Action-Man, 10 June, Goteburg, Sweden

Drew and I are waiting at the bus station in Goteburg, Sweden. A girl acrss from me is helping me pronounce Goteburg and the number seven in Swedish. French people, she says, have the oddest pronunciation of Swedish. I am writing in part to slow down the conversation. Sofia is pretty with a small nose and brown hair past her shoulders. She has a baby brother with her, whose name is Sebastien. He's spinning and rolling on his own stroller. She thinks he is a monster. He has blond hair and lots of energy tonight. Their mother is quiet. I don't think she speaks much English.

The clock nears midnight. Drew is putting on some finishing touches to our departure at 2:30 to Copenhagen. I read in Judges today about men who held fast to the Lord and were blessed for it. Drew and I also listened to The Silver Chair. C.S. Lewis draws me to a higher standard of writing--better descriptions, shorter words, sparser sentences, more talk of redemption and Christ. Across the barren tableland, Jill and Eustace stopped talking about King Aslan and the lost prince and talked and complained only of warm beds and hot baths at the giants' castle. Drew and I agreed that it was convicting.

I never thought I'd be in Goteburg. What happened here and in Norway? Why did men and women so completely turn from God? Meanwhile, Sebastien still rolls recklessly on the stroller. He just missed me on his last screeching stop. And here comes Drew. He is back with cash for the trip tonight.

Sam