looking back

Here is something that I wrote back in April a year ago, not even a month after we got engaged. I had no reason to be sad. I was happier than I had ever been, looking forward to spending the rest of my life with an amazing man starting just four months from the time we got engaged. No, indeed I had no reason to be sad. But there I found myself. Here's what being sad for no reason felt like.


...April 30, 2009

Here I am again. So depressed. Numb. Not sure what it feels like to feel.

I’ve been “happy” for months…but when I look back at the past 6 months of my life, I see a lot of shallow happiness, and a void in the places where I used to think, ponder, and relate to God. Ever since I started taking meds to help “even out” my moods, I have felt weird. Stable. But not like a real person. Not a human with feelings.

Last week, I realized that in the busyness of school, I had put off reordering my meds and had gone two weeks (time flew by) without taking my meds. And we definitely noticed it. All of a sudden I wasn’t stable. I was weepy. Sad. Ridiculous. Depressed. Suicidal. Hopeless.

And I can’t help but wonder–is that who I really am?
I hate the fact that I can’t be happy without a pill. It scares me to think that my future “happiness”–if you call numbness happiness- depends on a little yellow pill.

Last night I told Jeremy the truth–that when I think about the future, I’m very afraid that it will find him sitting in a room alone, crying, wishing that last summer when I was depressed, he would have gotten out. Wishing he hadn’t married me.

I don’t know how it’s okay for anyone to feel the way that I do sometimes. It shouldn’t be possible to be this sad for no reason. To be so numb. So lifeless.

it’s weird, because even when I’m happy, I’m not really happy. Even when I feel good, I don’t really feel alive deep down.

I hear people say that spirituality isn’t about feelings, that you have to just read your Bible when you don’t feel like it, praise Him even when it doesn’t feel right. And I just wonder...would they say that if they knew what it was like to feel dead inside more often than not? Would they say that if they truly knew how it is to not feel anything except blah and numb? Because honestly, this isn’t about me not “liking” God. This is about not being able to enter into my own life. I feel like a spectator. A bystander. Like someone dreaming, watching themselves go through various activities, have conversations, “live life”...and from afar I find myself asking, Is that really me? Is this really my life?

I feel bad for my fiance. I think about ending my life for his sake. I know this isn’t logical, but it sometimes does feel like it would save him a lot of heartache. I’m sure it will be hard having a wife who is depressed for the rest of her life. I’m sure it will be heartbreaking to hear your children ask “why is mommy always so sad?” And I’m quite positive that having wife who doesn’t know how to relate to God, who doesn’t know how to function in a state other than numbness, surely isn’t a life to desire. How can a man walk toward marriage with a woman that is sure to be more of a burden than a help mate? How can he bear to see his dreams dwindle and fade in light of my struggles, in light of my deep limitations?

...happy spring.
here’s to hoping my spiritual winter will end someday too. for good.


...Looking back on this make me praise God from the depths of my heart for healing me. Though my life isn't perfect, and I still have fears when looking toward the future, I can't deny that God has taken care of me thus far, has preserved my life when ending it seemed the only logical move, and has set my feet on a rock. Even if I find myself in a pit someday in the future, having been there often in the past, I finally realize that Jesus will be there with me. And having the hope of Jesus being there with me makes the pit seem a bit less scary.

Expectations within the Church

My friend Jake asked me to write a guest post for his blog recently. He has been focusing his blog lately on gender issues within the church, and asked me to write about being a woman as a member of Christ's church. I chose to write about the passage in 1 Peter that says a "quiet and gentle spirit" is the path to beauty in God's eyes.

If you are interested in reading this, you can visit his blog:
Notes from a Small Place

After reading it, I would love to hear your thoughts. What do you think it means for a woman to have a "quiet and gentle spirit" ?

When is it time to go on an anti-depressant?

One of the blogs that I read on a regular basis is Abraham Piper's blog, 22 Words. Recently he asked the following question on the post 2 questions I have about antidepressants and the physicality of depression

"1. If antidepressants help with a physical malfunction in the brain, how come so many people treat them as a last resort? We don’t attempt to talk away problems in other parts of our body–athlete’s foot, stomach flu, throat cancer, etc.–before we use medication.

2. On the other hand, if depression is a physical malady, why is it diagnosed with conversations in an office rather than tests in a lab?

I’m not trying to make any kind of point with these questions. I’m genuinely curious (and ignorant)."

If you are interested in this discussion, I would recommend that you look through the responses that this post received.


After pondering for a while, I decided to respond (something that I am usually too shy or uncertain to do).

Here is the response that I gave:

"Having lived with depression for 7 years before I was finally diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, I have been through the run of different medications. I guess just through personal experience, I would say that meeting with a Christian counselor and letting spiritual community minister to me and help me through deep emotional struggles like grief and anger with God helped me reach a place of emotional and spiritual healing. At this point, when I knew all other factors were “okay” and found myself still suicidally depressed on a regular basis, we knew it was time to figure out if there was something else wrong with me.

I went on an anti-depressant after a few years of counseling. I think that choosing when to start on an anti-depressant is something you decide upon with a doctor and wise counsel, because I do think that often there are physical factors at work along with emotional struggles. As my physician pointed out, it is a “chicken or the egg” question…did the physical depression cause me to become emotionally distraught with a skewed view of truth, or did my emotional/situational struggles trigger a depression that programmed my brain into a chemical depression? My understanding (though possibly wrong) is that it is possible that if you are situationally depressed for a long enough time, your body actually can become conditioned to that situation, and it turns into a physical issue.

All that to say, I think it would be foolish to not try medication if it seems that counseling alone (and continuing to work with God to align your heart and mind with the truth about who God is and who we are in Christ) does not seem to be working. For me, however, after years of counseling that righted the emotional issues, it still took a correct diagnosis and two medications found through trial and error for me to reach a place where I have been without suicidal thoughts for 8 months now–a major success and reason to praise God for healing through all the various people and means that He used to bring it about.

Anyways, thoughts from one who has recently been through the rigor of being diagnosed with a mental illness. Thanks for your concern and interest in this. It is nice to see Christians trying to understand this and right any misunderstandings that might have been programmed into their brains about how “good Christians” don’t struggle with things like depression or mental illnesses. It’s a lie that keeps many people in captivity, and it’s time to start educating each other with the truth about this situation."


What do you all think? When do you think it is right for someone with depression to start on an anti-depressant? I'm interested in any thoughts you might have, no matter what your background. Let's discuss.

ashes, mourning and the Answer to all of my questions

I have been mulling over the future quite a bit lately. A lot of our couple-friends are newlyweds, and one of the main conversations that comes up often is the topic of having children. When are you going to start trying to have kids? How many do you want to have? Have you thought about adoption?

A year ago, I would have said that we would probably wait two years until we started trying. I would have said that I wanted to have five kids, Jeremy wanted to have three, so naturally we'll have five. And I would have said Absolutely Yes adopting is an option.

But now, everything has changed.

Having children, which is something I have dreamed about since I was a little girl, always seemed like it would be such a natural thing for me. I knew that raising children would be hard, yes, but taking care of children has always been something that I loved so much, so having a family of my own has been a dream since I saw my mom holding my little brother when I was two. And I have always loved the thought of being pregnant.

Now, the thought of being pregnant is full of so many fears. How will my body react to all of the physical changes? How quickly after I go off the medication will I start to feel depressed again? What if I decided to stay on the meds- would it hurt the baby? Will I get postpartum depression? Will I physically be able to handle the late nights and tiring days of having a newborn?

Beyond that, I'll probably want to go off the meds when we start trying to have kids, just to remove any risk of the medication harming a baby, which could mean months of being off the meds.

At this point, it's becoming apparent that I will probably have to quit my job during pregnancy. I just don't know if I could handle being off meds, pregnant, hormonal, and stressed and exhausted. It just makes me so sad.

And adoption...adoption is something that I have wanted to do for so many years. At first Jeremy wasn't so sure about it, but recently he started talking about it, and we realized that he had had a change of heart. For fun, I started reading up on adoption websites about international and domestic adoption. And that's when I realized that during the screening, one of the things they check for is if either of the potential parents have a mental illness.

Duh. Of course people with mental illnesses would be flagged. We're unstable. The future is unclear. I don't know if that means they have a deeper process of investigation, or if they say No no matter what if you have a mental illness. Who knows, maybe God will surprise us and adoption will still be an option. But it still made me sad, realizing that our options are becoming more and more limited.

Here's the beautiful thing that my heart keeps clinging to, though.

At this point in my journey, it's looking like God's going to definitely have to be working miracles for things to turn out. If we choose to have children, God will have to support me physically and emotionally the whole way. If we try for adoption, God will have to open all of the doors and hearts of the people throughout the process. Either way, He will be glorified, because it's all so far out of our control. And we will see our God be Jehovah Jireh, the God who provides. We will see His faithfulness in new ways, and will learn that there is nothing on earth that we need apart from Jesus.

It feels like things are out of my control, but isn't that always how it is? Life is never in our control. It feels like it is sometimes. We like to plan when we're going to have babies, how many, what we'll name them, how we'll raise them...but ultimately, Man plans, and God directs His steps.

Do I think it's bad to dream or think about the future? No. But I guess I'm learning that for me, thinking about the future means borrowing a lot of fear and grief. So I'm learning to think about the future WITH Jesus. I'm learning to talk TO HIM about it, and discuss the options and alternatives, keeping in mind although this news has been a shock to my system, He is not surprised by this twist in my story. He wrote this story, and is still in the process of making things very beautiful.

That's what I love about Jesus. He is a restorer. He brings beauty from ashes and bestows crowns of beauty upon those who mourn. Well, here I am with ashes and my fair share of mourning. Now I get to wait and watch Jesus do His thing.

The other thing I have been thinking about is something my friend Renee shared with the college group a few years ago. She was telling us about a time in life where she had a very difficult decision to make, and she was worried about the future, what decision she should make, whether it would be the right decision, and what if she made the wrong decision? And after much praying and grieving, Jesus spoke to her heart. And he said "Renee, whatever decision you make, I will be there with you." And that was the answer to her questions. Not a specific This way or That way, but rather Jesus reassuring her that He would be with her wherever she went, that she was never out of His grasp, that He would never leave her or forsake her.

That is what I hold to more than anything. Whatever happens, wherever we end up, Jesus is there with us. HE is my inheritance, my portion, my cup. He is ultimately the one that we live for, the One through Whom we live and breathe and find all meaning. For today and tomorrow, Jesus is my answer.

Lost

I promise this is the last time I will write about this, but I've been dwelling on it quite a bit because I'm doing Breaking Free by Beth Moore right now, and we're talking about broken-heartedness, loss and grief right now-- three things with which I am well acquainted.

What I want to share is the sense of loss that I feel when I look at the fact that every season of my life will be affected by my being bipolar for the rest of my life.

I have been struggling with this for some time now, and after doing this morning's Bible study, I think I know now why this has been such a bitter aspect to accept.

I was nine years old when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was young, but a very capable little girl. I took on a lot of responsibilities at that age- both physical and emotional. I took care of my sister, I cleaned a lot, and I tried (as best as I could) to help take care of my mom.

When I was 13 years old, her cancer returned, this time with vengeance. The doctors here in the states told her there was no cure, and the prospect of doing chemotherapy again just to help extend her lifespan was more than she could handle, since the chemo had almost killed her twice throughout the last season of treatment. So as a 13 year old, one week after finding out my mom had cancer again, she and my dad flew to Mexico to do alternative treatments. I was so heartbroken. I feel like I grew up so much in those 3 weeks she was gone. All of us kids went to different homes to stay. I felt so alone.

When she returned, although I had my mom back, life just got harder and harder. I was older now, so I took on the responsibility of helping my mom bathe, get dressed (she had lost the use of her left arm, so she couldn't dress herself), do daily chores, go grocery shopping, cook, and take care of my sister. And then it got worse. Toward the end of her life, she had diabetes, so I was trained to take her blood and give her shots four times a day. I gave her some of her last baths, and had to see how the cancer had ravaged her body and left her so wounded.

In a few words, I'll just say that by the time I found myself sitting by my mother's bedside on the day she died, my childhood had been stripped away, never to be recovered.

I have grieved the loss of my childhood for years. I felt like within the last year or so I was finally "getting over" it...and now, I feel like in some ways, I am grieving the loss of my adulthood. I know that seems silly, and honestly, I am very prepared for the fact that life only gets harder from here. But I think there was this secret part of my heart that thought "maybe I'll have a break for a while before things get hard again."

I suppose the lovingkindness of the Lord that never fails will have to be my support, since it seems like God will continue to allow various trials and difficulties to come our way throughout the rest of our life.

My deepest hope is that at some point, I will honestly be able to say that it is all worth it, because it has helped me know Jesus more. I'm not there yet. But until I am, I will keep trusting Jesus in the small ways that I know how to and believe that He is faithful to complete in my life the work that He began in me.

Permanent

One of the aspects of being bipolar that has been hard for me to handle has been the permanence of the illness. When I was dealing :only: with depression, there was a hope that I would get through it, and that would be the last time I would ever have to deal with it.

Now, I understand that most of the time that's not how it works for people with depression either. But still, there was the hope that something environmental or spiritual had triggered my depression, and when I got that taken care of, I would be happy again.

Having bipolar disorder is a whole-life type of a thing. It will affect me when I have babies. It will affect me through hormonal changes in life. I will always have to take medication to stabilize my body's brain chemistry. For the rest of my life.

I know that this isn't a huge deal on many levels. People with diabetes deal with this reality. People with even more serious diseases like cerebral palsy or disabilities like being paralyzed have to deal with the permanence of their situation. But this is my lot in life, and for me, it's still a little bit difficult to get used to.

When I came back from Europe, my body kind of went crazy (in the literal sense of the word?) and I started to feel moody and depressed and irritable; I just didn't feel like myself, definitely not up to the par that I had been feeling before we left for Europe. After discussing this with my counselor, I discovered that people with bipolar disorder have a terrible time adjusting to changes in timezone. I changed 7 time zones. So it made sense that my body was going nutso.

The whole key to managing bipolar (besides a good medication) is finding stability and balance for your life. Eating regular meals, getting good amounts of sleep with a regular bedtime, having a routine, etc... So traveling for two weeks, being in different hostels every night, getting 3-4 hours of sleep some nights, eating new foods, walking a lot...all of this took a toll on my body. And then when we came back, with the time zone change, the chemistry in my body was all out of whack.

This is something I will have to take into consideration for the rest of my life. I'll learn to manage it and expect it and plan for it, but still, every family vacation we take for the rest of my life will have to allow for mommy to resettle into her routine.

Thinking about this all has brought to mind two verses.

"All the paths of the Lord are lovingkindness and truth to those who keep His covenant and testimonies." (Psalm 25:10)

Amy Carmichael said once that "I just have to believe that "all" means ALL."

That's what I'm choosing to believe...that all of the paths-including the path God has me on right now- are filled to the full with lovingkindness and truth.

The second verse is from Psalm 16:5 - "The Lord is the portion of my inheritance and my cup; You support my lot."

The lot in life that God has given me...He is the one who supports it. There is comfort in knowing that whatever lies ahead, whatever roads God leads me and Jeremy, God will be supporting us the whole way. And the beautiful thing is, in the midst of all of it, God the LORD is my inheritance. He is the goal.

I realized last night as I was re-reading Shattered Dreams by Larry Crabb that with the diagnosis of being bipolar, God has guaranteed that Jeremy and I will have to cling to Him and seek His guidance and support for the rest of our lives. In every change of season, He will have to be our rock and refuge. And I decided that there are way worse things in life than being in a place where you have to depend on Jesus completely for survival.

There

Yesterday I sat for two and a half hours and talked with a good friend. It was a deep conversation, one with many tears and memories. I told her about my life lately...about how blessed I feel that my medication has helped me feel so good and normal these past few months, but how I still feel all twisted and messed up inside my heart. I'm happy and stable, but there's still not something right about my relationship with God--which has always been a priority in my life.

I feel confused, beat up, and (not to be dramatic, but...) a bit traumatized. These past two years have been tough on me. I feel like I have just emerged from war... a battle for my life. After struggling and fighting against suicidal thoughts for months at a time, being depressed for years (almost ten) and not knowing which direction was up in terms of how to process my spiritual life in the midst of all of this, I feel very uncertain of which way to go from here.

Yesterday we traced some of my issues with prayer back to an experience I had when I was fifteen years old.

I remember I was sitting in my room, crying, thinking about how my mom was dying, and suddenly this compulsion came over me, and I realized with a horrified feeling in the pit of my stomach that I hadn't been praying enough for my mom. All of these voices from people who had told me that my mom could be healed and we needed to pray for her filled my mind, and I felt so guilty, like maybe it was my fault that my mom hadn't been healed, maybe if I just prayed hard enough we would see a miracle.

For the next two weeks, I prayed harder than I have ever prayed in my entire life, trying to believe and ask by faith that God heal my mom (because you have to believe when you ask, right?) I tried to convince myself that I believed it could happen, even though so much doubt filled my heart. I asked God over and over for her healing, thinking that maybe, like the persistent person in the parable Jesus told, God would eventually get tired of my asking and just give me what I was asking for (that was the interpretation I was taught, at least.)

On May 8, after praying my heart out for two weeks, I sat beside my mom, held her hand, and encouraged her into the Kingdom. "You can go, Mom" I told her. I knew it was her only option, and I wanted her to know that I understood. And then I sang It Is Well. It was one of her favorite hymns.

But I didn't understand, and all was not well. I wanted it to be. I tried to be okay. I tried to believe that God hadn't been toying with my heart. Why would he prompt my heart to pray for my mom, only to have the answer be such a resounding and obvious "no"? What was the point of even praying? I didn't want to be a cliche. I didn't want to look back and hold resentment toward God for not answering my prayers...I knew God was bigger than I could understand, and I wanted to be mature enough to handle a "no" answer. I tried to be a grown up. But it was too much. My heart was broken, and this unanswered prayer would haunt me for the next 7 years.

I recounted this story to my friend, and she asked me a very poignant question. "What would you say to that 15-year-old girl now, if you could go back to her and talk to her about that unanswered prayer? What do you think she needs to hear?"

I didn't know. I cried, wishing I knew what to tell my younger-self to make it better, but I just didn't know what to say. Pointing out God's goodness didn't seem appropriate. Talking about God's sovereignty would have been a blow to the face. God's perfect purposes weren't much of a consolation. I didn't know what to say.

We talked for a while longer, discussing the lies that have been "truth" in my mind for such a long time, lies about who God is, lies about who I am. We talked about the Bible, and how my heart has such a hard time being open to this oh-so-familiar book. And then, in the midst of this conversation, I started to weep. I don't know where the thought came from- probably the Lord- but all of a sudden I knew what that little girl with the broken heart needed to hear.

"He was there." I choked out. "I would tell her that Jesus was there. He was there in the in the room with her while she was crying out to God. He was there when her mom's spirit left her body. He was there. He never left her."

And I realized that this was what that little girl inside me needed. Not a lesson on the theology of God. Not a discussion of his goodness. Talking specifics were too difficult at that time...I didn't trust discussions about God- too complicated and messy. But Jesus...Him, I still trusted. I don't know why, but even after all of this, I still trust Him. And for some reason, that was all I needed to know--that all along, through the depression, through nights where suicide seemed like the only answer, through nightmares and memories that seem like nightmares, through death and grief and loneliness...through it all, he has been there. He has never left me.

"But as for me, the nearness of God is my good." [psalm 73:28]

Switzerland

Our second stop on the journey was Switzerland. We started in Zurich, which was an...interesting introduction to Swiss culture. Let's just say that the receptionist laughed mockingly at me...twice...in the span of one hour. Mean Swiss Lady. I was a little bit bitter, and may have commented on how I hated Switzerland once or twice. But that was an overreaction. Switzerland turned out to be extremely delightful.

We spent the first day in Zurich, where we walked around for a while and then ate a sandwich in a park. Sandwiches were the cheapest thing we could find to eat. This little park was the only seating we could find.

It was so precious...there were pregnant women and moms pushing strollers everywhere. One such adorable mother came and sat down near us with her little girl. She lifted her out of the stroller, laid her out on a blanket, and sat there beside her, smiling at her baby. I looked at Jeremy longingly, baby fever setting in. And then we looked back, and there was the mom, with her...well, "mother-parts" out for the whole world to see, breastfeeding. So many things wrong with that situation. Breastfeeding in a park. In front of us..three feet away from us. While we were eating. It was so "natural" and "beautiful" that we decided we should probably give her some privacy.

It wouldn't be right for me to not let you all know that this was one of many times this happened to us throughout our travels. Lets just say that this aspect of Europe definitely left an interesting mark on Jeremy.

Anyways, enough about breastfeeding.

Here are some shots from Zurich:











After Zurich, we took a train to Interlaken, which is, if you're not up on your German between (Inter) two lakes (Laken). It was so beautiful, and the people there were extremely kind, friendly, and fun! We stayed a great youth hostel, watched the first soccer game there, and ate our first officially Swiss meal.




This sausage was very...Swiss-German. It was good, but I couldn't finish the whole thing! And to be honest, dipping it in mustard wasn't exactly my cup of tea.



This slab of chocolate was just one of those things that we had to try. We didn't really think to check the price for this small piece of chocolate (about the size of our hand...) before we purchased it. Ten francs later, we were enjoying this corn flakes chocolate bar and two little truffles. They were worth it.




The hike through the mountains was just beautiful. It was warm, but not blistering heat, and it was very peaceful. There weren't cars allowed on the path, so it was just fellow travelers walking to and from the mountain pass. Up to that point on our walks through airports and back and forth to hostels, I had been setting the walking pace at what Jeremy endearingly referred to as "grueling". At one point he mentioned that if we were actually playing Oregon Trail, little Marta would have died from the strenuous pace. What can I say? I have long legs and a purposeful stride.

On this walk, however, I proved quickly that while my gait is quick, my stamina falls in the "quite lacking" category. We had plans to hike for a few hours up into the mountains. But about an hour and a half into it we weren't even close to being "into" the mountains...so I turned decided to Jeremy and said "it's time to go back." He, being the sweet husband that he is, didn't even comment on how big of a weenie I was being. We went back and made it to the hostel in time to watch the first World Cup game. All in all, it ranked up on the top 3 days of our trip for me.






After Interlaken, we took a train to Langnau, which is the area where Jeremy's great-great-great(?) grandparents had a farm. We ate at a little pub (very quaint) where we received directions (in broken English) into the hills of Switzerland to Aspi, where this farmstead was located. We decided to walk because, as Jeremy assured me, it "wasn't that far." And honestly, it wasn't a long walk. Unfortunately it was uphill...and just as bad, it was downhill on the way back. Walking downhill was easier, but it was such a steep walk that I ended up getting terrible shin splints. I could hardly walk the next day! Oh well. It was beautiful and very fun to see where Jeremy's family came from. It was pretty hilarious trying to communicate with the people of these various farms. You see, we didn't know exactly which farm house was the one his grandparents had lived in, so we were planning on just asking around. We had a letter translated into German that we handed to everyone we met. They read it curiously, but always finished reading the letter with a shake of their head and a simple "no". That was all they could communicate, because none of them spoke English. But shaking the head is (mostly) universal, and we understood quickly that nobody knew where this farm was.







So the directions that we had gotten from a relative who had been there before led us to the right area, but we never quite nailed down which one was the right farm house. All the same, we had a great time. I ended the little adventure with a quick run behind a shed...when I emerged, Jeremy was ready with his camera to capture me holding up a victorious "one" and "two". Can you guess what I did behind that barn?



All in all, a very triumphant time in Switzerland.

Spain

We started our trip in Spain, spending 3 1/2 days in Madrid and 2 days in Barcelona. We absolutely loved Spain. It was really fun that we were able to speak the language, and it was fun for me to watch Jeremy explore the different facets of the Spanish culture--both goods and bads.

Here are some aspects of Spain that we enjoyed:

...In Madrid, the metro was super easy to figure out, and made getting around to different parts of town very easy and enjoyable. Our favorite part of the metro was the voices that announced different stops. "Proxima Estacion (said in man's voice), Chueca (said in woman's voice).

...We loved our hostel in Spain. It was hot and loud, but cozy and located really close to a cute plaza and a metro stop.

...One of my friends commented on my facebook pictures that she thought it was funny how many pictures I had of food. What can I say? We loved the food. Everywhere we went. Food Food Food. And in Spain, I was especially in heaven. I loved the pastries, and had at least one every day I was there.



Also, I loved the candy (as I mentioned in my post before the trip...) and spent quite a few more Euros than was maybe necessary on those delicious sweet gummies. I'm sure my dentist will be impressed.



We love-love-loved the Tapas. This was Jeremy's first experience with Tapas, and they did not disappoint. Our favorite was Patatas Ali-Oli (french fried potatos with a mayonnaise/garlic sauce. It's amazing.) and then this really cute Catalunyan restaurant we went to served the best tapas we had, included skewered mushroom/shrimp, which was my favorite of the trip.







The yummiest beverage we had was Sangria, a mix of red wine, orange juice, and sugar. It was a delicious refresher on the hot days when we had been walking for hours. Jeremy and I already have plans to try to reproduce it...but I guess technically to reproduce the entire experience we would have to walk around in the blistering heat for two hours without a rest and THEN sit down and drink some heavenly Sangria. Maybe not.



And the orange juice. Oh the orange juice. Fresh squeezed by this magical machine, I ordered a cute little glass of it every chance I could get.



...We did discover (well, I remembered this from last time) that Spaniards happen to be a very...loud...group of people. We know this first hand as we heard the partying and celebrating (that was happening everywhere in the city, I assure you) right outside our hostel window until the not-so-wee (6/7am) hours of the morning. That's right. They were up all night, every night. And they love it. I actually have a missionary friend who theorizes that Spaniards need less sleep than the average human being. How else could they party so long and still function like normal human beings, with jobs and everything? This isn't just the kids partying. These are people in their late twenties with jobs and responsibilities. My only thought is that maybe the siesta Spain shuts down for gives them a little bit of extra rest needed to continue to thrive in their cherished night-life. All in all, though it was a very loud experience, we couldn't fault them for their night life...and I suppose if we lived there long term, we would just have to adopt the mentality of "if you can't beat em, join em."

...One of the funny things we experienced in Spain, both Madrid and Barcelona, is that when you are walking in the plazas and down sidewalks, people will just walk right into you without saying excuse me or anything. I don't know if this is just part of their lack of need for personal space or what, but it became a running joke for us. This actually happened to us in Rome too, which was a lot more fun, because then we could dramatically say "Eh, scusi!"

...We took a flight from Madrid to Barcelona, and our flight left at 8:00 in the morning, which meant we wanted to be there at 6:00. Unfortunately, the metro didn't open until 6, and then we had a 45 minute ride to the airport from where we were staying in the middle of the city. So that turned into quite the "Home Alone" experience, that included us running through the airport, huffing and puffing, looking frantically for the right counters (it was extremely confusing) and finally collapsing into the waiting area, tickets in hand, thankful beyond belief that we had made our flight. It was the first of many travel adventures for us.

...I found the old ladies in Spain adorable!! They will dress up just to go walk around the plaza. This group of ladies (though I couldn't discreetly get a picture of their faces) was particularly adorable to me.




..In Barcelona, we absolutely loved the architecture by Gaudi. La Sagrada Familia and La Casa Batllo were both very beautiful and unique. We unfortunately didn't get to enter La Casa Batllo, which according to some pictures we saw in a guidebook is amazing inside, but we still enjoyed the outside.



La Sagrada Familia



La Casa Batllo

...And Barcelona was just amazing. It was our favorite place of the whole trip. The people were so kind, the beach was amazing (super warm, but with a cool breeze blowing the whole time) and the food was delicious. We had a blast. And we definitely want to return to spend more time looking around the city. The funniest part of Barcelona for me was that I was craving ice cream SUPER badly for hours, and we walked everywhere and could not for the life of us find an ice cream store. And then, finally, we spotted one in the distance. And then, twenty feet down the street from it, was another ice cream store. Two ice cream shops, literally neighbors. Amazing. Thanks Spain. I was tempted to get ice cream at both places, just to prove a point (I'm not sure what that point was, other than that I love ice cream), but I decided that being a glutton was not one of my vacation goals, so I stuck with two scoops from one place.

All in all, Spain was very good to us. We can't wait to return some day. Hasta Luego, Espana.

You Know You're in Europe if...

...you pay 2 francs/euros to use the bathroom
...you refer to said restroom as the "water closet" (WC)
...you find yourself celebrating (possibly out loud) when restroom (that you paid 2 francs to use) has paper towels
...you refer to Diet Coke as Coca Cola Light
...you are willing to pay 6 Swiss francs (approximately $6) for a small bottle of said Coca Cola Light
...you are served Coca Cola Light in small wine glass with lemon (so fancy!)
...you (choke) don't get...free...refills (sob)
...you find yourself pretending to understand when people speak of measurements in kilometers or centigrade
...you eat delicious, lighter and sweeter and more-perfect- than- you- knew- was- possible pastries every morning...and afternoon...and night
...you're running down non-moving escalators to catch the next train
...your menu comes in four different languages
...you don't eat dinner until 10:30 pm (this is specific to Spain)
...there is a bank on every corner (specific to Switzerland)
...the streets are narrower than my apartment hallway (Spain and Rome, mainly)
...the cars are smaller than the toy trucks toddlers drive in the U.S.
...there is a candy or chocolate or ice cream store on every corner (Europe=heaven in this regard)