Waffles, chocolates, and nation-wide transportation strikes...

Ever had a waffle? Or chocolate? Or French Fries? At risk of sounding elitist, unless you've been to Belgium, the answer is "no", you haven't. This past week, spent in Brussels, Ghent, and Bruges changed my life forever. First off, I deepened relationships with some solid Christian brothers and sisters; and to a quality only achieveable by experiences I will now endeavor to relate.

Going into detail about all the beautiful things we saw and ridiculous adventures we had would take longer than I want to spend. Sorry! :) But here are the highlights:

1. Ghent. Wow. Probably the most beautiful little city I've ever laid eyes on. It's cobbled streets, stone bridges, medieval cathedrals, and ridiculously delicious waffles were unforgettable. The only thing missing was Valerie. And to be honest, without my boo, everything I saw and experienced in this heavenly spot and on the rest of this trip was simply incomplete. John and Dave I think would agree, as pictured below.

2. Nation-wide transportation strike the one day we needed to catch a train to get back to Brussels from Bruges so we could make it to the airport and catch our flight to come back home. Here's what went down: John, Blonde John, Kenneth, Danny, Dave, and I were sitting down to a nice, classy, gourmet dinner at the Quick Mart. We had parted ways with the girls; they still had reservations for another night at the hostel in Bruges, and we were headed back to Brussels that night, planning on meeting them the following day at Waterloo. John had been talking to the manager, asking him when the last train from Bruges to Brussels was. "Nine-thirty", he said. "After that, the strike starts." "Oh, ok", we said. Three or four seconds passed. "Wait, what?"

Turns out we had about an hour to contact the girls, who were eating dinner on the other side of town, get them to their hostel to check out, pack up all their stuff, rush to the train station carrying all the bags, get everybody tickets, board the final train, and hope that the train didn't stop halfway to Brussles, since Bruges and Brussels are about an hour apart, and the strike was set to start at 10 pm. We all made it on the train with time to spare! The train got going, and moved through the city we were worried it would shut off in. We neared Brussels. About 15 minutes out, by our reckoning, the train slowed to a stop. We read the sign bearing the station's name. Not Brussels. "Everyone get off", said the loudspeaker in French and Dutch and then English. We got off, all eleven of us, with all our luggage and merchandise and pillows. We guys set about doing the manly thing, and started madly asking around how in the world we could get to Brussles from Zweberhaugenshmergenbruken, or wherever we were. "How long would it take to walk to Brussels from here?" we asked. "3 days", they said. "Ouch", we said. Then they told us there was a final local train heading to Brussels, leaving in 1 minute. We rushed to the right platform, bags a' swinging, girls a' screaming, and we made it onto the train seconds before the doors closed. Forty five minutes later, we were all safely at our hostel!

Stories like this one and the one following show how skillfully, graciously, and lovingly the Lord draws us into himself when we need it most. He shows us how hectic, how full of unknowns, how problemtaic life can be, then envelops us in the comfort and protection we always receive and never deserve. To our frantic questions of "how?" and "why?" he replies, "my grace is sufficient for you". To our frenzied prayers so lacking in faith and humility, he gives answers of comfort and hope and peace. Any one of many things could have gone wrong, and the result would have been hours of stress and hundreds of euro. God is so good.

3. John, the guy on the left in the white hoodie, got his pocket picked by a frenchman on the way to the train and we almost got in a gang fight on the streets. Exaggeration? Nope. We were walking at 1 am toward the Brussles train station, from which we needed to catch a 4:30 bus to the airport, about 45 minutes away. The street was decently lit, and the eleven of us were sort of spread out in little groups, stretched out into a little mini American procession, walking down the sidewalk. The following is mostly from my perspective, with relevant info spliced in from John and some of the girls.

I was walking in front, listening to music on Dave's iPhone, when I heard Bethany shout "Guys! John!" or something like that. Dave and I turned around to see John sprinting down the sidewalk behind us at breakneck speed. Male instinct, already discussed, kicked in. Both Dave and I dropped our bags and started sprinting after them, along with all the other guys in the group. Then I realized no one was staying with the girls and the luggage in a sketch part of town. I can really only remember it in slow motion, but as I ran past Kenneth, I said "Kenneth! Staaay wiiith thuuuh giiiiiirrrrls!" and continued to sprint down the street after John and, as I now gathered from rumors that had spread through the line, the thief he was chasing.

By this time Dave, Blonde John, Danny, and I were running together, and as we turned a corner we realized we couldn't see John. "Over there!" said Blonde John, and we looked down a side street and saw John, breathless, but yelling at this guy, and--the scariest part--surrounded by three other guys. Four on one. Not for long.

The four of us sprinted to the scene, yelling "Hey!" "What's going on?" "John--you okay?" Seeing us arrive, the four locals took a step back and started making excuses in French, acting as innocent as possible. The girls told us later that, as we had dropped our bags and had started in pursuit, they could see fight in our eyes. And we were ready for one. The Lord, again, was gracious and good. No fight. No foul play. John got his wallet back, which we found out later had been dropped by Frenchie when John was chasing him. Kenneth found another local eyeing it on the sidewalk, and, with a "give me the wallet or I'll drop you" tone of voice convinced the man to hand it over. Kenneth also managed to grab all of the bags we dropped, consolidate them, and protect the girls from the numerous shady-looking characters observing the scene. Atta boy. This is Kenneth on the right. Hilarious and kinda goofy usually; dead serious and motivated when necessary. We recovered everything, and made it safely to the train station, where the nightwatchman let us sleep until we caught our bus a couple of hours later.

The rest of the trip, both prior and following was marked by delicious food, beautiful vistas, plentiful laughs, nights in airports and trainstations, strolling streets under umbrellas, climbing towers, jumping hedges, boarding trains, and collapsing exhausted into youth hostel bunk beds. It was quite a trip, and would be nearly impossible to duplicate. Reminder after reminder of the God's goodness and mercy with chocolate and waffles and fellowship thrown in. Does it get any better? We'll see.

Cheers!