Villers-la-Ville

Thursday, May 3rd was an epic day off. Hava Flave invited me to her school for lunch where we dined on Belgium's Panera Bread cousin and she gave me a quick tour of Louvain-la-Neuve. After a quick coffee and tea, she headed to class and I headed back from whence I came - the train station - to continue my adventurous day off. Off to the delights of Villers-la-Ville. 

Ready for a day of adventure

I took the train to Ottignies, got off and boarded another train to Villers-la-Ville. Once there I roamed around attempting to find signs telling me where to go. Ha! What good are signs that don't exist when you can wander around and see the lovely village and try to find someone who speaks English who can give you directions??? 

The train stop without a station...

At the intersection next to the tracks I chose to go right

And learned fairly quickly that I should've gone left. 

I  found someone who spoke English (ya gotta look for the youngsters) and was able to get directions from her and was on my way to the abbey. 

*****

In case you're wondering:

Abbaye de Villers is the ancient ruins of a Cistercian Abbey founded in 1146 A.D.  For a time-line of the history of Abbaye de Villers click on this link. Or click this link for more information. Even Wikipedia provides an further info that is interesting. So far these web-sites provide the extent of my knowledge of the place. There have been a few books written about Villers-la-Ville...but they're in French. 

*****

I've always been insanely curious about all things that are very old. I love the personal aspect about history. I think most people's view of history is that it's dull and boring, but the fact that actual souls lived out these lives in often different manners than we live today is fascinating to me. I love to imagine and picture what lives were like, and yes, I suppose I romanticize their lives to a certain degree. 

As a child growing up, when driving from one side of Oklahoma to the other, or when going on long family road trips, I always wanted to stop in the ghost towns that were just off the nicely paved roads that we traveled. I don't think I ever voiced these desires, but when sitting in the back or middle red upholstered seats of our black Suburban, I looked off in wonder at those dilapidated buildings as they flew beyond my vision, our Suburban carrying on to our intended destination. You can imagine then, since I was never able to physically be among those enticing ruins, what it might be like for me to have stood among the ruins in Villers-la-Ville.  

It was truly awe inspiring. Breath taking, even. 

Above is the abbot's palace.

Traditionally Cistercian architecture used only stone, 

but in the 1440's Abbaye de Villers started using brick.

There were several areas closed off by gates, deemed too dangerous to explore...

which of course makes them all the more enticing to me. Ugh. 

I love that in the picture above you can see what is left of what covered the brick and stone 

as well as some beautiful scroll work on top of the plaster.

Looooove this!

I believe this might be the square where the monks walked and prayed daily...not sure though.

And this is inside the sanctuary where the choir loft used to be.

I almost broke out in song, 

singing "Alas and did my Savior bleed and did my Sovereign die?", 

when someone else walked in and I kept my tune to myself. 

"The sacred vessels, vestments and books for worship were kept here, 

along with the relics held by the monastery (which were not on display). 

The storage niches can still be seen." 

Storage niches.

There was actually much more of the abbey to be seen, but I spent so much time just being there and soaking it all in that I didn't even realize that the property was much more extensive than what I was seeing. I was there for an hour and a half, but could have easily and contentedly spent two more. 

The atmosphere was incredibly peaceful. Before I left the house, Rebecca and Annie had said you can feel the prayers of the men on the grounds. I found that to be true. It does have a "sacred ground" feeling. I found myself thinking about that feeling on my walk back to the train. I didn't want to leave that peace. I wanted to feed on it and bask in it, however the Holy Spirit brought to mind that wherever He is, there is peace. I praise Him that the Lamb of God has made way for me to be in His temple always and forever. Man no longer needs a physical building to 'find' God. That peace doesn't have to only be found on the grounds of an old, forsaken abbey. That peace is found in Christ and through Him resides in me! 

 

Is there a Well around here?

Two weeks ago on a Sunday, Katina and I boarded a train for Brussels, excited at the prospect of finding The Well. (Fun fact! "The Well" is also the name of our college group in the Burque...) Katina found directions and wrote them down in her moleskine, and we were pumped to share a new experience together as we anticipated the joy of fellowship with fellow brothers and sisters. However, not unlike our other adventures together we went the opposite direction after we left the train station and ended up wandering around for 30 minutes, trying to find our way to The Well's meeting location. When we finally made it to Nativitas we found the building dark and empty, it's doors locked. We stood around, made a few more efforts to get in, even asked a guy who looked like he *might* be looking for the same meeting we were trying to attend.

"Excuse me, are you looking for The Well?"

Strange face made in my general direction. "The Well? Is there a well around here?" (reeking with friendly sarcasm)

Nervous/embarrassed laugh "Uuuuuh, heh heh, no, not to my knowledge."

"What is it then?"

"It's kind of like a church, but they meet around here."

"Oh, well I know nothing about things like that." Begins walking away with smug smile on face

Katina laughs at me. :)

...

We made a phone call and our friend made a couple phone calls to no avail. What to do now? Wellllll we're starving. Let's hunt for food. We made our way back toward the train station a different way than we'd come, wanting to at least see something different if we weren't going to get to go to church.

We were about to order food when our cell phone rang. Carlton to the rescue! He picked us up and took us back to Nativitas where the group had finally returned after a time of walking around the neighborhood together. It was totally providence, for we had a *great* conversation about the church, what it is in different cultures (what works in the States doesn't necessarily work abroad), what it is Biblically, and what kind of expectations we have because of our own lives and the things that we've made church out to be in our own minds that aren't necessarily Biblical.

It was a great night. The group consisted of 20 people from New Zealand who were in Brussels on a mission trip and 6 or so other people who are regular attenders of the small group. They were incredibly welcoming. It gave us such a beautiful taste of community and the broader Church.

During a time of prayer, every time one of the New Zealanders (?) prayed I couldn't help but think of Flight of the Conchords. If you haven't heard of them, check them out, but watch with some discretion. They're hilarious but not completely clean (so maybe watch the second video first):

Katina and I felt an instant love for these people whom we didn't even get to know, but loved all the same. At the end of our time together, they all gathered to perform the Haka chant:

                                        Not the best video quality, but I think you'll get the idea.

This website describes the haka chant as a "war chant and challenge". It is performed by the All Blacks rugby team of New Zealand prior to a match against teams not native to New Zealand.

We were able to go back to The Well this Sunday and enjoyed it just as much. Our group was small in number with only 8 in attendance, but the Word was preached well, there was fellowship and a visible bond with believers from all around the world. God is certainly changing and broadening our minds on what the Church is and what it looks like. Praise HIM that the gospel is central to the Church. That Jesus is the head and that no man can tear it down. It is built by and on Christ, the cornerstone, and held together by Him as well. I can't wait to see all His children (His inheritance) gathered together at last, rejoicing in God our Father.

My Passion

The past couple weeks, among many other things, have been weeks of reflection. Before I came to Brussels to volunteer as a caregiver, I was working at Desert Springs Church as a secretary in the church's office. It's a job that I am so thankful for. No one in that office is perfect, but that's part of the beauty (and I believe everyone would tell you, sometimes the pain) of it. God has taught me so much by and through working in an office full of people who love Jesus and who work daily for His kingdom. As much as I've loved working there, and currently plan if the Lord wills to return there, I've discovered it's really not what I want to do with the rest of the life the Lord has planned for me to live.

My biggest passion and joy on this earth (besides Christ and Him crucified...may that truly be my One passion) thus far is music. I. Love. Music. I love to listen to it. I love to hear it. I love to sing it.I love to play it. There's a certain feeling one experiences when sitting at a piano, praying and playing; an emotion that just comes over me when the chords feel and flow right...it's almost as if I can feel the joy of the Lord is in and with me. I love that God has designed that His children praise Him through this marvelous act. Music was designed by Him and is meant to bring Him glory.

My entire life has been filled with music, whether it was through high school choir (sooo many good memories there!), youth choir at church, adult choir at church, singing with my sister, singing with The Well praise band, etc; I've always loved music. And though I've taken voice and piano lessons inconsistently throughout my entire life, it's never been my entire focus. I'd attempted to work toward going to college for music and though my efforts were well rewarded (I enjoyed college and was a good student)...it just wasn't meant to be at that time.

"The heart of man plans his way

but the Lord establishes his steps."

Proverbs 16:9

On the day of Rebecca's birthday, Katina and I met a wonderful lady. Rebecca was out with her husband for a fun birthday outing so Annie, Katina, and I were left at home to eat lunch together. We were warming left-overs when a woman walked in bearing a bundle of flowers. She'd come for Rebecca's party, thinking it was to be held that day, when in fact it would be on Friday. We invited her and her sweet granddaughter to stay for lunch or tea and she graciously accepted our invitation. Over lunch Katina and I found out that Anne, along with her husband founded a ministry called Creative Arts Europe. It's an organization that helps musicians, dancers...artists of all shapes and sizes excel in their talents. They've created a network of artists in Europe that come together with a common goal. One of the more active sides of their ministry is to host music/arts camps for children and teens across Europe. They have an upcoming camp in Finland. ---They even have a musical theater program!!!---I digress...

Something Anne said really resonated within my heart. Her husband likes to say that you can't love God or love people without using your gifts. For the past year, God's placed in my heart that I need to cultivate the gifts He's given me, and my heart continues to be drawn towards music (as well as something international, but I can't put my finger on it quite yet). I don't know what the next step is. 

Here are my thoughts:

• I don't necessarily want to go to college. Possibly, maybe, but not really. 

-I don't want to waste my time on other learning endeavors. I'm old enough that I now know what I want to focus on, and though well rounded educations are a great idea and I would really love to continue learning and growing, shaping and stretching my mind, I don't know that college is for me. Furthermore, I'm not sure I want to get the life sucked out of me by professors who couldn't care less what my motivation is to learning music as I want to use it as a means by which I give glory to someone other than myself.

• I'd love to go to a music/arts school. (But then the prior conundrum stated above comes into play.)
• I might need to focus solely on music.
• I don't know what to do.

There you have it. I've asked Anne for some suggestions and am waiting for her reply. 

I love that God gives us joy in what gives Him pleasure. I love that He rejoices when I love using what He's given me. Please pray with me that He would reveal exactly what is the next step. For though my own heart can plan my way it's truly God alone who's established my steps. 

Praying that He shows me His way.

A Story of Wet Paint

A comedy or a tragedy? Either way you look at it, this is a story of wet paint.

My day off was yesterday. The house was to receive the prince and princess again for prayer and the doctor was coming around the same time, so I wasn't sure I could be spared. I helped Rebecca with her makeup, hair and a few other random things in her bedroom. It looked like things would go smoothly without me so I prepared for my day off. I was already showered and ready:

And documented how I felt about going out alone:

So I posted a blog about out trip into Brussels and googled some things to do around Genval. I considered going here to Villers-la-Ville, the ruins of an ancient monastery, or to Brussels again, but this time on my own. :( I really wanted to see the monastery with my sister so I decided to go back into Brussels. So I stalled a little bit, was hungry so I walked down the stairs to go to the kitchen but the meeting was going on in the room between me and the kitchen so I was blocked...fine, decision made, I'm forced to go out on my own. I grabbed my things and headed out the door to the train station a little more confident than last time. I surveyed the platform, there wasn't anyone around as I was 20 minutes early and I sat down and waited for the train to come. So I sat on a chair and waited.

Along came a girl. A nice looking girl about my age in a tan trench coat for whom I removed my purse from the chair next to me so that she could know I wasn't going to bite her if she chose to sit by me. You see, further along down the line of chairs there were two separate signs taped to the seat of two chairs. I'd assumed they were both broken, therefore that left only a few chairs to sit in, and they were both to either side of me. I hoped she would find me friendly enough to take the stranger danger plunge.

She didn't.
She just stood to the chair next to me fiddling with her purse.
And then she touched my shoulder.

She motioned me forward with her hand on my shoulder. I sat forward and my shirt stuck to the back of the seat and pulled away slowly, wet paint (wet, red paint) attaching itself to my beautiful, newly purchased just before I came to Belgium cardigan. (Abby was with me when I bought it. Fun times. :)) I stood up aghast making small 'oh no' noises while the girl looked on sympathetically, realizing I didn't speak French at the same time. I motioned, asking if it was also on my pants. She pointed to my other shirt, so I took off my cardigan, put on my coat that I had deliberated for so long in my head about bringing, thankful that I had, and walked back to the house, thanking the kind girl as I left.

I felt pretty silly and kind of defeated. Apparently those two little sings on two of the seat further down the row were supposed to tell me that ALL the seats had been freshly painted. In no way did any of them look freshly painted. Probably because others like me had sat down on the other seats...maybe.

I got home, my red checkered cardigan in hand. Annie and Katina were eating lunch at the kitchen table, the royal guests had gone. I showed them my cardigan and went to the laundry room, stripped down and put my coat on. And took pictures, of course.

 I later found it to be on the inside of my jacket and at the waist hem of my jeans, as well.

How I felt as I went upstairs to change.

I planned to change and go directly back to the train station....but I ate lunch with the ladies and went upstairs to the family room for a nap instead. I slept for 3 hours.

After a 3 hour nap.

Katina found me then on the couch feeling sorry for myself that my intended day of fun ended up being a day in the house. She was so sweet and made me go outside to the patio saying that the fresh air would do me good.
                                          

Of course she was right. I read a sweet, encouraging and convicting message from a friend and came downstairs with a different attitude. I was able to have a really great conversation with my Mom while she worked at the office at DSC (where she is filling in for me while I'm gone) and

also had the privilege of speaking with C. Rush for a bit too. 

Today I showed my sad articles of clothing to the lot at the house and we all boo hooed over them and tried to figure out a way to get the stains out. (Any suggestions anyone.) L said that I should just return to the scene of the clothing crime and put red criss cross paint stains all over my cardigan. :oP

Ah well. So is life in a foreign land.