No matter how many times I've done it, I've found that the transition from continent to continent, culture to culture, is a difficult one. I have to keep reminding myself that I will not feel "normal" for quite awhile: weeks or months, if not days. Even so, it's tough being swept up in the middle of the whole transition thing (and no amount of reminding myself will change that fact!).

Today, I thought I was doing pretty well.  I had managed to stop by the kids' school and make sure that everything was a go for starting up again with classes at the beginning of the new school-year next week (our previous adventures with the Dutch bureaucracy made it less than 100 percent certain).  Then I picked up a replacement tube for our bike pump, which I needed to pump my bike tires back to full strength (three months' absence left my bike in need of some TLC).  And by 11:00, I had even managed to secure a European power cabel for our new notebook computer (though I had to stop by three places before finally succeeding).  Not bad for my second full day back in the Netherlands, if I do say so myself...

But then, on my way back from the grocery store around lunchtime, the wheels fell off the proverbial cart.  Or, to be more literal, the chain fell off my bicycle.  And I couldn't manage to get it back on.  And it was raining.  It was raining hard.  So I ended up trudging the last kilometer back to my house, with a backpack full of groceries, pushing my bicycle alongside me, and getting very, very wet.  And as I walked, I realized that I had spent the whole summer in the United States of America without ever getting wet (except for the times that I was in the swimming pool -- in the sunshine).  Getting wet is a very common experience in the Netherlands -- both because it rains a lot more often, and because one is exposed to the elements (walking or on bicycle) a lot more often.  And yet, I had spent an entire summer without getting wet.  I honestly can't even remember if it rained all that much (though I can vaguely recall the swish of windshield wipers at various occasions).  But in my second full day back in the Netherlands, I found myself getting profoundly wet again.

I hope I'm not sounding too whiney about all of this -- because I was actually able to enjoy the experience (at least a little bit) and laugh at the situational irony of it all.  But it was a reminder of the trans-continental transition in which I am now immersed.

Another point of trans-continental amusement is the cultural coverage of the Olympic Games, which are starting (have started) today.  At the time of this writing, I imagine that most Americans have not yet witnessed the Olympics' Opening Ceremonies.  Part of this, I'm sure is related to the time zone differential.  But part of it, I think, is indicative of a cultural lens.  The Americans save their Olympic coverage for prime-time -- choosing tape-delayed comfort and ease-of-viewing over immediacy.  The European broadcasters, on the other hand, chose to broadcast the coverage of the Opening Ceremonies live, in their entirety -- at two o'clock in the afternoon.  And although this is cool in a certain way -- to be seeing everything live -- it seems there is very minimal coverage (a one hour summary broadcast) of the Olympics in the evenings' peak viewing hours (when our kids are in bed).  I guess this had never been an issue before, during the other Olympics that I've seen since living in Amsterdam -- because the Games in Torino and Athens took place in the same time zone (though, come to think of it, I seem to recall the the Salt Lake City games weren't broadcast in the wee hours of the morning).  It just seems to be an interesting clash of cultural values...

Of course, this is not even mentioning the substance of the Olympics coverage in Europe!  If I were in America, I'm sure, I'd be getting to see plenty of coverage of basketball, gymnastics, swimming, and track (along with plenty of other clips from various sports and lots of human interest stories).  But Dutch television seems to focus more on sports like swimming (which I enjoy) and field-hockey (which I do not enjoy).  And British television rounds out the coverage with plenty of track (which I enjoy) and equestrian events (which are probably about the most uninteresting events that I could imagine watching).  These differences are logical in a certain way.  But they're also very unusual to notice on the emotional level...

Particularly for someone who is still jet-lagging and transitioning between continents and cultures.

We made it back to Amsterdam.  With a little help from our friends.

Special thanks to Patricia, who took the pictures, made the welcome sign, and took it upon herself to help us feel welcome. 

Believe it or not, the field in this picture was nothing but dirt when we first arrived in Ohio, back around the middle of May.  Still in the early days of the summer and our family's Great American Adventure.

It was about a week after our arrival that we started to notice the first tender green shoots of corn pulling themselves out of the damp brown earth.  The corn was more or less knee-high by the Fourth of July.  And now, it is a tassled, towering wall of Ohio's cash crop.

It's been a long summer.

As we prepare to head back to Amsterdam (the packing process is already well underway), my emotions are a strange mix of excitement and anxiety.  Relief and regret.  Eagerness and uncertainty.  To be honest, when I think about flying back to Amsterdam on Tuesday, my most instinctive response is a kind of twisted, queasy feeling in the most central part of my abdomen.  It's not exactly a feeling of dread.  Maybe more like "butterflies in the stomach" or a pre-game systemic wash of adrenaline.  But it's not really a pleasant feeling either.  I guess I'm kind of nervous.

More than anything, my current thoughts and emotions remind me most strongly of the way I felt in the days leading up to our first big departure for Amsterdam, back in January of 2003.  I feel awed and awkward in the face of the Great Unknown.  This is silly, I tell myself -- since I know that I have a home and church established in Amsterdam, that I know the language (though it may be a bit rusty by this point), that I have friends waiting for me there.  But I guess these "advantages" are balanced out by the fact that I don't have the wide-eyed idealism and sense of adventure that I had back the first time around, that I have three small children to drag through the airports and through the readjustment process, both physiologically and psychologically, that I know how difficult life and ministry in a second culture can be.

And so, these next few days, these next steps of preparation and transition... well, these are days and steps of faith.  And even when things get difficult and the transition is hard, I just have to remind myself that "this too shall pass."  Like the changing of the seasons.  Like the growing of the corn.

After four great (though very hot) days in Texas, we are back in Ohio.  Just another three days before flying back to Amsterdam.

Texas is a big state.  And Texans have a reputation for liking things big.  Big cars, big steaks, big cowboy hats, and so on and so forth.  And as such, it's only appropriate that Texas is home to my beloved brother, Jay, and his larger-than-life personality.  He is -- and has always been -- the classic "life of the party" type of guy, and I love him dearly for it.  He's got a beautiful family.  He's brilliantly creative.  And, as you can see from his imitation of Atlas (on the left), he's an exceptionally well-kept specimen of the human species.  Well, at least he's far better than his flabby older brother. :-)

While we were visiting, we got to see a good bit of the city of Dallas as well.  The Reunion Tower (the actual identity of the spherical object in the Atlas photograph).  The Dallas Aquarium.  And, of course, the famous "sixth story window" and the "grassy knoll" at the site of the assasination of President John F. Kennedy.  After having read about this historical event in so many books and having seen the footage in so many films (back when I was in junior high school, I used to have something of a personal fascination with the history of JFK), it was especially interesting to see the site with my own eyes.   In the picture below, you can see the former Texas School Book Depository (from which Lee Harvey Oswald "allegedly" fired his rifle at the presidential motorcade), the "grassy knoll," and my nephew Aydan running between two of the "X"s on the pavement, which I presume represent the location of the bullets which were fired on that fateful day in November 1963.

And no, in case you're wonderinf,  I do not have any new conspiracy theories for you about the assasination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

But actually, even more than seeing the famous sites in and around Dallas, I just enjoyed seeing the "sites" of my brother's regular day-to-day life in the northern suburb of Keller.  Meeting a number of his friends.   Driving past the school where he works (as an art teacher for Keller Central High School).  Swimming at the local swimming pool.  Taking the dog for a walk in the neighborhood park.  And especially seeing Jay's backyard art studio.

Jay has recently completed his Atelier training for oil painting, and it's really cool to see some of the ways that he's been developing as an artist.  His studio shows his development especially well.  I've got my hopes and dreams of becoming a "writer" someday... Jay's got his hopes and dreams of becoming a visual artist someday.  (We've also actually dreamed about one day collaborating on a childrens' book project or something like that).  And after seeing Jay's studio, I'd have to say that my brother is currently closer to achieving his artistic goals than I am.  Although his efforts challenge me and inspire me.

Who knows what the future may hold (for either of us)?  All I know is that I'm pretty darn proud of my brother.  He may well be my "little" brother; but I kind of hope that I can be like him when I "grow up."  The ironic thing about this, we've often noted, is that he will often say the same types of things about me.  Such is, I suspect, the nature of brotherhood.

It was also a lot of fun to see the next generation of Asp men forge their own relational bonds.  Elliot really meshed well with his cousins Aydan (two years older) and Brennan (one year younger).  They wore each other out and yet still managed to keep each other up at night, when they were supposed to be going to sleep.  I gues that's what cousins are for, isn't it?

Good times.  Good times in Texas.

We're down to our second-to-last stop on our family's Great American Adventure: Texas (the Dallas - Fort Worth area, to be specific). In just six days, we will be flying back to Amsterdam... but for now, we're enjoying some time with my brother and his family in what I believe just may be the hottest place that I've ever experienced in my whole entire life.

For those of you who are not familiar with Texan geography, we are roughly in the middle part of the continent that is Texas. And in this landlocked region -- separated by miles and miles from ocean, sea, or lake -- which just so happens to be at the same latitude as the Sahara Desert, let me tell you: the summer sun knows how to do its work.

When our plane landed at the airport yesterday, in the middle of the night (around 1:00 AM), the temperature was 91 degrees Farenheit (33 degrees Celsius). When the sun was beating down on us as we hiked through an area nature preserve in the middle part of the day, God only knows how hot it was. Let's just say it was very, very hot. Even when the breeze picked up a bit, it did not feel cool and refreshing (as I would typically expect a breeze on a hot day to feel). It felt like someone had pointed a gigantic hair-dryer at me, blazing focused heat in my direction. It was very hot. Not entirely miserable (since we basically knew what we were getting ourselves into by traveling to north-central Texas in late July) -- just impressive.

With a bit of bottled water and an air-conditioned vehicle and a pass to the local swimming pool, the heat can be beat. But I must tell you: I have a new respect for the strength and resiliency of Texans.