One day as I took pause in conversation with another, they made a suggestion. They suggested that I was not to merely read 1 Cor. 13:1-13, but rather I was to pray to BE 1 Cor. 14:1-13.

Trains are a good way to travel in Scandinavia. Not only do they run on time, but also the cost is reasonable. The government subsidizes them so that fewer automobiles will be needed.

"Hello!”

The heart longs to go home. It was so for Myron Floren, the best-known accordionist in America.

I like that word, stability. It’s deep.

Is it possible to trace a family name to a single point of origin? I’d been curious about the roots of my family name “Fiske,” sometimes spelled “Fisk.”

Recently I had the privilege of watching my granddaughter have a meltdown. Yes, when we are invited into these sacred moments, it is a privilege. It means they feel safe and are OK with letting it all out knowing that those nearby will love them still.

I like this time of year. The quiet is sought as heart lights are lit.

Scandinavians have been coming to America since the days of Leif Erikson. Until after the War Between the States, many of them melted into the English-speaking world.

It was on an August Monday afternoon that we arrived in Molde, the “City of Roses,” on Norway’s West Coast. This community of 21,000 people barely survived the ravages of World War II. All but a few scattered houses in the center of the city were destroyed.

History is in the making each time we gather. Listening hasn’t always come easy, but as the years go by, I see how important it is to take in the stories being told by family round the table.

Since the dawn of the human race, a few people have managed to become its leaders. In Oslo’s Frogner Park, there is a famous monolith sculptured by Gustav Vigeland that portrays the mad race to the top of the heap. It reminds me of a game played in grade school called “king of the hill.” The…

I’ve often thought this thought. If we truly believe that He is God, that He is I Am, that He is Lord of the Universe, Maker of Heaven and earth, if we truly have faith as big as a mustard seed, that is all it would take, should take, could take, for any of us, who truly worship the Lord our…

What made people so restless that they set out to discover new worlds? Sometimes they just didn’t fit into the world where they were born. This seems to have been the case with Cleng Peerson when he went to America.

It sounds like a sales pitch, doesn’t it? Community in a shoebox! With a shoebox you, too, can build community. Or, come one, come all — it’s as easy as lifting the lid on a shoebox.

 When the wars of Napoleon ended in 1814, Norway adopted a constitution and came under the rule of Karl Johan, the king of Sweden.

A modern day parable.

He is remembered as Cleng Peerson, the man who played an important part in the migration of 800,000 Norwegians to America. His real name was Kleng Pedersen Hesthammer, born May 17, 1782, in Tysvaer, not far from Stavanger on Norway’s southwest coast.

The road wound like a ribbon through the canopied trees. To the right of the trees were the village shops, and to the right of the shops was the lake. The storefront pavement pushed up to the edge of the shop doors calling to passers-by.

It’s a village unknown to most tourists, even to those who visit Denmark. Bindslev, (pronounced BIN-sloo) is located 4 miles from the sand dunes of the North Sea on Denmark’s north coast and about 25 miles southwest of Skagen, the northernmost point of Europe’s oldest kingdom. Nearby cities …

One of the quaint places to visit in Scandinavia is “Gamla Stan” (“Old Town”) in Stockholm. It is built near the royal palace. A fortification was erected there about 1150 for the city’s defense.

The road wound like a ribbon through the canopied trees. To the right of the trees were the village shops, and to the right of the shops was the lake. The storefront pavement pushed up to the edge of the shop doors calling to passers-by.

Every visitor to Denmark should include a trip to Odense (pronounced “OH-denseh”) on the island of Fyn, the home of Hans Christian Andersen. He is the best-known Dane in the world and one of the most famous storytellers of all time.

I enjoy painting, or at least the results of how things look once they’ve been spiffed up with a new coat of paint. As of late, what’s been just as fun is reading the name of the color upon each swatch considered.

America has been the dream of many people.  Scandinavians may have been the first Europeans to arrive, but later ones were slow to follow the voyages of Columbus. Many individual Norsemen came in pre-Revolutionary times, but only the Swedes along the Delaware River formed an early colony (1638).

I was booking it. Yup, onto Facebook I was. And while I was, I noticed a friend’s post.

Across the road from the farm where I grew up in Richland County, North Dakota, there was a township called Nanson. We farmed some of that land. Later, I discovered that it was named after a famous Norwegian, Fridtjof Nansen (“sen” endings were often changed to “son” in America at the ports …

I go to a little country church located at the edge of town. How it landed there, poetically placed near an open field, I haven’t a clue. I only know that we attend. The structure is solid, the teaching is solid, and the people within — well, they are sinners saved by grace — every last one of ‘em.

I paid little attention to “Kaare of Gryting” (pronounced GRIT-ing) when I first read Snorri Sturluson’s Sagas of the Norse Kings. It wasn’t until I visited my cousin Kaare Rogstad in Orkdal, that I became interested in this little known king.

Well, there certainly was no cradle in the tree when the winds blew. There was, however, a raccoon or two, or three, or four, or five.

After World War II, Norwegian-Americans sent money to Norway to rebuild and repair churches that had been destroyed during the war. It was also decided to build a church for an English speaking congregation as a “living monument” to remember the bonds between the two nations.

“Be aware of all the hidden costs of college,” the article stated. On and on it droned about the extra costs that we should be aware of.

It was a beautiful and bright September afternoon in 1985 when we boarded the Silja Line cruise ship in Stockholm for Helsinki. As the liner left the dock, we had an excellent view of Sweden’s capital city. For several hours, we passed between the scenic islands that make up the archipelago.

“This is it, right here, one of the two worst things to do in the kitchen!”

The Norsemen were victims of bad press. That’s because their enemies wrote so much about them.  Today they are often referred to as “Vikings,” though the name did not appear in the English dictionary until 1806. They were famed as pirates, referring to people who went “a-viking,” sailing up …

It’s that season again. The little yellow butterflies are fluttering up and down the gravel road on which I travel. There’s no other way to get home. I have to take the gravel road, and just coming up and over the first hill is where they gather.

We arrived late in Hemsedal. The shortcut through the mountains took longer than we had expected. It was 11:30 p.m. Our dinner was waiting for us at the hotel when we arrived.

Putting away the carload of goods that I’d grabbed from a grocery stop was the task at hand. Restocking the cupboards brought much satisfaction as I’d been gone for a couple of weeks. As well, one of our own was home for a few days and that always adds to the excitement.

If you ever go to Norway, look out for the trolls. I’ve never actually seen a live one, but there is so much talk about them that they must exist. The time to be on the alert is after dark.

Well, I did. I waited for it.

I’ve decided to give you my top six reads as of recent. No rhyme or reason for them, other than my fellow brothers or sisters have exposed me to the authors or directed me to the book, or I saw them reading it, or I was gifted a copy of it.

Much has been written about the strong character of Norwegian women in ancient times and during the Middle Ages. The description of Helga in the comic strip, “Hagar the Horrible,” is amusing but not atypical.

It’s been one year since I “retired.”

The Seattle area became home to a large number of Norwegian immigrants. Among these were Peter Greset Isaaksen from Aure, west of Trondheim, and Marine Andersen from Norfold. Little could they realize that their futures would be joined in the New World and that their son, Henry, would become…

I’d heard the words spoken upon the radio on an earlier broadcast. Today’s repeat programming had me once again quite taken by them and this time, I jotted them down.