"It's been a while since the Police shut us down..."

I have never been the kind of woman who is good at hosting parties. I've never been crafty, or clever, or cute with decor or food. Unlike my awesome sister-in-law who has a business teaching people how to be cuter homemakers, or basically every other Mormon woman in the world, I can barely make my bed enough to have guests over. 

But when I moved to Pinneburg, Germany, into my own apartment, I had the random impulse to throw a house-warming party.  I bought candles, and a bunch of food, and was staring to feel a little too cocky about my party-throwing abilities until I looked at the food table spread: 

• Three frozen pizzas; one overcooked, two under-cooked. 
• A chunk of brie surrounded by the store-brand version of Ritz crackers. 
• A half-loaf of microwave garlic bread.
• A cheap party tray of salty, crispy, snacky things.
• A dry German bunt cake, cut up into uneven slices.
• and a handful of chocolate sticks, leftover from another grocery-store run.

It was a glorious sight to behold. 

My grandmother would have been so ashamed. 

 Luckily, the invitees were awesome, and no one cared, and everyone brought enough goodies to share, and it turned into a really lovely house-warming event. 

Then it took a bizarre, completely unforeseen turn. 

Among the housewarming party-goers were some friends, mostly co-workers, and my landlords, who live right above me. Due to an unfortunate series of mishaps where I accidentally broke the front gate multiple times, I felt obligated to invite them. And they seemed delighted at the invitation. 

They're a really funny couple. A very small, talkative, 50-year-old Philippine woman (who I can thank for the eclectic decor), and a grumpy, chatty, 60-year-old German man. I expected them to come for 20 minutes, and then go back upstairs. But they stayed the whole time. They brought 2 platters of food, extra candles, a giant bottle of vodka, and two juice cartons. 

Just as the party was dying down; maybe 6 people left, my landlord makes an announcement to a nearly-empty living room.

My transformed living room

"It's been a while since the Police shut us down. Let's let them know we're still alive" and turns on the sound system, blasting club music. He turns off the living room lamps and turns on two light boxes that set off a multi-colored light show. And of course, no party is complete without a smoke machine. 
I kid you not.

Everyone was pretty much very confused. 

Two of my coworkers. Confused. 

Though he would've danced with himself, I made everyone at the party dance with him. Awkwardly. Some of my coworkers are less uncomfortable with the whole scene than I, so they kept him decent company. Until about midnight, when I finally had to kick my landlord out. (!)

I think he was severely disappointed to find out his new young, American tenant is the least party-goer in all the US.


Sometimes I'll hear club music thumping and pounding through my ceiling in the middle of the day.

I guess I don't even need to know how to throw a good party. My 60-year-old German landlord's got it covered. 

It's not Imaginary--It's Invisible. There's a difference.

In my theater classes, I play with a magic box. I sit down with a series of printed directions, and wait until they are quiet, so everyone can read the instructions. I don't say a word as they ask questions, so they get the cue that this is a game we're all playing in silence.

I hold up a paper that says: 

"Sit in a Circle. 

In einem Kreis sitzen."

I wait for silent acknowledgement that they understand the system. The students who don't speak English or German I know will catch on shortly. Then flip to the next printed page:

"In front of me is a box.
Vor mir ist eine Box."

"It is a Magic box..."

"It is magic because it can hold anything in it.."

There are a few more pages of instructions: "Everyone will get a turn pulling something out of the box and showing it to the rest of the class if they'd like," "Do not talk or make noises," "I'll go first."

Then I hold the "box" in my hands. Pantomime the weight of a medium-sized wooden crate. Which I "open" and Mary Poppins style, pull out a tall floor lamp, or a very heavy piano, or an apple, depending on the class. Then after I turn on the 'lamp,' play the 'piano', or bite the 'apple', I put it back in the box and close the 'lid'.

One student is brave enough to go first. Raising a hand in confidence, and following my head-nod cue, they get up, walk across the circle to pick up the box from my hands. They cautiously open it, looking up at me for a signal they're playing the game correctly, and with an encouraging nod, they pull something out: A bike, a book, a bongo drum. Whatever it is, they're excited to show the class. Then at the end of their display, I remind them, by holding out expectant fingers, I would like the box returned to me. They dutifully pick up the box, walk it over, and place it back with me.

As the game goes on, they get clever getting it back to me. They'll "slide" it, or carefully "throw" it across the circle, but they don't ever forget to return the box.

About once every-other-class, I have a student who says in whiny protest, "This isn't real."  But the moment I offer the box with a silent question in my eyes, "Would you like a turn?" they always eagerly grab the box, happily "pull" something out of it, and gingerly return the box, in-tact, to me.

One class period, I overheard a whispered exchange that I'll never forget.
"I don't understand. It's Imaginary, right?"
Another child said back in reproach, "It's not imaginary. It's invisible. there's a difference."


What a profound statement: just because we cannot see it, does not mean it doesn't exist.
Right there in that classroom circle, we all acknowledged there was a box. It was there because we all agree it was. We agreed to play by the rules of the box. We interacted with it. We displayed its weight. We knew where it was at all times. We returned it to the teacher. We experienced the box. It was real to us. No one could tell us otherwise.

But how many things in life are so real, and also difficult to see? Sometimes invisible.

Love. Excitement.  A sense of Justice. Longing. Heartache. Grief. Hope. Worry. Fear. Charity. Freedom.

They can manifest themselves in ways that we can see: we show the box's dimensions by holding it's sides. We can see charity through actions, or heartache through tears. But the actual substance is impossible to see.

When we have faith in anything, it is an acknowledgement that something is real, albeit invisible.

The things I have learned from teaching these little people in Germany are far from imaginary: the patience I have gained, the perspective on what it means to have psychological safety at work, the affection for humans with whom I can't even communicate.

Invisible, yes. But Very Real to me.

What is invisible and also real to you?