Catch-up Blitz: German Achorns and German Bureaucracy

I met Mr. Achorn on my seventh day in Germany. I had finally found my way to the correct office to do the correct bit of paperwork to get the ball rolling on all those wonderful doorways: visas to stay and SOFA status to get on base and mail packages and visit the library and get driving all over Europe. I waited in his lobby for forty minutes, reading posters on the wall about immigration laws and proper procedure, and the dire consequences of misinforming a government employee at any point in the process. If there is anything they take really seriously in Germany, it's beer and bureaucracy. He was polite, even quite friendly and joking with me. He answered all my questions and provided explanations when I was confused. He was new in the office, also just moved to Bad Schwalbach. He clearly marked off which items I needed to obtain to get the process rolling, and included his email address if I had any questions. Lovely!
I got started immediately, stopping on the way home to take my biometric pass photos. That evening, I emailed him my proof of insurance, told my boss how important it was to have my name on the mailbox (they won't deliver if your name isn't on the box), and asked for the 100 euros to cover the fee. Then came the debacle where my boss lost her wallet (it was lying on the counter) and canceled all of her bank and credit cards so that she didn't have access to her money either, but after another 5 days or so I was able to show up with everything I needed. Again, Mr. Achorn was friendly and firm, making clear that I was here at the moment on a Tourist visa, and was allowed to be in Germany for three months on that visa. I was expressly forbidden from working without a permit-- including as an au pair. I was here as a guest until I received the appropriate documents in the mail, which was not guaranteed. It would need to be approved by the appropriate body. (I have no idea if that is a committee or just an official.) It was good that I had a contract, because a contract was needed to give approval for work and work was needed as grounds for the visa to stay.
Five days later, after it had all fallen apart, I emailed Mr. Achorn again. My boss wanted me to try to get the fee back (since when does any bureaucracy refund fees? that's a nice dream.) and I wanted to ask my friendly Mr. Achorn what kind of paperwork I needed to do now that my situation had changed. His first question? "Where are you living? I need to know if I am still responsible for you." Typical. Essentially, when I told him, his main point became that I needed to register in the new location in order for him to no longer be responsible for my file. Except that my generous and hospitable friend's rent might go up if I were registered at her apartment, which is ridiculous to start with since I was only one-month guest. I tried to explain this, stressing over composing emails in German and going back in forth with edits. In the end, I made an intentional decision to ignore this, hoping a little silence, a little holding close of the cards, would be in my favor. We will see, when/ if it comes time for me to complete work permit/visa paperwork if this story with Mr. Achorn has a pleasant ending or foreshadows an unpleasant twist. He was waiting for my file to come from Berlin, from eight years ago, so I know that anything that goes into my file here will be there literally forever, though I may never know the contents.
In the meantime, I am grateful for his thorough explanations. I am prepared: I know how much time I have and I know what kind of paperwork I need to be an au pair. I know I need to bring lots of cash to the Auslaenderbehoerde and I need to keep my biometric pass photos. I know I need to get there first thing when it opens and I know that I do not need to be intimidated by the process: I can follow a checklist, and now I have some practice writing inquisitive emails in German. I just may send Mr. Achorn a thank-you note.

Catch-up Blitz: Unemployment and Emails

I haven't kept you updated very well in the last month. It's been a time with a different quality: an odd, lovely, waiting time, with spurts of activity and a low thrum of anxiety held at bay by a swarm of small moments of prayer.

First came the flurry of emails sent: agonizing over the boundary negotiation with my first-almost Au pair boss, then a quick return trip immediately the day after to retrieve a package, and the fury and disappointment when I was tricked into spending 3 hours and 15 euros and there was no package, just a tense request for the now-no-longer-needed house key, which could have been mailed. And when I am furious, it is almost always with myself: I should have had a plan, been clever enough somehow to see that this might be coming and know what I would do in that case, instead of being caught by surprise by treachery from an untrustworthy person. I took the high road and stayed "innocent as a dove", acting in good faith, but I lacked the capacity to be "wise as a serpent". The trustworthy trust easily, the untrustworthy trust no one, since we expect others to be like ourselves. The wise are trustworthy but wary, and set aside self-absorption to see others as they are. How can it have taken me 19 years since I started paying attention to get only this far? I can only hope that I am learning now to make better use of time and the opportunities that lay around me.

Then came another flurry of emails and facebook interactions: informing my friends and family what was going on and asking for advice and help. Making lists of leads and ideas, and trying not to get completely overwhelmed by the flood of ideas and information coming my way. Soaking up the love and support as fortification against uncertainty. Filling time with the simple acts of a weekend-- food shopping on Saturday (everything is closed on Sundays here), going to church, resting after a restless and stressful and sleepless couple days and the long-laden journey.

And then Monday, the first week of unemployment. Time to tackle things, time to learn again how to make the most of time. It is a very strange situation: to have totally unstructured time, which feels like endless time, and yet to have only 11 weeks to find a job, a place to live and get the paperwork for all of it approved through the German system. I have never liked unemployement. Even though I have enough personal projects (gifts to make, files to organize, letters to write, guitar to practice, it goes on for a while...) at any given point to occupy several lifetimes, with no where to be, I freeze up. Not all the time, of course, but it is actually very difficult to stop trying to make the "best" of time: meaning evaluating every way that the time could be spent and comparing the merits to declare a king, by which end all the time is gone, having been used to evaluate the infinite possibilities. Instead, to make the "most" of time-- pick something, not something perfect, but something reasonably useful and JUST DO IT. To actually be a little less obsessively intentional, and instead to keep moving. To pray, "Lord, I'm going to go ahead and organize my propped-open suitcase and find a new place for my piled-up tourist materials and if that isn't where you want me to spend my time, please redirect me. I want to be working in your will." And find myself writing an email to my immigration-office guy in the middle of folding socks a half hour later. Instead of praying, "Lord, what do you want me to do today?" and then find myself still sitting there, daydreaming out the window an hour later, having not even an interesting revelation to show for the time. (Yes, both these scenarios really happened in this particular week. There has been loads of time wasted-- this learning process is definitely not without its failures.)

Really, I'm kind of back where I was when I moved to Northern Virginia in October 2011: unemployed, living on grace and hospitality, overwhelmed with the enormous number of possibilities, (I could go anywhere! I could do many, many things!) waiting on the Lord to show me what next. In that particular situation, after 4 months of utterly wasted time, I wound up working at Starbucks in utter desperation-- not because I had been rejected so many times (I think I may have submitted one real job application, but I can't remember where), but because I knew that if I didn't get my time structured SOMEHOW, I would never get moving with the process. There was a lot of training that God put me through in NOVA: many trials of stewardship, discipline, steadfastness and trust. If I were the one grading myself, I would give myself an F for the first quarter and maybe a C by the end. So while I hate being unemployed, in many ways this is an exciting second trial: another chance to grow. God sees Jesus' straight-A record when He looks at me, but He is also circling back around, covering the material again so that I will not have to live without experiencing Him fully in these circumstances. How many times will we do this? As many as it takes. He is discontent that I should not know Him as the God Who Is There In My Unemployment. Or maybe even, the God Who Is There For Me, Even When I Do Not Make The Most Of Time. I bet these names sound better in Hebrew.

A snapshot of a quick flight.

Here I am, Fleeing Egypt! There is no leavened bread in that lunch bag-- just rice cakes spread with my homemade chicken liver pate-- I wasn't going to leave that behind! The German lady who took this picture looked at me like I was crazy. I can't decide which part of this trip was the most difficult-- the 600 yards uphill to this bus stop, or the 1000 yards from where I got off the S-bahn to where I met my friend in the station. I actually had to stop and rest several times! I thought my forearms would fall off.

Here is the street where I have stayed in beautiful, beautiful Frankfurt. They plant so many trees! There is one right behind and right in front of my friend's apartment. It is unbearably lovely to look out the window and see green, even though I can hear the city just beyond. It feels so sheltered and safe, screened from prying eyes, but in an organic way that doesn't isolate. I also notice how much care Germans tend to take with their buildings. They have such amazing high ceilings, and it is typical rather than unusual to find lots of ornamentation framing the different floors and windows-- like molding, but on the outside. The paint is fresh, but the proportions are from a different time. I think most of the buildings left here were built in the 1800s or early 1900s. Germans prefer to renovate, rather than tear down and build fresh. This is not to say that there aren't ugly buildings or neighborhoods too crammed for trees, or very modern buildings, just that as I walk the city I see more evidence of intentionality than neglect. The impression is formed that people who are permitted to make a mark on this town are somehow required to consider their long-term effects. I'm sure it's a pain in the butt if you are trying to build something, but I can see the fruit it produces.

On Saturday it will be a month since I moved here, and I will begin moving my things out. God has been incredibly faithful, and I have now another friend who has invited me to stay while I work things out. She even lives quite near the first friend, so that I am not completely uprooted from all the exploration I have done of this area. We will see what happens in October-- this second friend has someone coming to live with her then, maybe, so it may be best for me to have something else by then. I'm aware-- but I'm not worrying. God provided a second place, He can provide a third, or a fourth, or a fifth, and even if He doesn't and I wind up flying home to the states-- I still trust Him. His good doesn't always look the way I am expecting it to look. Actually, His good almost never looks the way I am expecting it to look, and I find that He has to work on my eyes as He's working good for me, that I may see it. But here at least are two good pictures, which I never would have imagined before. Frankfurt was never on my radar, and who could imagine that lugging a lunch bag, a purse, a bag filled with books, a guitar and two heavy suitcases across two cities could be such blessing?

Already?

These are pictures of Bad Schwalbach, the beautiful little town that I fell in love with in two short weeks. For the record, I wasn't trying to guard my heart at all. On the contrary, I made a point to wake early and wander from end to end and all over the hillsides, opening my heart wide to the sunrise. I made friends with the lady who runs the only book store in town, promising to see much more of her as soon as I was paid. She was full of helpful recommendations for books I might be able to enjoy already that would improve my German. I had a long conversation with Bernhardt, who runs the tanning salon, while he took the biometric pass photos I needed for my visa. He wanted to get right into modern politics and American-German relations since WWII. It is not surprising that Bernhardt preferred deeper topics to "flaky" American small talk, but it is rather unusual that these people were willing to be so helpful and so open with me so quickly. It usually takes a long time to get to know anyone German. You have to prove that you really are here to stay.

I thought I was.

I collected tourist material and I took pictures to post later with detailed descriptions of the town's history as a holistic healing center, the Roman mud baths, the main drag full of cute little shops that only takes a half hour to traverse, the Jane-Austen worthy fields at the top of a serious hike. I went in search of a farm for raw milk and I started a batch of homemade sauerkraut. I found a place to take the little girl for a milk shake as a treat. I explored every grocery store, making mental notes of their offerings and comparative prices. I want to church, stayed after for coffee, memorized names and starting dreaming about where to volunteer when the summer holidays came to an end. I found the library. I began writing a post about how perfect it was that this was a little holistic-health town, sprung up around the baths, and here I am ready to practice and experiment with a holistically-based healthier lifestyle.

It all seemed so perfectly aligned.

Just this one little problem-- where I wasn't getting paid, the way I was told I would. And I was being expected to cook, but not given a portion of the food budget, as discussed. And I had waited for the discussion. And I had taken notes, and I had written down my bank information and handed it over. And then I had waited another day-- because life gets busy, and remembering is (apparently) hard. And then I waited another day-- for essentially the mystical reason that God told me the timing wasn't good. I used this day to prepare and pray for what would now need to be a boundary re-negotiation.

And on the third day, as is wont, everything changed.

Out of respect (for my own desires to stay classy-- don't be too impressed) I will neglect all the details. I will say only that I believe God was absolutely faithful to help me through this confrontation (which always makes me nervous) with my integrity and my courage intact.

But the fourth day found me packed and jobless in Germany, newly homeless and headed for a dear old friend's apartment in a city nearby. (Coincidence that she should be there? Ha! God is great.)

A week (und munze= small coins) later, I'm blown away by the speed at which the wind can change. God does not forbear to send me tacking quickly this way and that at full throttle, and I must admit I love every second of it. Except for the vague panic when I think too long about how I will soon be really homeless (my friend is moving) and my savings won't hold out too long and all of these job prospects could so easily fall through and maybe I won't get a work permit and maybe I will have to come home with my tail between my legs and OH gee, Jesus, these waves are really big and I'm beginning to sink........

So I gulp down some deep breath and I fix my eyes on Jesus.
I admit that there is fear; there is lots of uncertainty. And it does get to me.
I say I am sure that God brought me here. And that He knew that this job was untrustworthy, even when I didn't. I am surprised, but He isn't. He tells me to try to stay, so He has something else in mind.
I say He will come through.
And after I do, I have a second of angst: Oh, Lord, I will be so embarrassed if have just said this and you don't come through. I will be humiliated if I am wrong about all this-- please do not let me be put to shame. I've already done shame-- I don't want to go back.

I remember long ago weeping on a different friend's floor-- utterly undone by the emotional consequences of some bad relational decisions and sobbing Psalm 34. My sweet friend's face hovered near mine, bewildered as I tried to cry and laugh at the same time, unsure if she should comfort me or smile at my comic mess. She was the perfect audience for this public Psalm to make its way into my heart, in that subtle way Jesus has of doing dramatic things in the most anti-climactic way possible. Today I still remember Psalm 34 with the texture of dorm carpet pressing into my elbows.

"I sought the LORD, and He answered me;
He delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to Him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame." v.4+5

So I sought the Lord-- and my plans changed from set to spinning.
And I found myself unemployed in Europe, with no ticket home.
And yet, free from odious employ. Given generous hospitality, and plenty of time to look on Him and radiantly enjoy this fantastic adventure that I would never have been so prodigal to choose for myself.
And so I say again, tweaking the angst 'til it twitches no more, He has a plan-- an amazing plan-- full of good works, prepared in advance for me to do HERE. He will come through, and I will not be put to shame.

Stay tuned. (!)

Oh Germany, land of warfare.

I never imagined how appropriate it would be to use this blog title as my keeping-in-touch, Au-pair-adventure blog. But here I am, getting to know my new family, and they both have rebellious spirits, much like mine.

The little girl is a "tester" of boundaries (her mother brags, and I have seen)-- another strong-willed stallion, whom I must discipline and train but not break. The mother claims to be a recovering people-pleaser, although I have more recently seen that she too, will push whatever limits are not enforced with consequences. I have a measure of authority over one and under the other-- I am the spread in a submission sandwich. I am about to have oh-so-much practice navigating some complex boundaries. I am nervous but excited-- this is going to be very difficult, but I am going to grow. And indeed, we are well underway.

While I am not foolish enough to traverse the ocean without a contract, the exact boundaries of expectations, consequences and services had yet to be laid out satisfactorily. I became more anxious for this discussion as some of my early expectations were quickly disappointed. Before arriving, I thought they were healthy, non-picky eaters. (So did they, until I started discussing traditional nutrition and challenging the low-fat notion.) I thought there was a measure of logistical organization. However no further research had been done into the proper process of my on-base paperwork in the time between my first interview and my flight, and precious days were wasted in the wrong office waiting rooms. It took the better part of a week to sit down and have this boundaries discussion, and to my shame it took me 24 hours after that discussion to begin realizing that no compromises whatsoever had been made to me, and in fact the perks offered me (German classes, a limited work week OR overtime pay) had been coaxed away using some fairly manipulative negotiation tricks. She had made her problems mine, but had not made my problems hers.

In taking on this position, I have been excited to learn how to be a servant, according to traditions I have read about in old Britain and heard about from my grandparent's reminiscing about growing up in the South. These stories are about the place of valued household servants in a family; a group of people without whom the household simply does not run smoothly.  A forgotten class who enrich the lives of the ones they serve and who are seen as indispensable, there are both good and bad stories about their treatment, but I had high hopes for my value as a luxury (live in, exclusive, experienced, college educated childcare!) in these modern times. I dreamt of learning to be like Samwise Gamgee and Mary Poppins. What lovely ideals! Do I seem foolish yet? I should.

And so I find myself in a land known mostly for warfare- both physical and spiritual, facing an upcoming fight. It will be much harder now to renegotiate these boundaries so soon, although I am gratified that at least I said, "that seems fair, but let's see how it goes," rather than, "yes that will work all year." It will be much harder to negotiate these boundaries gently now that I am angry about falling prey to tactics, and taking so long to notice the inconsistencies in the position being communicated verbally and that being expressed through actions. And yet, here there is still so very much room for growth. Instead of being able to come open-handed and give generously, and be cared for and respected in return, I must argue my worth and fight for my value against a shrewd and miserly negotiator, who does not shrink back from plying upon pity or obscuring facts. Beloved, this is the way of the wily world, and it is time to learn how to protect your good against it's abuses while living by it. To learn how to rebel against the parts of claims that are excessive while not rejecting the entire relationship-- to live in and with those who need my help and yet still would abuse it has become my most necessary skill. Is this not the heart of being salt in a world of manure? It is important that I not compromise my health to enable this woman to keep a servant who is in fact beyond her means, if she has not been lying to me about her grocery budget. If she has not been lying, better to leave now than impoverish them and malnourish myself. If I have allowed her to lie to me, it is important also for her good that I not allow her to extort unchecked. However, if I am called to serve this family, I will need to die to self a little each day to serve them. There is so much tension here. How much death is helpful, and how much enables? There is much argument to come. I dread it, and I am not confident that I will do well by her, myself or Jesus. But thank God that no matter how I do with this test, He values me the same. By Grace, and the loving reminder of my community back home, her devaluing of me will not speak to my heart, which answers only to One who saw fit to die for me. His budget does not change, and He does not reneg His promise to take care of me and be my Hope, wherever I may go. 

First Impressions

The first sight of those European license plates gives me tingles. Squat and long with square numbers and a circle of stars: they are a forgotten familiarity suddenly made fresh. The air is muggy and hot like in Virginia, and I have been through the Frankfurt airport before, so it, too, vaguely lacks a sense of strangeness. But then we pull into the garage of this new place where I will live and it is indefinably, quintessentially German. It's something about the ratio of height to width and the white washed walls, or maybe it's just the door handles. They have flat bars of brushed steel where knobs would be, and I think they may be on the wrong side of the doors. Yet they are not on the wrong side--they're on the European side and they are letting my subconscious know that I really am here. I'm here in Europe and it's exactly right. It's not Berlin but it's Deutschland, and I am back in that strange in-between existence that I like best. I wrap the tension of "far-away-ness" and familiarity around myself and sink into my favorite comfort zone-- the one that inevitably stretches me. I am not from here, but this is home.

Feelings and Freedom

No.

I don't say it enough.

No, I really don't.
And it brings freedom.
"No" carries the same power as ofter-praised "yes" to open my life to new possibilities.
New possibilities need space. They need time. I have to take a bit of my life and put it into each new possibility to make it come alive. And because I occupy a fixed space and linear time dimension, I must surround these spaces and times with a wall of "No"s.

This is a painfully obvious truth. This is simply how life works. Surely, everyone know this.

Yet I feel I must apologize profusely for every "No" that I say.
If "No" is a knife, I feel I should cut with a dull blade.
If "No" is a wall, I feel I should build it of blankets and jello.
I only stop apologizing when I get tired and angry.
Henry Cloud claims that anger is the correct, healthy response to a trespassed boundary.
I cut my Nos with rubber and built them with gelatin and I apologize when I am wronged and I am surprised that I am deeply, frighteningly angry?

No.

Rebellion is scary because it is angry.
And anger is scary because it is powerful.
And I worry most of the time that I will do more damage than good with the power that I possess.
I fear my effectiveness. Therefore, I avoid my anger.

But if I say NO to my anger, then I must also say NO to the truth.
And "YES" to the truth is worth "NO" to all other things.
So sometimes, with trembling, I come into my anger.
And it always feels like rebellion.
My emotional signature to an intentional "No" is reckless, daring defiance.
My soft little "I'm-sorry-but-no"s become hearty "HELL NO"s.
I feel like I am being hopelessly difficult. High maintenance. Disagreeable. Non-compliant. 
And I'm so damn bad at this NO saying, that I probably am being a real bitch about it.
(Because if I don't please everyone, I'm obviously a bitch.)

I am stopped in my tracks by the sweet release that this rebellion brings. Like a hot air balloon casting off ballast, I rise a little higher when I exile another Yes and put a No in its place.

I say NO to perfectionism. And I say YES to right where I am now.
I say NO to caring about this or that detail. And I say YES to enjoying the whole.
I say SCREW pleasing everyone! I can't do it and I WON'T. I'm going to please the one who loves me!
I say EFF thin; I would rather be strong.
I say NO to trying to control everything, and whoosh!
Suddenly I've cleared the clouds and I'm floating along in the sun. I've said YES to whatever outcomes God sends, and I'm defying gravity. I'm rebelling against anxiety and the crushing weight of hopeless responsibility. They have no space, no time here. My NO has severed their ties and my Nos have blocked their return. My now empty hands reach out to receive contentment, and my heart swells with a sense of God's pleasure.

Against an objective standard, my rebelliousness might not even turn out to be actual rebellion. My feelings, while they are valid, should not be confused with the truth. Many of these "revolts" are just the mundane confrontations necessary to healthy relationships. My feelings about them are a reflection of how deeply I am a slave to the expectations of others. I am so ready to surrender my identity to how well I have pleased them, that staking my claim to my own identity feels like an act of war. I have rendered authority in my heart to lies and false priorities. I have donned a nice, safe, life-vest and I am floating with the status quo. My No feels like rebellion, because I'm swimming upstream and going against the tide. But mutiny to a false captain is loyalty to the king.

I place one No on top of another. I am building a wall. I am building a door frame. I am not doing it very well, and they often tumble down and must be stacked again. I am, however, growing stronger in both my ability to stack them well and in my confidence that stacking them is exactly what I should be doing. I rebel and say No, that I might say Yes to my Beloved.