Alone in Amsterdam

On the morning I left the United States, my six-year-old, Henry, was eating a bowl of cereal and inquired, "But Mom, who are you going to play with in Europe?" -- to which I replied, "Myself, of course." Henry looked pensive, and said, "Well, what if it's too hard?" I thought about his question: "Well...then I guess I will learn something." A truly interesting question from our perceptive little lad.

I have always loved my solitude; I am an introvert at heart. But I also value meaningful connection. Here in the city of Amsterdam, I have enjoyed crossing bridge after canal bridge on my own. The eye does not want for beauty here - not for a single moment in any direction of the city. The narrow buildings and houses with their ornate, colorful doors are so inviting, and have kept my interest almost entirely. And yesterday, I joined the locals on a rented bike and not a dull moment was had flying through the streets at a most terrifying speed - you have to pedal fast to keep traffic flowing. (Bikes pretty much replace cars here). If you pedal tentatively, scooters, bikes and cars will politely but very swiftly cut you off - which happened repeatedly to me, even when I thought I was pedaling pretty darn fast. There are traffic lights just for bikes, and odd little rules of the road I know nothing about, so I had people ringing their bicycle bells at me, as well as tapping me on the shoulder to cue me up. I think my jaw was clenched for much of the 3 hour duration of the ride, and all the same, the experience was absolutely exhilarating. After hours of aimless wandering on the bicycle, I did find myself craving connection. I whispered a prayer about my loneliness into the wind and thought back on the conversation Henry and I had that morning. Am I learning something? If so, what? 

About two blocks after my prayer, I happened into an alleyway with a most impressive church sandwiched between all the houses. It was Gothic in appearance and clearly Catholic. I didn't hesitate to park my bike and wander in. The familiar smell of candles burning comforted me instantly -- as did gazing on the most beautiful pieta I have ever seen. And there it was: I am not alone. Just as I'd told Henry the day he started school only two weeks ago, "Just remember, you are never alone. God goes with you wherever you go." And indeed, in that moment, I recalled my own advice.

After a few hours more of braving my way through the city on bike, my body began to ache with exhaustion, and my nose was extra stuffy (still fighting this cold). I recalled suddenly that I'd seen a sign for an evening Mass back at the cathedral and all at once, I knew there was nowhere I'd rather be. Glancing at my watch, I saw I had less than ten minutes to somehow locate the church again. I pedaled and prayed and low and behold, I happened upon that church again like some kind of miracle, only a minute away! The mass was in Dutch but I drank from its refreshing waters all the same. To my delight, (and utter surprise) what I did recognize was the "allelujia" was Jeff Buckley's "Allelujah" (a favorite of mine). I sang my hear out. And during the offering, a man played my favorite (and indeed the most popular) of Yo Yo Ma's Bach Cello suites -- Cello No.1 in G Major. Now, these songs will forever hold new and deeper meaning of the day I was comforted in a foreign city and proof that no matter where we go, we are never alone.

Well, from the courtyard outside my hotel room, I can hear the voices and laughter of happy, Dutch school children calling me out into courageous exploration once again.

Until Next Time!
Love from Amsterdam,
Shannon
xoxoxoxo