{The Chestnut Place}

I chose a worn, secluded picnic table, covered in fragrant pine needles. Brushing them aside, I opened my Bible and began scratching away in my journal. It was 7:00 am; morning voices mingled with the swaying chestnut and evergreen trees. Women in the kitchen chattered merrily in Slovene; I couldn't understand their words, but as their banter floated out the open window I imagined it to be much like hundreds of other morning kitchen conversations that have occurred throughout countless times, places, and centuries. ("Did you gather the eggs? Let's get the water boiling; they'll be ready for their coffee!")

Simultaneous banter soared from the opposite direction. Some of our students had climbed the tower on the chestnut hill (the tower that made my stomach drop), and there was my Avery's voice among them, her pitter patter steps confidently navigating the steep steel stairway. I was glad I couldn't see her. Up, up, up she went, her little body towering over Sentjur, the distant valleys below blanketed in quiet wisps of fog.

PC: Gwynne Gardner

Tucked between the two languages, there among the trees, I marveled at the beauty of language, of people, of culture. A student ran up the hill behind me, and I remained at my post -- nearly invisible among the thick trees -- continuing to scribble out my morning prayer. I was grateful that our team of nine had safely made it from PDX to Slovenia (via Amsterdam and Gratz), and, even though we were fighting jet lag, we had already banked hours and hours of new experiences to keep us alert, excited, and eager.

Our team orientation took place in a hut and surrounding grounds on a chestnut hill near Sentjur, Slovenia. Similar huts appear throughout the countryside, providing refreshment and shelter to traveling hikers and backpackers. No doubt this hut has a name of its very own, but we affectionately referred to it as The Chestnut Place.

There, Johnny and Brooke (my brother and sister-in-law) and their Josiah Venture team led us through an excellent three day training course, which included not only teaching, but sharing, laughter, games, and music.

Meals were provided by Iveta, the manager of The Chestnut Place, who quickly became a sweet friend. We were delighted (and very willing) to experience a number of Slovene traditions in the form of food: Farm fresh eggs and garden tomatoes with slices of cheese and homemade bread for breakfast (Iveta says bread is always best kneaded by hand), hearty soups and meats for lunch (lunch is usually the biggest meal of the day), traditional ćevapčići for dinner, and mouth-watering crepes with homemade strawberry jam and whipped cream for dessert, to name just a few.

Daily we gathered around the table en masse and enjoyed getting to know friends from Slovenia, America, and Northern Ireland. These were the friends we'd grow to love, friends with whom we'd continue to share the essential, core elements of life: more meals, more laughter, more training, more work, more service. Alongside one another, we'd learn to dig deep, to do the hard things, to faithfully embrace the things that matter.

I penned my last few thoughts and prayers, and as I closed my journal and glanced at the time, merry laughter soared from the kitchen window. No translation was necessary: I smiled to think that laughter is simply understood. I climbed off the bench and rubbed stray tree sap from my hands. The kids scrambled down from the tower. Breakfast was ready, and a new day had begun.