Well, we've had our share of pre-travel stress over the past several days (and weeks)... But it seems that we're finally near the end.  Or is it just the beginning?  In any event -- our three-month odyssey to the United States of America begins in about 14 hours.

We're all very much looking forward to the time in our homeland (though some parts more than others).  Marci and I celebrating our 10-year wedding anniversary -- with a cruise to the Bahamas -- should be especially fun.  And we're really looking forward to connecting with so many various friends and family scattered throughout the North American continent.  We're especially eager to introduce Cor (now 8 months old) to everyone!  Believe it or not, I'm actually really looking forward to the prospect of fund-raising this summer, too.  To be sure, it can be intimidating to realize the huge amount of financial support that needs to be raised in just a few short months -- but we have an equally big story to tell of everything that God has been doing and is doing in Amsterdam... And I'm excited to finally move beyond the stage of thinking about it and talking about it and preparing for it -- and just start doing it.  When all of this is coupled with the opportunity to eat at so many of our favorite restaurants again and enjoy so many of our favorite summer activities again, it adds up to a much-anticipated summer that should fuel memories, images, and stories for many years to come...

I have to be honest, though, that there are a few things which will probably be more difficult for me.  I'm not looking forward to having to regularly (and frequently) spend lots of money on gasoline again (being so accustomed to pedal power in Amsterdam these days).  I'm not looking forward to "reverse culture shock" -- feeling out of touch with my own native culture (I already realized this the other day when I asked a good friend in Ohio if people in America typically send a "text message" or an "SMS" via mobile telephone -- seeing how the technology was almost unheard of five years ago when I moved to Europe, but is now quite widespread -- and hearing my friend basically reply by asking "an SM-What?").  But more than anything, I think it's going to be hard to be "living out of a suitcase" for three whole months -- especially with a family of five -- sleeping on dozens of different beds, trying to maintain order and routine when order and routine will be practically impossible.  This is probably difficult for anyone -- but I am particularly a person of routine.  I tend to feel most rested and most productive when I am operating according to some self-imposed schedule for life... And yet, I realize that the coming few months -- though rest and productivity are the two stated goals -- will provide scant opportunity for regular routine.  I'm trusting God to help me read and adjust, as I go.   But it can still be a little bit scary to think about all of this.

Suffice to say, we have a long and winding road ahead of us.  It's going to be quite an adventure! 

Have you ever heard that bit of trivia (or perhaps it's an urban legend) that the Eskimo language includes seven words for the one English word: "snow?"  The idea is that certain peoples and certain cultures contain a high degree of subtlety and nuance for items which are common in their particular setting -- though they may be more foreign to a different group of people and summarily categorized and titled with a single word (if indeed any word) in another cultural context.  Well, I wonder if I've discovered such a concept for people from northern Europe (and other people from  around the world who may also be of northern European descent).

Well, let me start by asking you this question:  What color hair would you say that I have?

You can scroll through some of the pictures in the (recently updated) Family Pictures section of the website, if you'd like a visual refresher... But I'll go ahead and tip my hand on this one.  You see, I always thought that I had "brown" hair.  At least that's what it says on my driver's license.  But recently, I've been given pause.  The other day, I was watching Elliot and Olivia as they busied themselves on the play-ground closest to our house when I overheard a conversation between Elliot and another girl on the playground.  I don't remember exactly what all they were talking about, but at one point the girl gestured toward me and asked Elliot (in Dutch):  "Is that your Dad over there?  The blond one?"

I thought it was a funny incident that was perhaps indicative of living in a neighborhood with a lot of people who are originally from the Middle East.  But I didn't think much of it until I was talking with some of the people from my writers' group the other night and sharing the playground anecdote with them.  I got to the end of the story, with the quote about my hair being blond -- delivering it with the intonation of a punch-line, expecting amused responses from the others.  But instead of amusement, one of the others said, matter-of-fact: "Well, Eric, your hair is blond.  Maybe kind of a dark-blond, but clearly blond."  I looked around at the others in the group, but they all nodded.  "Yup.  Yes.  Uh-huh.  Definitely blond.  No question about it."

As we got to talking about it, I learned that people from northern Europe (or northern European descent) are basically all "blond" in the eyes of the rest of the world.  We northern-Europeans make distinctions between platinum-blond, dirty-blond, dark-blond, strawberry-blond, red, reddish-brown, brown, brunette... But from what I gather, it seems like most of the world looks at us and says: "blond."  I don't know why this comes as such a surprise to me, but it does.

I guess I must be one of those northern Europeans.

Courage and strength.  Courage and strength... I remember this anthem from the beginnings of the Book of Joshua -- but I never really realized that these refrains were being instilled all the way back at the beginning of Deuteronomy as well.  God must have known that these would need to be important armaments for the people of Israel (and particularly the leader of the people of Israel), as they set out on their great campaign to claim the Promised Land.

Courage and strength.  Courage and strength.  In Deuteronomy chapter 1, Moses is told to build up Joshua's courage, in light of the fact that it would be he who would claim Israel's inheritance (Deuteronomy 1:37-40).  In chapter 3, soon after reminding Moses that a glimpse from the top of Mount Pisgah would be the closest that he'd ever get to the Promised Land, God commands Moses to command Joshua:  "Give him courage.  Give him strength.  Single-handed he will lead this people across the river.  Single-handed he'll cause them to inherit the land at which you can only look" (Deuteronomy 3:28).

Courage and strength.  Courage and strength.  It's so necessary for leadership.  It's so necessary for life.  The reiteration of these themes -- summed up in Joshua's "inaugural address" and its repeated charge to "Be strong and courageous" -- has been a powerful encouragement to me throughout the years.  I remember reading the first chapter of Joshua just after I had initially made the decision to go into full-time ministry.  I was facing the intimidating process of raising funds to cover the costs of my ministry in Bowling Green -- and those words from Joshua were life and hope and power to my weak and trembling body.  Courage!  Strength!  I felt empowered by those reminders, and incredibly, God showed up in those days of fund-raising -- enabling a gangly, green, college-graduate to complete the process in about five months.

The encouragements toward courage and strength again came into play some four years later, as I was preparing to move to Amsterdam.  The Atlantic Ocean felt like such a wide and impossible barrier (probably because it was, on the practical level!) -- but then, again "coincidentally" reading through the stories of Joshua's conquest of the Promised Land, I was freshly reminded of God's miraculous interventions to help His people cross the Jordan River (which was, to the Israelites, just as impossible a barrier as my Atlantic Ocean).  Courage and strength!  Courage and strength!  I felt my blood pump faster and more fully through my veins, as I read those words.  Eating up those words from the first chapter of Joshua was like Pacman munching on a power pellet, or Popeye popping a can of spinach, or the Gummi Bears gulping a vial of Gummi Berry Juice.  Somehow, reading the command to be strong and courageous actually made me stronger.  I actually became more courageous.  And then God showed up again, and the Mission Impossible suddenly became the Mission Accomplished.  We raised another boat-load of support.  We sold our house.  We crossed the Atlantic, quite literally, and settled down in the city of Amsterdam.  Again, God supplied all the courage and strength that I needed -- along with all the other more practical stuff to boot.

And now I find myself reading through the Conquest accounts of the Old Testament again -- and as I read the reminders toward courage and strength (in places from the text where I never really noticed them before), I again feel my adrenaline pumping stronger, the timpanic drum beat growing louder, the courage and strength filling my system anew.  The feeling is not unlike my memory of rides on a big yellow school bus, on my way to a high school football game in Norwalk or Bellevue or Upper Sandusky, listening to "pump-up" music on my walkman headphones.  I feel like I'm on the cusp of a great, epic battle.  I'm getting prepared.  I'm ramping up.  I'm rip-raring to go, like a race-horse at the gates.

Could it be mere coincidence that these passages from the Bible are speaking so strongly to me again at just the time when I'm getting ready for another significant stretch of support-raising in the USA?!?  I did not plan my personal Bible study with the current situation in mind -- but it's crazy how such words of encouragement supernaturally fill me for just such a time as this!  Courage and strength!  Courage and strength!  And just when I need it...

I especially appreciate the fact that I'm noticing these anthems further back in the text than what I've previously observed.  Joshua was repeatedly steeped in words of strength and encouragement, apparently, going back years before the First Battle of Canaan ever took place.  That means that it wasn't just some blind rush of psychosomatic chemical responses to an impassioned speech at a particular moment of crisis.  It wasn't some special, one-time, "unique" experience of God's courage and strength.  It was, doubtless, a mix of God's supernatural voice, the encouragement of others, and self-talk reinforcing an acquired belief.  But if anything, this makes the message of courage and strength even more meaningful!  It's something sustained and and repeatedly spoken into cognizance.  It's something that can charge us now, and something that can stay with us into the future.

As long as we remember -- and remind each other -- to be strong and courageous.

For the first time in a long time, I had ham-and-cheese sandwiches with mustard for my lunches this weekend.

The above sentence may very well qualify as one of the most boring, mundane, ridiculous opening lines for a blog post ever.  And let's be honest:  for the average blog browser, it may very well serve as a ridiculously boring opening sentence for a ridiculously boring post... But then again maybe not.

I think my ham-and-cheese sandwiches with mustard are actually kind of significant, in a way.  For me personally, I think they may serve as a sign of acceptance, perspective, and coming-to-terms with the past five years of my life.  You see, when I first moved to Amsterdam, in January 2003, I probably ate ham-and-cheese sandwiches with mustard for my lunch four or five times a week.  Partly because they were very tasty -- made with fresh, crusty, European bread, topped with salty ham and finely aged Dutch cheese, and accented with sharp, zingy, French mustard -- and partly because they were one of the very few things that I knew to prepare as I learned a new system for grocery stores, kitchen utensils, and daily routines.  For the first month that I lived in Amsterdam -- in an apartment on the Leidsekade just below the old Zolder -- ham-and-cheese sandwiches with mustard were a staple of my diet.

But then, as I moved out from the Leidsekade apartment and into the city, and as I grew tired of the same old food every day for lunch -- to the point that I was willing to overcome my inhibitions for trying new things and acclimating to the culture around me -- I moved away from the ham-and-cheese sandwiches with mustard.  I fell back to the old American classic, peanut-butter-and-jelly.  Or I had roast beef.  Or I made pasta.  Or I ate at one of the cafes in the city.  And for whatever reason, I never came back to the ham-and-cheese sandwich with mustard again.

Oh, sure, I probably had a ham-and-cheese sandwich with mustard every now and then -- most likely if someone else had prepared the lunch for me... But I found myself very deliberately avoiding ham-and-cheese with mustard.  I would sooner eat just ham.  Or just cheese.  Or maybe ham-and-cheese with no mustard.  But however it happened, I developed a subtle aversion to a ham-and-cheese with mustard because it reminded me, quite viscerally, of a very awkward and painful period of my life.  It left, in a very literal way, a bad taste in my mouth.  Those early days in Amsterdam have a certain nostalgia and "glory days" feel to them, on one level -- but really, when I think back on those days, even now I get a bit of a sick feeling in my stomach.  Of course that was a necessary period of my life, to get me to where I am today (living and functioning in daily life in Amsterdam), but those early days were a very uncomfortable period of my life -- feeling ignorant and useless and powerless and lonely most of the time.  And although I'm glad that I went through the whole process, and I feel confident that God directed through that season of life, I would never relish the idea of going back to that time.  And for whatever reason, without really giving it much thought, a ham-and-cheese sandwich with mustard came to symbolize this to me.

So I actually think it's kind of significant that I made a specific and deliberate choice to enjoy a few ham-and-cheese sandwiches with mustard this weekend (even though there were other options at my disposal).  Laugh at me, if you want (it is kind of silly).  Congratulate me, if you want.  But I'm glad to be eating ham-and-cheese sandwiches with mustard again.  Though I wouldn't want to do it every day.

Let it be said that I trust God's character, as revealed through the Bible. But I have to admit: I have a bit of a hard time with the way Moses was treated at Meribah.

Why did God react so strongly to Moses striking instead of speaking to the rock? Why was that particular incident such a big deal? Couldn't Moses have simply misunderstood the assignment? After all, wasn't it God who put the staff in Moses' hands to begin with that fateful day? What if Moses was just having a bad day? And even if it was willful disobedience, why would that one little act cancel out all the great faith-filled things that characterized the rest of Moses' life? And if Moses was going about things the wrong way at Meribah (regardless of the reasons), why didn't God just withhold the water so Moses could go back to his original instructions and get it right? Why did this become the rope that was used to hang Israel's great leader and deliverer? I really don't get it.

As I read through the story of Moses at Meribah, my primary emotional response is one of anger. Am I going to get busted on some sort of technicality like this, too? And if so, what's the point of even trying to be a good leader? I already know that I have bad days -- even bad weeks, and bad months -- in the course of walking the path of faith, following God as closely as possible. So I have to wonder: Should I even step out across the mine-field, if I know that my chances of being dismembered are so great?

Why would God give us the story of Moses at Meribah? What am I supposed to do with that?!?!