde af. I mit hoved vender og drejer jeg hvad jeg kan gøre, men med mange af punkterne på to-do listen må jeg bare erkende at der simpelthen ikke er noget jeg kan gøre. To-do...to-do...Not-to-do......

Kan blive helt gråhåret af at bekymre mig når mennesker jeg holder af har det svært, er syge, bliver angrebet. Ville gerne personligt tage mine største fodboldstøvler på og sparke ham med hornene derhen hvor peberet gror! .... Men der er han vist i forvejen. Og her er jeg, midt i alverdens suppedaser, hvor jeg ikke altid kan skille suppe fra das selvom jeg vender og drejer tankerne i mange retninger i mit hoved. Vil gerne styre verden, men kan ikke helt få den til at dreje som jeg synes den bør.

Hvad gør man så når man ikke kan styre verden? Jo, man tager en snak med en der kan. Sådan en rigtig snak med lyd på, hvor man kan hælde alt ud af ørerne indtil man bliver så stille at man kan høre hans stemme. Min kære snorkende gemal ville nok ikke sætte pris på, hvis jeg sådan lå og snakkede højt med Gud ved siden af ham midt om natten, så jeg har netop tilbragt nogle timer ovenpå. Simpelthen lejet et værelse af mig selv og fået væltet det hele over på Gud. Fortalt ham hvordan min verden er skruet sammen og skruet af led. Sukket og fældet en lille tåre og ladet ham kramme mig. Det er godt sådan at ha en far i Himlen der ved alt og kan alt. "Vælt din vej på Herren" siger Salmisten, og jeg har netop tilbragt et par timer med sådan at få væltet min vej. Den ligger meget bedre under hans styring end under min. "Vej har han alle steder, ham midler fattes ej" siger en anden Salmist.

Der er ikke noget bedre end når hans fred kommer ind under huden, når hans nærvær erstatter forvitrede tankerækker på overload. Ikke fordi jeg nødvendigvis finder svar og løsninger eller fordi han har sendt en engel for at vifte problemerne væk med sin tryllestav. Men der er ikke noget så livgivende som det at sidde midt på sådan en væltet vej og mærke Fars arme rundt om mig. Hans fred som overgår al forstand bevarer mit hjerte og mine tanker. Jeg kan ikke styre verden. Men nu har jeg været hos chefen og han kan!

"Lyset skinner i mørket og mørket får ikke bugt med det" hvisker jeg taknemligt for mig selv mens jeg tripper ned ad trappen igen for igen at finde min plads ved siden af gemalen, nu lettet for adskillige byrder. På vej ned ad trappen kigger jeg ud ad vinduet. Og her klokken 3 om natten, hvor nattemørket er så tæt, at man kan skære i det, ser jeg dem: De små glade lyserøde solpanel-lamper, jeg har købt i Ikea. David har sat dem op langs sit nye æbletræs-espalier, og sandelig om de ikke står der som lysende pink glædesudbrud i natten. De har suget lys op hele dagen derude. Og nu står de der og håner mørket og minder mig om at solen er ved at få magt. Hans skønhedsrige kommer. Lyset skinner i mørket. Jeg kan ikke styre verden. Men det kan min far.

Fastetiden er ikke noget vi går så højt op i som frikirkefolk, men dog er jeg for tiden i faste på nogle områder. Jeg faster fra at købe stof. Altså ikke sådan noget kokain-halløj, det har jeg aldrig gjort det i, men metervarer, bomuld og hør i lange baner, der ligger i fine kasser i min kælder fordi en dag når jeg nok at sy noget spændende af det. Blomstret og stribet, låddent og glat, altsammen noget der er købt, fordi det matchede en eller anden stor plan jeg havde for et projekt.

Min mand siger jeg er stofmisbruger og han har nedlagt stofkøbeveto indtil jeg har bevist, at jeg rent faktisk KAN sy. Både af pladshensyn og af økonomiske årsager finder han det uhensigtsmæssigt, at jeg køber så meget stof. Jeg synes ellers selv jeg er helt i overensstemmelse med Guds masterplan for kvinder og henviser til Ordsprogene 31, hvor der står "Hun sørger for Uld og Hør, hun bruger sine Hænder med Lyst". David køber den ikke, men det er måske fordi jeg i højere grad praktiserer den første del af verset end den sidste. Men folk der har besøgt min hyggelige stue VED, at jeg selv har syet mine gardiner og puder der matcher. Så en sjælden gang sker det, at noget af stoffet rent faktisk bliver brugt. Men altså, stoffasten er i gang og kører på ubestemt tid.

En anden faste, jeg for tiden praktiserer, er faste fra at købe bøger. Jeg har givet mig selv bogkøbsveto, fordi jeg har en masse halvlæste egentlig gode bøger, som jeg har investeret i, men aldrig helt fået læst. Så også på dette område har jeg sagt til mig selv, at jeg ikke må slå mere brød op før jeg har bagt.

MEN når engang bogkøbsfasten er ovre, så vil jeg købe Dr. Don Allenders bog "Leading with a limp". Jeg har hørt den anbefalet, jeg har hørt manden tale on line og fundet et par artikler på Nettet og jeg synes det ser ud til at være en rigtig spændende bog om lederskab. En gammel og garvet kristen som jeg må efterhånden have lyttet til mindst 2000 prædikener og helt ærligt så er det efterhånden sjældent, jeg hører noget, jeg ikke tidligere har hørt - (disclaimer: Men jeg har nok godt af at høre noget flere gange, for meget af det er endnu ikke omsat til praksis!). I denne undervisning var der nye perspektiver, anderledes vinkler og en forfriskende jordforbindelse.

Se f.eks. bare dette citat:
......"en leder må først gå ind i sin egen historie. Hvis han dykker ned i sin egen historie, vil han bedre kunne forstå, på hvilke områder han nægter at leve med tro, håb og kærlighed. Han vil bedre kunne opdage, hvor det er, han forsøger at få sandheden til at tjene hans egne afguder i stedet for at lade hans livsløgne afdække for Guds dybtborende godhed. Vi kan kun lede andre til Gud i det omfang, vi er klar over, hvor meget vi flygter fra ham, hvor lidt vi i sandhed længes efter ham .... og hvor meget Gud på trods af dette er den dybeste, stærkeste og mest sande længsel i vores hjerter. Midt i dette spændingsforhold kan vi leve i den sandeste sandhed"

Se det gav mig noget at tænke over. Det har været mit privilegium at dele min tro med flere gennem livet og nogle af dem har valgt at følge Jesus og tro på ham. Og deres efterfølgelse præges af min. Så meget mere vigtigt er det da for mig at være 100% autentisk, sårbar om mine svagheder og passioneret i min egen måde at leve troen på - midt i livet og hverdagen. I spændingen mellem sårbarhed, autentisme og længsel efter Gud bliver vi ægte mennesker.

Tror lige jeg surfer ind på amazon og køber den bog....

I dag har der været jordskælv i Japan og det minder mig om, hvor jeg var i 1994, sidste gang det skete ... det har jeg faktisk skrevet en lille historie om:

Det var ad lidt kringlede veje, jeg endte på den ø. Som nyudklækket student ville jeg udforske verden og jeg drog af sted på bibelskole til Texas. Indskrivningskøen på skolen var lang. Man stod der i timevis og fik på den måde et godt kendskab til dem der stod tættest på. Bag mig stod en flot mørkhåret canadier med intense blå øjne. Dem kiggede jeg dybt i og kunne lide hvad jeg så. Fire måneder senere fik vi ring på, året efter ringede bryllupsklokkerne i Roskilde og nogle år senere endte vi i den by, min mand kom fra. Canada er et frugtbart land, så der var kommet tre små drenge til. Vancouver Island på Canadas vestkyst er en ø på størrelse med Jylland, hvor jeg hurtigt fik gode venner og lærte hvor de gode shoppesteder var. Slet ikke så anderledes end København, så det var ikke det store kulturchok.

Laksefiskeri blev min mands levebrød, men laksene skulle man længere og længere væk for at fange. Så var jeg enlig mor med mine tre poder hele sommeren i civilisationen mens min mand knoklede ude i bushen for at samle penge nok sammen til vinteren. Queen Charlotte Islands hed den øgruppe, hvor han endte med at tage op hver sommer i op til syv uger ad gangen. Imens tullede jeg rundt alene i mit husmor-univers nede i byen og spurgte mig selv, om det var det, jeg havde drømt om, da jeg kiggede dybt i de blå øjne.

Queen Charlotte Islands ligger helt oppe ved Alaska. Det er en øgruppe på størrelse med Sjælland med ca. 4.000 indbyggere og masser af dyreliv og bush. ”Sådan et sted kunne jeg aldrig bo” erklærede jeg når min mand fortalte om stedet. Men efter nogle somre blev han tilbudt at starte en seafoodfabrik deroppe. Laksefiskeriet havde givet os økonomisk gode somre, som vi tilbragte hver for sig og lange, kedelige vintre, hvor vi havde for lidt penge til at lave noget sjovt sammen. Efter hver fødsel blev det sværere for mig at vinke farvel når sommeren kom og jeg igen skulle være græsenke. Storbypigen kedede sig i storbyen. Ødemarken virkede ikke længere så afskrækkende.

”Hvis du tager jobbet deroppe, kan I tjene penge hele året i stedet for kun om sommeren” lokkede chefen. Seks år tidligere havde vi solgt alt i Danmark og var med et lille barn flyttet til et almindeligt sted i Canada. Nu havde vi tre børn og satte kurs mod bjørne, bævere og indianere. Ødemarken ville nok blive lidt mindre øde når vi kom med hele tre børn, tænkte jeg vel.

De fleste af øens indbyggerne er haida-indianere. De åbnede deres hjem og deres hjerter for os. De lærte os at spise ooligan-fedt og at tørre tang, som vi spiste som popcorn. Selv om vi kom fra et helt andet sted på kloden bød de os velkommen, vi følte os faktisk mere velkomne end dengang vi som nygifte prøvede at slå os ned i en sjællandsk landsby. Mange gode lange aftener blev tilbragt i Dan og Sandys stue i Old Masset mens regnen trommede på ruden. Ilden blussede i pejsen og spillede i de hundredevis af kopper, der stod på hylderne rundt langs væggen. Man skulle have kopper nok til en god potlach. Hvis hele landsbyen kom på besøg, skulle der være en kop kaffe til alle. Parret tilbød tit at passe vores drenge, så jeg kunne få lidt tid for mig selv. Så kørte de ture i vildmarken med dem og viste dem smukke steder på øen som hvide ellers ikke kendte til. De kaldte min helt lyshårede femårige søn for ”White Raven” fordi de mente, at han havde en haida-ånd i sig og ved en fejl var endt i en hvid krop. Det var en stor ære, for normalt tildeles der ikke indianske kælenavne uden for stammen.

To år blev det til på øerne og i den tid fik jeg venner for livet. Jeg underviste drengene hjemme, da de skulle i skole og jeg hyggede mig med andre mødre, der gjorde det samme. Nogle eftermiddage tilbragte vi på de lange strande fyldt med drivtømmer, hvor børnene byggede huler. Eller vi forsøgte at komme tæt på de hvidhovede ørne, der kredsede om trætoppene. Vaskebjørne var der overalt, og et par gange så vi også en brun bjørn. Jeg fik vejledning af mine haida-venner, så jeg følte mig tryg ved dyrelivet. Når vi gik tur i skoven, skulle vi bare huske at slå sten mod hinanden og larme grundigt, så bjørnene kunne høre os på lang afstand og ikke pludselig følte sig overrumplet. Og kvinder skulle ikke gå ind i skoven, når de menstruerede, for mange af de bjørneangreb, der har været i nyere tid, har været rettet mod menstruerende kvinder. Hvis jeg ville holde stuen fri for dyrelopper, skulle jeg bare lægge noget barkflis af ceder under sofaen. Alt det fik jeg at vide af mine haida-venner og jeg følte mig efterhånden helt tryg i den vilde natur. Jeg var blandt venner, der rummede mig. De lyttede til mine historier og jeg til deres. Det var et trygt liv, hvor min mand kom hjem fra fabrikken hver aften og vi fik nye venner med en helt anderledes langtidsholdbar indstilling til relationer end vi var vant til. Det var et godt liv langt fra Alfarvej.

”Tsunami Warning” lød det pludselig en eftermiddag fra højttaleren på den lokale politibil, der kørte forbi ude på vejen. ”Please leave your homes immediately”. Det er 15 år siden nu, så jeg vidste ikke, hvad en tsunami var. Da jeg prøvede at ringe til min mand på fabrikken, fik jeg at vide, at han var kørt til den by, der lå 100 km sydpå. ”Men du skal evakueres” sagde hans sekretær inden hun fortravlet lagde røret på. Der stod jeg med mine tre drenge og følte mig helt alene i verden. Hvad er en tsunami? Hvor skal jeg tage hen? Hvordan kommer jeg af sted når min mand har bilen? Panikken bredte sig i min krop mens jeg prøvede at virke cool over for drengene. Jeg prøvede at ringe til et par veninder, men ingen tog telefonen. Jeg anede ikke mine levende råd.

”Vil du køre med?” råbte Dan pludselig ind af døren. ”Vi skal ud af byen, den ligger så lavt og der har været jordskælv i Kobe i Japan. I 1963 var der en tsunami i en af de byer på vestkysten, der ligger ved en flodmunding ligesom os. Man frygter, at jordskælvet vil skabe en flodbølge, der bliver presset op i tragten, så vi må væk herfra”. Alt dette forklarede han roligt mens han samlede jakker og tæpper og jeg fandt lidt mad frem til køletasken. Dans monotone indianske accent fik efterhånden mit hjerte ned i fart og jeg var enormt lettet, da vi alle fire kort efter sad på bagsædet i hans store gamle bil og bumlede af sted mod midten af øen. Op på en bakke skulle vi, væk fra kysten.

Mange biler holdt parkeret og flere kom til på den bakke, der var øens højeste punkt. Hvide og indianere vrimlede ud mellem hinanden. Et par arbejdere, som jeg genkendte fra fabrikken, var ved at tænde et stort bål og en anden delte ud af sine marshmallows. ”Vi kan ligeså godt få det bedste ud af det” sagde Dan og bredte et tæppe ud, så drengene og jeg kunne sidde ned. Nogle gik og tjekkede, at de ældre og dem, der normalt holdt sig lidt for sig selv, også var dukket op. Panikken i min krop lettede og blev efterhånden erstattet af en følelse af ro og samhørighed mens termokanderne gik på omgang og en summen af rolig snak bredte sig.

Her sad jeg på en ø tusinder af kilometer hjemmefra, midt blandt et urfolk, der havde respekt for naturens luner, men også forståelse for, hvordan man er menneske midt i en krise. Vi sad der i nogle timer og småsnakkede og nynnede til en guitar, som gik på omgang mens vi delte køletaskernes indhold med hinanden. Der var en ro og en tryghed ved at sidde så tæt rundt om et bål blandt venner. Ingen vidste om byen var oversvømmet, om vores huse var væk. Men det gjorde ikke så meget lige der, for vi var sammen i øjeblikket, sammen som mennesker midt i det svære. Vi havde hinanden, sommeraftenen, de ældgamle nåletræer omkring os, ilden, roen.

Der blev ingen tsunami. Alarmen blev afblæst og inden aften var vi alle tilbage i vores huse. Men jeg glemmer aldrig oplevelsen af en dag, hvor mennesker var hinanden nær. Hvor jeg var en del af et samfund, som tog sig af mig, selvom jeg havde en anden farve. Hvor jeg blev lukket helt ind og passet godt på. Den oplevelse gjorde mit menneskesyn lidt mere rummeligt, lidt mindre fordomsfuldt.

Det kan ikke lade sig gøre
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Sådan har københavnere sagt i generationer når de stod og spejdede fra Amager over Øresund mod Malmø og en eller anden "idiot" påstod at man kunne bygge en bro der.

Det samme har Fynboer sagt i hundredevis af år, når de kiggede fra Nyborg mod Korsør og der svirrede rygter om at man kunne bygge en bro i stedet for at tage færgen og drikke dårlig kaffe om bord.

Det kan ikke lade sig gøre. Der er for langt. Det er for dyrt. Det er umuligt.

Storebæltsbroen åbnede i år 1998 og var i et par uger verdens længste bro indtil japanerne åbnede en der var et par meter længere. De kan noget, de japsere! Men det kunne danskerne altså også. På trods af jantelov, nejsigere og generationers hovedrysten.

To år senere stod der også en Øresundsbro. Den blev færdig i år 2000 og jeg futter glad og gerne over den med min brobizz og siger hver gang ih og åh over de flotte piloner og de stærke linier. Jeg kan ikke gå på vandet, men jeg kan køre!

Disse to steder i Danmark blev der på kort tid skabt en vej der hvor der ingen vej var, og der hvor generationer havde rystet på hovedet hvis nogen formastede sig til at nævne muligheden for en.

Det er godt at huske på, når man beder for Danmark. Vi hører altid at Danmark er hårdt, at det er verdens mest ikke-religiøse land, at danskerne ikke gider noget med Gud. At der ikke rigtig er nogen vej for evangeliet.

"Se, jeg er Herren, alle menneskenes Gud! Er noget for vanskeligt for mig?" lyder et retorisk spørgsmål i Jeremias 32:27. Det du beder for er ikke umuligt! Når det var muligt for dygtige ingeniører og ihærdige arbejdere at skabe en vej der hvor der ingen vej var, hvor meget mere er det så ikke muligt for den almægtige Gud?

Det er godt at tænke på når der er "hårde nødder" der skal knækkes i bøn. Gud kan mere end ingeniører. Det er ham, der opfordrer os til at bede og når vi beder i tro, kan vi være med til at skrive historie sammen med ham. Se, det kalder jeg et spændende liv!

"Det er en stor synd at få verdens mest spændende bog til at lyde kedelig". Citatet er Bill Hybel's, og jeg tænker på det hver gang jeg forbereder en prædiken. Den bog som kristne i kommunistiske lande er blevet henrettet for at eje, den bog som har holdt modet oppe hos isolationsfanger gennem tiderne. Den bog, som kinesiske undergrundskirker værner om og er hundrede mand om et eksemplar af. I Danmark er den lovlig. Og nogle mener vist lovlig kedelig. For mig er den bog guf. Jeg har stor respekt i min tilgang, når jeg forbereder mig. Jeg beder for de rette tanker, læser dybt i bibelkommentarer, gør alt hvad jeg kan for at mine tilhørere må finde samme motiverende kraft i den bog som jeg selv har gjort. Og alligevel ser jeg ofte folk sidde og nikke når jeg prædiker. Eller også er de travlt optaget med at sende sms'ser. Det kunne måske nok udløse mindreværd og selvransagelse, men jeg tolker tit på konferencer, hvor eminente, verdenskendte talere fra USA underviser. Selv står jeg og gløder af bare begejstring for det de siger, men det slår aldrig fejl: Der sidder altid nogle og spiller på mobilen eller nikker nede i salen et sted.

Det er ikke min hensigt at anvende min blog til sure opstød eller gardinprædikener (for så falder mine læsere bare i søvn!). Men der skete noget her i weekenden som fik sat den her problematik lidt i relief for mig.

I min Bed & Breakfast var jeg så velsignet at lægge hus til et kristent kursus for ledere, et kursus hvor David og jeg selv var med som deltagere. Huset var fyldt med herlige kristne fra kælder til kvist. Fra fredag aften til søndag eftermiddag sad vi midt i fantastisk og stærk undervisning, vi virkelig kunne bruge til noget. For at illustrere deres budskab havde talerne medbragt et stort fyrtårn i træ. De har vision for, at den undervisning, de gav på dette og andre kurser, skal være med til at gøre danske hjem til fyrtårn, arnesteder hvorfra Guds lys kan gå ud. De stillede det store smukke fyrtårn på min skænk, så vi kunne kigge på det hele weekenden.

Det pudsige var, at det stod lige under mit abstrakte billede (som jeg aldrig rigtig har kunnet se hvad skulle forestille). Og ud fra fyrtårnets top gik en kraftig lyskegle. Det abstrakte i mit billede blev simpelthen en kraftig lyskegle og vi kursusdeltagere morede os med, hvor perfekt fyrtårnet passede lige der.

Underviserne tog fyrtårnet med sig hjem igen søndag, men fra nu af vil den hidtil udefinerlige streg i mit maleri altid være en lyskegle og altid minde mig om det jeg hørte i weekenden. Guds ord fandt udtryk lige midt i min stue, lige her hvor jeg slår mine hverdagsfolder, hvor sovsen nogle gange er for salt og hvor der ind imellem kan være lidt stresset ved middagsbordet.

Det er dét, jeg ønsker, når jeg fortæller om Gud i min egen kirke og i de andre kirker, der er så letsindige at invitere mig til at tale. At skabe en lyskegle, at ordet må blive kød og bo lige der hvor vi er mennesker. At det ikke bare må være abstrakt, men at Gud må oplyse vores indre, så der kommer nogle helt konkrete lyskegler lige der hvor vi bor. For verdens mest spændende bog er også verdens mest livsrelevante bog.

My English friends want a translation of my latest blog blurb, so here goes.
First I must tell you that the Danish term for a person who knows something about our national economy is "a wiseman".
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The season for wise men is over
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I had to smile today when, in a national paper, I read an article about the Danish economy. The article presented its female author as "a former wiseman." I know that you can quit being a secretary (I've taken breaks from that at times), you can retire from the teaching profession, etc. I've just never thought of the word "wiseman" as a position, but rather as an acknowledgment that a person had an insight. I have thought of the term as showing respect for someone's proven and applied knowledge. But this lady, who actually said something very sensible in the article, was described as a "former wiseman."

That got my vivid imagination going. I wonder what happened to her wisdom? Where had it gone? Had she done one stupid thing, said something not so wise and then it was just "game over" for her, then she was no longer considered wise? Or maybe it was just because someone discovered that she was not a wise man but a wise woman, and then she was thrown out?

We have just gone through a season of wise men, I have just stuffed my three specimens back in the Christmas box and relocated them to the basement. The season of wise men is over for now.

However, real wisdom should not be stuffed away, it should be a lasting thing. Although 2000 years have passed since three famous wise men abandoned everything and saddled their camels to follow a star and seek something that was bigger than themselves, it's still the same quest that creates wisdom. Like I wrote on my livingroom window with snowspray one Christmas: "Wise men still seek Him".

It is not enough to follow a star once in your life, it is not enough to bow down once and say "Wow, Jesus, you are the one who could fill my empty space inside." Again and again we must seek wisdom, lest we also end up as "former wisemen".

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom", it says in Proverbs 9:10. There are actually many wise words about wisdom in Proverbs! And the little typing error - if that was what it was - in our national paper reminded me that I must never become a "has-been" in my quest for Jesus. I do not want to end up as someone who saw a star once and said wow and then just went back to business as usual. All the time I must pursue Him, constantly I must seek His heart, again and again I must bow down.

Throughout our lives there are times when we just have to put the closed sign on our store window, saddle our camels, abandon what we have known, and pursue Him.

Sæsonen for vise mænd er forbi
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Jeg måtte smile, da jeg i dag i Jyllandsposten læste en udtalelse om dansk økonomi af en dame, der blev præsenteret som "tidligere vismand". Jeg ved, at man kan stoppe med at være sekretær (det har jeg selv gjort i perioder), man kan pensionere sig fra lærergerningen etc. Jeg har bare aldrig betragtet ordet "vismand" som en stilling, men nærmere som udtryk for, at man havde en indsigt, som man havde optjent noget blivende respekt for. Men den gode dame her, som for øvrigt sagde noget meget fornuftigt, blev altså betegnet som "tidligere vismand."

Så gik min livlige fantasi i gang. Hvad mon der var sket med hendes visdom? Hvor var den forsvundet hen? Havde hun gjort én dum ting, sagt noget mindre klogt og så var det bare "game over," så var hun ikke længere vismand? Eller måske var det bare fordi der var nogen der opdagede, at hun slet ikke var en vismand men en viskvinde, og så kunne hun ikke bruges mere?

Det har netop været sæson for vise mænd, jeg har selv netop lagt mine tre af slagsen tilbage i julekassen og transporteret dem ned i kælderen. Sæsonen for vise mænd er forbi for denne gang.

Der er bare det ved det, at visdom gerne skal hænge fast og vare ved. Selv om det er 2000 år siden, et par af slagsen smed alt, hvad de havde i hænderne og sadlede kamelerne for at følge en stjerne og søge noget, der var større end dem selv, så er det stadig netop den søgen, der skaber visdom. Som jeg et år skrev med snespray på mit stuevindue for at give naboerne noget at gruble over: "Vise mænd søger ham stadig."

Det er ikke nok én gang at følge en stjerne, én gang at bøje sig, én gang at sige "Wow, Jesus, det var jo lige dig, der kunne fylde mit tomrum indeni". Igen og igen må vi søge visdom for at ikke også vi skal ende som "tidligere vismænd".

"Herrens frygt er begyndelsen til visdom" står der i Ordsprogenes Bog 9:10. Der står i det hele taget mange vise ord om visdom i Ordsprogene! Og den lille skrivefejl - hvis det var det, det var - i Jyllandsposten mindede mig om, at jeg aldrig i min søgen efter Jesus må blive en "has-been". En der engang så en stjerne og sagde wow og så i øvrigt gik tilbage til business as usual. Hele tiden må jeg søge ind til hans hjerte, hele tiden må jeg bøje mig. Gennem hele livet må vi nogengange sætte "lukket"-skiltet på butiksdøren, sadle kamelen og sætte alt ind på at søge ham.