8 seconds later ...
There is no explanation - not for Santa, not for us.
There is no explanation - not for Santa, not for us.
Find not too frequent updates from the Livesay family here
Friday, December 14, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Self Examination
This furlough has been difficult. I have been in dark and truly confusing places at times. I joke around and find ways to laugh but the truth is I have many things that weigh heavily on me right now. My faith is not very big today. I don't love what I learn about myself in times like this. I really don't. In tough times our short-comings are exposed. My shortcomings are more evident to me lately. I'm not trying to be cryptic or freak you out ... really. I just want to keep myself from hiding. Nothing like using the Internet to out yourself.
This C.S. Lewis quote really makes me think.
Surely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of a man he is? Surely what pops out before the man has time to put on a disguise is the truth? If there are rats in a cellar you are most likely to see them if you go in very suddenly. But the suddenness does not create the rats: it only prevents them from hiding. In the same way the suddenness of the provocation does not make me an ill-tempered man; it only shows me what an ill-tempered man I am. The rats are always there in the cellar, but if you go in shouting and noisily they will have taken cover before you switch on the light. (From Mere Christianity)
Maybe I have never really trusted God all that much. Maybe I only did because it was easy to do so at that time. Do I trust Him when it gets hard? Hmmmmmm.
This C.S. Lewis quote really makes me think.
Surely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of a man he is? Surely what pops out before the man has time to put on a disguise is the truth? If there are rats in a cellar you are most likely to see them if you go in very suddenly. But the suddenness does not create the rats: it only prevents them from hiding. In the same way the suddenness of the provocation does not make me an ill-tempered man; it only shows me what an ill-tempered man I am. The rats are always there in the cellar, but if you go in shouting and noisily they will have taken cover before you switch on the light. (From Mere Christianity)
Maybe I have never really trusted God all that much. Maybe I only did because it was easy to do so at that time. Do I trust Him when it gets hard? Hmmmmmm.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
More of Not Much
At some point it seems that it might just be wise to quit blogging until there is something to say.
It could be weeks.
No one ever accused me of being wise though… and therefore I bring you:
More blogging about nothing.
I am currently nervously eating Hershey’s Miniatures the Limited Edition mint collection. I don’t recommend them. Very Disappointing. Still, it does not stop me from popping a sixth one into my mouth. While I binge on below average chocolate I am jiggling Lydia, watching the Dateline about the McCoy septuplets and blogging about nothing. If I don’t do these things I will have no excuse to stay in the warm house while Troy is outside trudging up and down the hill packing things from the shed and putting it in the Suburban (did I mention that it’s for sale?)
We’ve been staying in our own house the last two nights. We figured Matt and Tina could use some space and a break from the chaos and people tromping up and down to use their bathroom. We also thought it would be a good way to get the holes puttied and do some repairs. So far exactly ZERO people have come to see the house; it has not mattered that we’ve ignored the work up until now. Christmas in the worst housing slump in recent years ... seems like a really smart time to have a house on the market.
Earlier tonight my dear sweet husband suggested I leave him with the five littler kids (big girls are gone) and go to Target all by myself. I thought his idea was lovely. Unfortunately, all of my make-up, deodorant and hair products are in that bag I left in Iowa. In addition to that gigantic problem, I’d been crying … and we all know what post-cry eyes look like. It presented me with a major decision. Go to Target looking similar to a dishrag; or not go and pass up a few minutes of alone time. In the end I decided I could hide if I saw someone I knew and it was worth the risk to get out of the house for a few minutes.
Our former renter has not moved the last of her items. This has been great cause for annoyance. Because it is annoying I reasoned that if she is going to leave a really nice and warm fur and leather coat in my front closet even though her lease was up 13 days ago, I probably have a right to wear it. Once I got to Target I spent the entire time keeping my head down making sure that:
A. No one I knew was in the aisle I was entering -- and
B. The renter was not there to see me in her super nice coat
At one point in a toy aisle I thought I was coming upon Julie Lien from church. She is a very pretty lady and always looks put together. I moved so fast out of that aisle I scarcely missed crushing a small child and frightened everyone around me. It did not turn out to be Julie. Crisis averted.
Other than ducking around acting weird, my all-alone outing was fun. I tried hard to find the perfect piece of chicken for the kids’ teacher. In the end I settled for chocolate that will go with a wooden Haiti box.
Troy has been dealing with a mini-crisis at the Mission. One employee is suspended until someone can get down there to deal with it all face to face. That is not great news. Peter seems to be handling it well. We're praying for him.
Phoebe is all chatter lately. She learned to say "Thank you." She says it SO cute, it sounds just like Elmo. She trucks around all the time, her arms are a big part of her walk... she uses them as if they play a major part in propelling her forward. She screams for food whenever she sees someone with it. With this size group she can almost be screaming for food that is in sight every waking hour. When she says thank-you, it is usually for food.
The McCoy septuplet thing is over now. I think those people are totally amazing. I liked that they admit to crying a lot when their kids were smaller. It makes me feel better. I love my kids so much. They are each so different and unique, I would not change anything ... except the number of hands I have. I wish I had four hands. I don't cry until I find myself with four or more of them and no one to help. That is when, without fail, Noah wants to be wiped, Phoebe is crying for food or trying to fall down the stairs, Lydia is crying to be nursed or changed, and Isaac is talking non-stop about Transformers and asking questions about them that I cannot answer. Do Transformers go to Heaven? Are they real? Which one is my favorite? Don't I think they are wonderful? Do I want Optimus Prime for Christmas? When did Transformers start? And on and on and on. Other people do this many little kids thing, I know they do, I am hopeful that one day I will feel it is possible to do it with grace and maybe even class too.
Back to the Suburban. We haven't talked about it in a while. YOU don't have to buy it. Just find someone who will. Is that too much to ask? You certainly know someone who wants a large vehicle with a nice grill and four tires. The other option, find someone to buy the house and we will throw the Suburban in for free.
You see, selling the Suburban for a very fair price will allow the house to sit on the market longer and the payment to be made. If you just buy the house the Suburban won't really matter anymore. I'm opening up all sorts of options for you all. Any way you like it, we're flexible.
The end of blogging about nothing. Go about your business.
It could be weeks.
No one ever accused me of being wise though… and therefore I bring you:
More blogging about nothing.
I am currently nervously eating Hershey’s Miniatures the Limited Edition mint collection. I don’t recommend them. Very Disappointing. Still, it does not stop me from popping a sixth one into my mouth. While I binge on below average chocolate I am jiggling Lydia, watching the Dateline about the McCoy septuplets and blogging about nothing. If I don’t do these things I will have no excuse to stay in the warm house while Troy is outside trudging up and down the hill packing things from the shed and putting it in the Suburban (did I mention that it’s for sale?)
We’ve been staying in our own house the last two nights. We figured Matt and Tina could use some space and a break from the chaos and people tromping up and down to use their bathroom. We also thought it would be a good way to get the holes puttied and do some repairs. So far exactly ZERO people have come to see the house; it has not mattered that we’ve ignored the work up until now. Christmas in the worst housing slump in recent years ... seems like a really smart time to have a house on the market.
Earlier tonight my dear sweet husband suggested I leave him with the five littler kids (big girls are gone) and go to Target all by myself. I thought his idea was lovely. Unfortunately, all of my make-up, deodorant and hair products are in that bag I left in Iowa. In addition to that gigantic problem, I’d been crying … and we all know what post-cry eyes look like. It presented me with a major decision. Go to Target looking similar to a dishrag; or not go and pass up a few minutes of alone time. In the end I decided I could hide if I saw someone I knew and it was worth the risk to get out of the house for a few minutes.
Our former renter has not moved the last of her items. This has been great cause for annoyance. Because it is annoying I reasoned that if she is going to leave a really nice and warm fur and leather coat in my front closet even though her lease was up 13 days ago, I probably have a right to wear it. Once I got to Target I spent the entire time keeping my head down making sure that:
A. No one I knew was in the aisle I was entering -- and
B. The renter was not there to see me in her super nice coat
At one point in a toy aisle I thought I was coming upon Julie Lien from church. She is a very pretty lady and always looks put together. I moved so fast out of that aisle I scarcely missed crushing a small child and frightened everyone around me. It did not turn out to be Julie. Crisis averted.
Other than ducking around acting weird, my all-alone outing was fun. I tried hard to find the perfect piece of chicken for the kids’ teacher. In the end I settled for chocolate that will go with a wooden Haiti box.
Troy has been dealing with a mini-crisis at the Mission. One employee is suspended until someone can get down there to deal with it all face to face. That is not great news. Peter seems to be handling it well. We're praying for him.
Phoebe is all chatter lately. She learned to say "Thank you." She says it SO cute, it sounds just like Elmo. She trucks around all the time, her arms are a big part of her walk... she uses them as if they play a major part in propelling her forward. She screams for food whenever she sees someone with it. With this size group she can almost be screaming for food that is in sight every waking hour. When she says thank-you, it is usually for food.
The McCoy septuplet thing is over now. I think those people are totally amazing. I liked that they admit to crying a lot when their kids were smaller. It makes me feel better. I love my kids so much. They are each so different and unique, I would not change anything ... except the number of hands I have. I wish I had four hands. I don't cry until I find myself with four or more of them and no one to help. That is when, without fail, Noah wants to be wiped, Phoebe is crying for food or trying to fall down the stairs, Lydia is crying to be nursed or changed, and Isaac is talking non-stop about Transformers and asking questions about them that I cannot answer. Do Transformers go to Heaven? Are they real? Which one is my favorite? Don't I think they are wonderful? Do I want Optimus Prime for Christmas? When did Transformers start? And on and on and on. Other people do this many little kids thing, I know they do, I am hopeful that one day I will feel it is possible to do it with grace and maybe even class too.
Back to the Suburban. We haven't talked about it in a while. YOU don't have to buy it. Just find someone who will. Is that too much to ask? You certainly know someone who wants a large vehicle with a nice grill and four tires. The other option, find someone to buy the house and we will throw the Suburban in for free.
You see, selling the Suburban for a very fair price will allow the house to sit on the market longer and the payment to be made. If you just buy the house the Suburban won't really matter anymore. I'm opening up all sorts of options for you all. Any way you like it, we're flexible.
The end of blogging about nothing. Go about your business.
Thanks
We found a translator. Thank you ALL for your suggestions, a few of them were too busy with Christmas coming but we did find someone from your ideas, so thank you.
The Suburban comes with four tires included. No extra charge.
The Suburban comes with four tires included. No extra charge.
Translator Question - Sale
This is totally lazy of me, I know ... But I don't have email addresses to ask most of you in any other way. The choices listed on the IBESR blog-page seem to be backed up or leaving for Christmas. Have ANY of you successfully used a French teacher at your local High School? I've heard that it is best to use someone who is familiar with the verbiage used in adoption dossiers but if that is not true --- someone set me straight.
Suburban still for sale. Has seating for 8. If you have 3 kids you can have an entire row separating you and your spouse from them. Think about it. That is a huge benefit.
Suburban still for sale. Has seating for 8. If you have 3 kids you can have an entire row separating you and your spouse from them. Think about it. That is a huge benefit.
Pre-panic Mode
Pre-panic, is not panicked ... but headed that direction. We need a translator that is not backed up. We need someone who can start and finish a dossier by Christmas. Deb Blatz has been suggested and she is unable to help due to a large work load. I figured half the readers are adoptive parents and maybe you can tell us who to use ... our adoption processes just like yours, living in Haiti affords no extra conveniences - we need the translator and the Chicago step to be done in time to return home with the dossier complete in our hands. If I can get three or four ideas that would be great ... and of course a fair, competitive price is necessary.
Thanks for any help you can provide.
Do you want to buy a Suburban? Dark Gray with a fancy grill thing to throw deer or cows away from the truck without hurting you or your children. Priced right. Must sell.
Thanks for any help you can provide.
Do you want to buy a Suburban? Dark Gray with a fancy grill thing to throw deer or cows away from the truck without hurting you or your children. Priced right. Must sell.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
gift ideas from the most thoughtful ones
I asked Hope what sort of gift we might get her teacher for the last day. She thought about it a moment and said, "Popsicles...or maybe ice cream." I worked hard to get an idea that would not melt in the classroom but she had nothing else to offer.
Later on Hope was gone to a Basketball game with Paige and Britt and I asked Isaac. I said "Isaac, I need ideas for your teacher. What sort of gift could we give her?" He said, "uuuuhhh. How about a note. How about a note with an envelope!" I said, "I am thinking more about a gift, something she would really like. We can put the note AND the envelope with it. Do you know what she likes?"
Isaac replied, "Uuuuuhhhhhhh Uuuuhhhh Hum (long thoughtful pause) she likes chicken! We could get her some chicken! Or maybe pizza."
Would you enjoy receiving a package of chicken breasts, a frozen pizza or a box of popsicles the most?
The emails on the Suburban are just poooouuurrring in... move fast or you'll miss your chance to buy massive quantities of gasoline.
Later on Hope was gone to a Basketball game with Paige and Britt and I asked Isaac. I said "Isaac, I need ideas for your teacher. What sort of gift could we give her?" He said, "uuuuhhh. How about a note. How about a note with an envelope!" I said, "I am thinking more about a gift, something she would really like. We can put the note AND the envelope with it. Do you know what she likes?"
Isaac replied, "Uuuuuhhhhhhh Uuuuhhhh Hum (long thoughtful pause) she likes chicken! We could get her some chicken! Or maybe pizza."
Would you enjoy receiving a package of chicken breasts, a frozen pizza or a box of popsicles the most?
The emails on the Suburban are just poooouuurrring in... move fast or you'll miss your chance to buy massive quantities of gasoline.
Hunker Down
In the final 20 days of our time as a complete family here in the States we have made a goal and a conscious effort to run around less. We will see if our resolve is strong enough to make that happen. It seems doubtful, but you've got to have goals.
I had the goal of leaving Iowa with all our belongings, but as it turned out -- that goal was in vain. As we were leaving yesterday my Uncle locked Lydia in the house all alone, I *DID* remember to go back in and get her ... But it turns out that my entire toiletry bag, which is most of what I own to make myself look decent along with my glasses and other things of infinite importance, were all left sitting at their house. We (and by we I mean TROY) also forgot Lydia's prescription in the refrigerator there. I got the third degree from the pharmacist last night when I went to get more Amoxicillin. He seemed to think I was going to use it in my Meth Lab or something. I assured him that we had left the Rx in Iowa and just needed it for our little girl and her ear infection. He looked at me skeptically and said he would "have to call the state." Whatever.
Isaac and Hope will finish up their MN Kindergarten career later this week. The class is having a party for them on Thursday. I hope it will be a happy day for them, I think they will miss going and certainly their teacher in Haiti will not be as sweet as their MN teacher. Sigh.
For some reason Amie Sexton was looking for a picture of a "psychotic caroler" on the Internet. I think mainly because they live in North Carolina and things are just different there ... But when she googled it - this was the result page. I have no idea why. Maybe it is just the word "caroler." We love to sing after all. Certainly the word psychotic does not play into it at all. When I Google "crazed and bizarre southern Nascar fans" I get a photo of the Sexton family. Go figure. Amie uses The Google just like my Dad. Big into the Internet she is. She even knows how to comment on a blog post. We're sending her Dad's certificate instead.
If you know of ANYONE in the Midwest looking for a larger vehicle -- maybe someone who enjoys filling a tank with lots of gas --- please tell them we have a 1999 Suburban that is in very good shape with 133,000 miles on it available for an excelllent price. Have them email for photos and more information.
If this did not have a huge degree of truthfulness to it, we (Britt and Tara) would not find it funny - but it is pretty funny. Enjoy.
I had the goal of leaving Iowa with all our belongings, but as it turned out -- that goal was in vain. As we were leaving yesterday my Uncle locked Lydia in the house all alone, I *DID* remember to go back in and get her ... But it turns out that my entire toiletry bag, which is most of what I own to make myself look decent along with my glasses and other things of infinite importance, were all left sitting at their house. We (and by we I mean TROY) also forgot Lydia's prescription in the refrigerator there. I got the third degree from the pharmacist last night when I went to get more Amoxicillin. He seemed to think I was going to use it in my Meth Lab or something. I assured him that we had left the Rx in Iowa and just needed it for our little girl and her ear infection. He looked at me skeptically and said he would "have to call the state." Whatever.
Isaac and Hope will finish up their MN Kindergarten career later this week. The class is having a party for them on Thursday. I hope it will be a happy day for them, I think they will miss going and certainly their teacher in Haiti will not be as sweet as their MN teacher. Sigh.
For some reason Amie Sexton was looking for a picture of a "psychotic caroler" on the Internet. I think mainly because they live in North Carolina and things are just different there ... But when she googled it - this was the result page. I have no idea why. Maybe it is just the word "caroler." We love to sing after all. Certainly the word psychotic does not play into it at all. When I Google "crazed and bizarre southern Nascar fans" I get a photo of the Sexton family. Go figure. Amie uses The Google just like my Dad. Big into the Internet she is. She even knows how to comment on a blog post. We're sending her Dad's certificate instead.
If you know of ANYONE in the Midwest looking for a larger vehicle -- maybe someone who enjoys filling a tank with lots of gas --- please tell them we have a 1999 Suburban that is in very good shape with 133,000 miles on it available for an excelllent price. Have them email for photos and more information.
If this did not have a huge degree of truthfulness to it, we (Britt and Tara) would not find it funny - but it is pretty funny. Enjoy.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Postcard from MN
We're back in the north land. Iowa went well, the traveling team behaved beautifully. Paige was undoubtedly the MVP of the weekend tourney. Isaac had the most assists and was close on Paige's heels for the MVP award.
Paige kept kids in line while we were tied up, she wowed the crowds with her poise. Troy only offended like six or eight Dutch people. Success all around.
We're busy running around like chickens without heads - more when time allow.
Paige kept kids in line while we were tied up, she wowed the crowds with her poise. Troy only offended like six or eight Dutch people. Success all around.
We're busy running around like chickens without heads - more when time allow.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Northwest Iowa
This weekend we're headed to the NW corner of Iowa. I told Isaac about it last night and he said, "IOWA!!! IOWA!!! YES! I WANT TO GO TO IOWA!" (brief pause) "What is Iowa Mom?" (I assured him it is WONDERFUL.)The traveling team for the weekend: T&T - Hope and Ike - Paige and Lydia. Noah and Phoebe are benched. Britt has a full calendar including her very own speaking gig in MN on Saturday morning, so she can't come. For the record, we did not bench her. Never.
Tess will be taking Phoebe. Lisa and Declan will be taking Noah. Declan is about 7 feet tall. We're encouraging Noah to try and push him around ... maybe Declan can knock some sense into the boy before we return. Noah just said, "They don't got any kids mom." Either he knows they will spoil him, or he finds that to be very curious. Or both.
We're staying with my Uncle Rick and Aunt Dianne in Spirit Lake, then spending all of Sunday in the Dutch command post for the entire Midwest; Orange City, Iowa. We'll spend that afternoon with my first cousin, Steve Pals and his family. Orange City is one of those places where people still walk around in this outfit:
Hope walked up while I was looking for this picture. She frowned and said, "Who are those ladies. They don't look so nice. Their skirts are waaaay up on their tummy." (Never mind the wood blocks on their feet.)I am going to spend all of our drive-time helping Troy understand WHICH Dutch jokes will be well-received and which ones he needs to table. The teasing within a marriage might not be acceptable when used on a church full of strangers.
That is the weekend plan - the full report. It will be wonderful. Isaac says so.
Recently I was listening in while my mother talked to a long lost relative on the phone. She was telling this relative that they should email her and my dad. She said, "Yeah, Randy is big into the Internet - can you believe that?!!!!?" I sat listening and laughed, wondering ... What exactly does it mean to be "big into the Internet." I asked Dad. Dad said, "Well, I know how to check e-mail." Troy said, "Yes but can you use The GOOGLE?" It turns out that he DOES know how to do a Google search and therefore he is indeed "big into the Internet." Technology be cursed, the older generation will not be left behind! (I'm so proud of you Dad. If you ever figure out how to leave a comment on the blog we will give you a certificate of Internet greatness.)
In closing for the weekend ... If you've been coming to this blog because you just recently learned of it (and you're big into the Internet) and want to find out more about Haiti, Lifeline, or what we're about ... Please ignore the last three months of posts and go to the first link (called More Information) on the left to get a more serious look at things. The blog has sort of left the track lately and has little to do with ministry in Haiti ... we're on furlough, we're delirious, and we're not exactly keeping it all about Haiti right now.
Have a WONDERFUL weekend.
Tara for all of us
P.S. To Dr. James Steen - Happy Belated Birthday!
pre date conversation between people who have given up
"Are you okay with me wearing this shirt with baby puke on it? I can fold up the sleeve and hide most of it."
"Yeah, fine, I have some sort of unidentifiable schmeg on my shirt too."
Had we known or even imagined it would come to this back in the days of dressing to impress one another --- we may never have gotten on the train.
It's a crazy ride. I'm glad we didn't know. I would hate to miss this.
Thank you for a fun and delicious dinner Tom and Mary!
"Yeah, fine, I have some sort of unidentifiable schmeg on my shirt too."
Had we known or even imagined it would come to this back in the days of dressing to impress one another --- we may never have gotten on the train.
It's a crazy ride. I'm glad we didn't know. I would hate to miss this.
Thank you for a fun and delicious dinner Tom and Mary!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
A little taste of Isaac A. Livesay
Yes, he is for real. He is the king of the compliment. He is Mr. Joyful.
Watch how he ignores Noah taking a total cheap shot. The boy is incapable of being mean. Isaac means "laughter" - he produces lots of it around here.
By the way ... he thinks you're wonderful too.
Watch how he ignores Noah taking a total cheap shot. The boy is incapable of being mean. Isaac means "laughter" - he produces lots of it around here.
By the way ... he thinks you're wonderful too.
Baby Updates
Thanks to Leslie Rolling for getting this photo for Matt and Tina yesterday. :) Leslie - we will re-pay you with an Ipod. We're that generous.
Anyway, she is up to 11 lbs and 2 oz and is 22" long. She looks just like her daddy and her big brother. And she has huge biceps.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Policy and other travel Nonsense
I never look decent when I travel. As a rule, comfort is first. Usually that means sweats, baseball hat and tennis shoes. Well, yesterday I wore heels and jeans. It was a big day. I wanted to look nice for Troy when he picked me up. This is important to the story because it plays into my shorter patience for all things ridiculous. I decided to take a day off from being the frumpy, baseball hat wearing, mom of a newborn. I thought heels might be the answer.
I like to think that my time in Haiti has made me a kinder, more patient Tara. As it turns out maybe that is only true in certain situations, yesterday I did not feel kind or patient in the Harlingen, TX airport.
We checked in at the counter where people were generally friendly. On past flights my boarding pass said, "lap passenger." In Harlingen they give you a separate green card that says "infant boarding pass." The lady at the counter told me to write the name of the baby and age on the green card. I will admit thinking, "huh - that is dumb - but whatever you say." I don't know why or how it ended up this way for me, but I generally question rules and rarely do something without figuring out why it needs to be done. I am a pain in the back-side of authority. Or so I have been told.
Paige, Lydie and I walked upstairs and went to clear security. The man at security looked at my boarding pass. He looked at Paige's boarding pass. He looked at the green infant card for Lyd. He got on his radio and said, "Maria, we have a problem. Please come over here." I said, "What is the problem?" He said he would tell me when Maria showed up. I stood on my heels and waited.
When Maria arrived she deemed it VERY VERY BAD that the green infant card did not say where the infant was going or on what airline. The kinder, gentler Tara left the building at that moment. I said, "Does it not stand to reason that the infant, who is WITH ME, might be going the SAME PLACE AS ME?" Maria said, "Well, it does not say that here on the infant boarding card." I said, "Do you have a lot of infants that travel alone?" Maria was not budging. She said, "It MUST say on this card where the infant is going, a flight number and a date." I again argued the point that since the infant belonged to ME it made a lot of sense that by default she would go the same place I was going. Maria said, "It must say on this card." I said, "Hand me a pen - I will write it on there for you." Maria was not amused. She said I had to go back downstairs to the ticket counter and have the airline write the necessary information on my green card. We tried to work it out another way, or, *I* tried ... But to no avail. Five minutes later I muttered something about it being ridiculous and walked back down to the ticket counter - In my high heels.
The lady down at the ticket counter rolled her eyes and told me that the TSA people were acting stupid and making stuff up. She claimed the green card never had that information on it. She scribbled the info down and sent me on my way.
Back upstairs I told them what the ticket lady had said. Yes, I told them only to be a jerk, but really I thought they should know that TWO people found them to be totally ridiculous. That is when Maria explained it all. She said, "It is our policy to know where the infant is going." Oooooh, okay, POLICY. That explains everything. Anytime someone uses the word "policy" you can pretty much guarantee it is nonsense. Policy is a a synonym for "rule that makes no sense."
I wanted to steal a line from Troy, but restrained myself. He likes to say, "Oh, is that your policy? Well let me tell you my policy. My policy has always been to ignore all other policies." (Especially when they are stupid.)
Flustered by the whole argument we finally got to finish going through the scanner thing. Everyone was satisfied that they had forced me into a pointless exercise of walking downstairs to add the words "MSP flight 438" onto a card for a child who would never leave my possession. As Lydia's car seat went through they backed it up and turned it upside down to re-scan it. Mom-variety-terrorists must hide things in the underside of car seats.
I stood at the end of the belt waiting for the rest of our things to come out when a nursing pad, and then another came out one by one. So much for shedding my frumpy image. They had been under Lyd's blanket in the car seat. A man working the belt picked them up and handed them to me. Paige giggled. Finally the car seat was deemed safe and we were free to walk to the gate. By this time I had stood in line and walked far more than I ever planned when I made the bold decision to wear heels. My feet were killing me.
We boarded the plane. The man who took the green infant card never even looked at it. OF COURSE he didn't look at it. It was probably his POLICY not to look at it.
I was cranky. I admit it. My feet hurt and all the nonsense had put me in a foul mood.
I sat down, I put Lydie's car seat next to me. She was sleeping soundly. I buckled her in. I kicked off my shoes and settled in. The flight attendant came to me and said, "That baby cannot stay in that seat, it is not FAA approved. You will need to take her out and put it in the overhead bin."
I HATE admitting that I said this, but I said, "Okay, you'll be sorry though." (Meaning, she was sleeping and we were going to need to wake her up and listen to her cry.) I am sure I could have been kicked off the plane right then for that implied threat. Thankfully she let it slide. I asked her (after Lydia was out of the seat) WHY the seat had been FAA approved on my flight down to Texas. Had the FAA changed the rules on Monday? I asked her why on previous flights no one had ever taken it away from me. She then told me it was not the right kind of seat, it was just a "carrier." I informed her that she could read the stickers on the side of the seat and learn that she was very wrong.
Later in the flight she came to tell me she was sorry. That she was indeed mistaken. I appreciated someone making some sense for once and told her it was not a problem and I was sorry I was impatient with her. We made up.
End of little story.
My new policy is NEVER wear heels to travel.
I like to think that my time in Haiti has made me a kinder, more patient Tara. As it turns out maybe that is only true in certain situations, yesterday I did not feel kind or patient in the Harlingen, TX airport.
We checked in at the counter where people were generally friendly. On past flights my boarding pass said, "lap passenger." In Harlingen they give you a separate green card that says "infant boarding pass." The lady at the counter told me to write the name of the baby and age on the green card. I will admit thinking, "huh - that is dumb - but whatever you say." I don't know why or how it ended up this way for me, but I generally question rules and rarely do something without figuring out why it needs to be done. I am a pain in the back-side of authority. Or so I have been told.
Paige, Lydie and I walked upstairs and went to clear security. The man at security looked at my boarding pass. He looked at Paige's boarding pass. He looked at the green infant card for Lyd. He got on his radio and said, "Maria, we have a problem. Please come over here." I said, "What is the problem?" He said he would tell me when Maria showed up. I stood on my heels and waited.
When Maria arrived she deemed it VERY VERY BAD that the green infant card did not say where the infant was going or on what airline. The kinder, gentler Tara left the building at that moment. I said, "Does it not stand to reason that the infant, who is WITH ME, might be going the SAME PLACE AS ME?" Maria said, "Well, it does not say that here on the infant boarding card." I said, "Do you have a lot of infants that travel alone?" Maria was not budging. She said, "It MUST say on this card where the infant is going, a flight number and a date." I again argued the point that since the infant belonged to ME it made a lot of sense that by default she would go the same place I was going. Maria said, "It must say on this card." I said, "Hand me a pen - I will write it on there for you." Maria was not amused. She said I had to go back downstairs to the ticket counter and have the airline write the necessary information on my green card. We tried to work it out another way, or, *I* tried ... But to no avail. Five minutes later I muttered something about it being ridiculous and walked back down to the ticket counter - In my high heels.
The lady down at the ticket counter rolled her eyes and told me that the TSA people were acting stupid and making stuff up. She claimed the green card never had that information on it. She scribbled the info down and sent me on my way.
Back upstairs I told them what the ticket lady had said. Yes, I told them only to be a jerk, but really I thought they should know that TWO people found them to be totally ridiculous. That is when Maria explained it all. She said, "It is our policy to know where the infant is going." Oooooh, okay, POLICY. That explains everything. Anytime someone uses the word "policy" you can pretty much guarantee it is nonsense. Policy is a a synonym for "rule that makes no sense."
I wanted to steal a line from Troy, but restrained myself. He likes to say, "Oh, is that your policy? Well let me tell you my policy. My policy has always been to ignore all other policies." (Especially when they are stupid.)
Flustered by the whole argument we finally got to finish going through the scanner thing. Everyone was satisfied that they had forced me into a pointless exercise of walking downstairs to add the words "MSP flight 438" onto a card for a child who would never leave my possession. As Lydia's car seat went through they backed it up and turned it upside down to re-scan it. Mom-variety-terrorists must hide things in the underside of car seats.
I stood at the end of the belt waiting for the rest of our things to come out when a nursing pad, and then another came out one by one. So much for shedding my frumpy image. They had been under Lyd's blanket in the car seat. A man working the belt picked them up and handed them to me. Paige giggled. Finally the car seat was deemed safe and we were free to walk to the gate. By this time I had stood in line and walked far more than I ever planned when I made the bold decision to wear heels. My feet were killing me.
We boarded the plane. The man who took the green infant card never even looked at it. OF COURSE he didn't look at it. It was probably his POLICY not to look at it.
I was cranky. I admit it. My feet hurt and all the nonsense had put me in a foul mood.
I sat down, I put Lydie's car seat next to me. She was sleeping soundly. I buckled her in. I kicked off my shoes and settled in. The flight attendant came to me and said, "That baby cannot stay in that seat, it is not FAA approved. You will need to take her out and put it in the overhead bin."
I HATE admitting that I said this, but I said, "Okay, you'll be sorry though." (Meaning, she was sleeping and we were going to need to wake her up and listen to her cry.) I am sure I could have been kicked off the plane right then for that implied threat. Thankfully she let it slide. I asked her (after Lydia was out of the seat) WHY the seat had been FAA approved on my flight down to Texas. Had the FAA changed the rules on Monday? I asked her why on previous flights no one had ever taken it away from me. She then told me it was not the right kind of seat, it was just a "carrier." I informed her that she could read the stickers on the side of the seat and learn that she was very wrong.
Later in the flight she came to tell me she was sorry. That she was indeed mistaken. I appreciated someone making some sense for once and told her it was not a problem and I was sorry I was impatient with her. We made up.
End of little story.
My new policy is NEVER wear heels to travel.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Sarcasm Anyone?
I found this highly entertaining and accurate - but mostly just enjoyed finding another sarcastic Christian writer...
-Troy
I'm Sure I Read that Somewhere
by Shawn McEvoy, Crosswalk.com Faith Editor
There are six things which the Lord hates... Proverbs 6:16
Let's see what's on tap for me to do today...
Hmmm, probably not much need to pray; things are pretty good. I got it under control for now. Definitely don't need to read the Bible. 10,000 days into the journey a guy gets pretty tight with God. Knows his stuff. Remembers the Word fairly clearly. Gets pretty skilled at pointing out how others break the commandments and fail to trust the promises.
So I guess it'll be more of the same today:
- Denounce political candidate without same convictions as me.
- Complain about salary.
- Build tower of righteous anger because the definition of marriage should be so obvious.
- Get warm fuzzies while writing tithe check.
- Tell sad friend I'm praying for him (but not really). Then, call other friend to disparage sad friend for the misery he's caused himself.
- Rail against injustice. Stay firmly planted on seat.
- Marvel at idiots who give in to sinful addictions. While doing, let out the buckle on that size 42 belt and relax a bit.
- Bark at wife.
- Write uplifting devotional.
Wow, full day. But feels a lot like yesterday. Kinda rote. Well, that's just the cross I carry. Because after all, I happen to know a few things about the Word of God.
I know that there are "six things which the Lord hates, yes, seven which are an abomination to Him." And I'm pretty sure those are: gay people, terrorists, atheists, liberals, SUV drivers, and the French.
Likewise, I'm sure I read that it's best to be unwilling to listen, first to speak, and quick to get angry (or righteously indignant. Take your pick. Both are good).
Read the rest here:
http://www.crosswalk.com/devotionals/Crosswalk%20Devo/11560939/
snow birds
Haitian children who LOVE LOVE LOVE the snow.
Doesn't Hope look like a smurf next to Ike?
Monday, December 03, 2007
Hear the Angels Sing
Last year we spent all holidays in Haiti. Coming from a cold snowy climate it felt nothing like Christmas to us. Christmas is not supposed to be all about Santa, Rudolph, or Frosty the Snowman, we know that of course. But, if you've celebrated Christmas in cold weather your whole life, it does not feel too Christmasish in the Caribbean.
To us: Cold = Christmas!
(And, yes we know that weather has nothing to do with the reason for the season either.)
The folks here in Southern Texas are busy putting up lights and trees. It is so strange to walk around in the 80 degree humid weather and see lighted trees in the windows. The people ringing the Salvation Army bells outside of Wal Mart are dripping sweat just from waving their wrists.
Troy and the kids called when it was snowing in MN on Saturday. Everyone was excited about it. Paige and I are anxious to see some snow when we get back to MN tomorrow. Seeing the snow will make it official for us; Christmas is just around the corner. ;)
Lydie B is starting to grow in visible spurts now. Her eating schedule is paying off. It seems like we've negotiated a little bit better deal, she is going three and four hours at night now - which is helping make me less psychotic.
Paige did awesome at church yesterday. Her Creole was a big hit. I thought that I did a bad job at the first service and a decent job at the second service. If there were eight services I might have time to polish up enough to present something cohesive and smart. This coming weekend we travel to the great state of Iowa, this time Troy and I will be together which will help ... we're better together. And what I mean by that is, he is better at speaking and I am better at watching him speak.
Last week, before Paige and I left for TX, we had a melt-down of sorts ... or maybe it was more of a blow-out than a melt-down. Whatever it was, we determined that Britt would like more time with us before she moves and we would like to figure out a way to do more than eat, sleep, snap at each other, and run run run. Once our trip to Iowa is complete we should have two weeks before heading back south where we can sort of lay-low and just be. Everyone agreed that this has been a time of shorter fuses and high stress. It was not as we imagined when we were looking forward to the furlough. A friend of ours calls it "the perfect storm" -- the conditions have been ripe for impatience to abound. A month apart, living in close quarters, managing multiple busy schedules, lack of privacy, concerns about leaving the mission/Haiti for so long, scabies, boils, staph infection, viral meningitis, two rounds of the stomach flu, house decisions/woes, money stresses, post-baby hormones, new baby duties, sleep deprivation, a kid leaving the nest ... you get the picture.
I wish we were strong enough to take it in stride with more class, more patience, more faith. We're being stretched a lot, and the Lord clearly thinks we have more growing to do. That point has not been lost on me.
By Rick Porter
Hear the Angels Sing ( Dickinson County News, December 12, 2006)
Perhaps it’s just the Ebenezer Scrooge in me, but I’m not much of a caroler. When pressed into participation I sing, but rarely with the gusto of those around me. And too often I sing in a rote way, not giving full attention to the words. There is however, one line of one verse of one carol that always captures my attention.
A story is told of a man seasonally employed to bring the presence of Santa to Christmas gatherings for businesses and schools. He was on his way to a gig, an office party, but had been asked to stop by the nursing home to make a quick visit to the residents. This was pro bono work, but if Santa won’t do it who will?
He quickly made his rounds with a “ho, ho, ho” to each room. Just before departing, he peeked into a darkened cubicle where an elderly man lay apparently asleep, curled on his bony side. Santa prepared to leave in a flash. But the man made a feeble beckoning gesture visible in the dim light of a tiny Christmas tree. The volunteer Santa approached. The man whispered something so faintly as to be inaudible. Santa moved his jolly old ear very close to the man’s dry mouth. “Forms are bending low,” the man said. Santa did not connect the phrase, assumed confusion, gave a patronizing pat, and hurried off to his paying job.
As he arrived at the office party, holiday music was filling the room. The words of an old carol floated from the ceiling speakers:
O ye beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.
The song was “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear” written as a poem in 1849 and put to music 10 years later. The essence of the song is that angels did not just appear and sing at the birth of Christ. They show up and serenade regularly and often.
Just when we are so burdened as to not hear, at the most difficult of times, when life’s loads crush and our forms bend, they minister most. Immanuel, meaning “God-with-us,” attends us as His invisible person, the Holy Spirit, and He is attended by angels. The heart of God is to meet us at life’s darkest intersections with comfort, encouragement, a touch of heaven, and a breath of hope. The old man in the nursing home wasn’t just complaining to Santa about his lot in life. He was acknowledging that in Santa’s visit, no matter how hurried, there was an angelic grace.
Whether or not you sing the carols this year, be encouraged to live the carols. For you, this season may not be one of happiness, good memories, or togetherness. You may be grieving, regretful, or lonely. Life’s road seems crushing and your form is bending low. That does not disqualify you from the true Christmas message. While others scurry in apparent happiness, the invitation to the crushed and the bent still stands:
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.
I posted this piece written by my Uncle last year. I have been thinking about it and wanted to post it again. I recognize that our struggles are not unique -- many of you reading are facing your own "perfect storm." My prayer for us, for our Haitian friends and neighbors, and for you this December ... That you might rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
~Tara
To us: Cold = Christmas!
(And, yes we know that weather has nothing to do with the reason for the season either.)
The folks here in Southern Texas are busy putting up lights and trees. It is so strange to walk around in the 80 degree humid weather and see lighted trees in the windows. The people ringing the Salvation Army bells outside of Wal Mart are dripping sweat just from waving their wrists.
Troy and the kids called when it was snowing in MN on Saturday. Everyone was excited about it. Paige and I are anxious to see some snow when we get back to MN tomorrow. Seeing the snow will make it official for us; Christmas is just around the corner. ;)
Lydie B is starting to grow in visible spurts now. Her eating schedule is paying off. It seems like we've negotiated a little bit better deal, she is going three and four hours at night now - which is helping make me less psychotic.
Paige did awesome at church yesterday. Her Creole was a big hit. I thought that I did a bad job at the first service and a decent job at the second service. If there were eight services I might have time to polish up enough to present something cohesive and smart. This coming weekend we travel to the great state of Iowa, this time Troy and I will be together which will help ... we're better together. And what I mean by that is, he is better at speaking and I am better at watching him speak.
Last week, before Paige and I left for TX, we had a melt-down of sorts ... or maybe it was more of a blow-out than a melt-down. Whatever it was, we determined that Britt would like more time with us before she moves and we would like to figure out a way to do more than eat, sleep, snap at each other, and run run run. Once our trip to Iowa is complete we should have two weeks before heading back south where we can sort of lay-low and just be. Everyone agreed that this has been a time of shorter fuses and high stress. It was not as we imagined when we were looking forward to the furlough. A friend of ours calls it "the perfect storm" -- the conditions have been ripe for impatience to abound. A month apart, living in close quarters, managing multiple busy schedules, lack of privacy, concerns about leaving the mission/Haiti for so long, scabies, boils, staph infection, viral meningitis, two rounds of the stomach flu, house decisions/woes, money stresses, post-baby hormones, new baby duties, sleep deprivation, a kid leaving the nest ... you get the picture.
I wish we were strong enough to take it in stride with more class, more patience, more faith. We're being stretched a lot, and the Lord clearly thinks we have more growing to do. That point has not been lost on me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Rick Porter
Hear the Angels Sing ( Dickinson County News, December 12, 2006)
Perhaps it’s just the Ebenezer Scrooge in me, but I’m not much of a caroler. When pressed into participation I sing, but rarely with the gusto of those around me. And too often I sing in a rote way, not giving full attention to the words. There is however, one line of one verse of one carol that always captures my attention.
A story is told of a man seasonally employed to bring the presence of Santa to Christmas gatherings for businesses and schools. He was on his way to a gig, an office party, but had been asked to stop by the nursing home to make a quick visit to the residents. This was pro bono work, but if Santa won’t do it who will?
He quickly made his rounds with a “ho, ho, ho” to each room. Just before departing, he peeked into a darkened cubicle where an elderly man lay apparently asleep, curled on his bony side. Santa prepared to leave in a flash. But the man made a feeble beckoning gesture visible in the dim light of a tiny Christmas tree. The volunteer Santa approached. The man whispered something so faintly as to be inaudible. Santa moved his jolly old ear very close to the man’s dry mouth. “Forms are bending low,” the man said. Santa did not connect the phrase, assumed confusion, gave a patronizing pat, and hurried off to his paying job.
As he arrived at the office party, holiday music was filling the room. The words of an old carol floated from the ceiling speakers:
O ye beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.
The song was “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear” written as a poem in 1849 and put to music 10 years later. The essence of the song is that angels did not just appear and sing at the birth of Christ. They show up and serenade regularly and often.
Just when we are so burdened as to not hear, at the most difficult of times, when life’s loads crush and our forms bend, they minister most. Immanuel, meaning “God-with-us,” attends us as His invisible person, the Holy Spirit, and He is attended by angels. The heart of God is to meet us at life’s darkest intersections with comfort, encouragement, a touch of heaven, and a breath of hope. The old man in the nursing home wasn’t just complaining to Santa about his lot in life. He was acknowledging that in Santa’s visit, no matter how hurried, there was an angelic grace.
Whether or not you sing the carols this year, be encouraged to live the carols. For you, this season may not be one of happiness, good memories, or togetherness. You may be grieving, regretful, or lonely. Life’s road seems crushing and your form is bending low. That does not disqualify you from the true Christmas message. While others scurry in apparent happiness, the invitation to the crushed and the bent still stands:
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.
I posted this piece written by my Uncle last year. I have been thinking about it and wanted to post it again. I recognize that our struggles are not unique -- many of you reading are facing your own "perfect storm." My prayer for us, for our Haitian friends and neighbors, and for you this December ... That you might rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
~Tara
Sunday, December 02, 2007
thoughts from Oswald on Christian Perfection
Not as though I had already attained, either were
already perfect...
Philippians 3:1
It is a snare to imagine that God wants to make us perfect specimens of what He can do; God's purpose is to make us one with Himself. The emphasis of holiness movements is apt to be that God is producing specimens of holiness to put in His museum. If you go off on this idea of personal holiness, the dead-set of your life will not be for God, but for what you call the manifestation of God in your life.
"It can never be God's will that I should be sick." If it was God's will to bruise His own Son, why should He not bruise you? The thing that tells for God is not your relevant consistency to an idea of what a saint should be, but your real vital relation to Jesus Christ, and your abandonment to Him whether you are well or ill.
Christian perfection is not, and never can be, human perfection. Christian perfection is the perfection of a relationship to God which shows itself amid the irrelevancies of human life. When you obey the call of Jesus Christ, the first thing that strikes you is the irrelevancy of the things you have to do, and the next thing that strikes you is the fact that other people seem to be living perfectly consistent lives. Such lives are apt to leave you with the idea that God is unnecessary, by human effort and devotion we can reach the standard God wants. In a fallen world this can never be done.
I am called to live in perfect relation to God so that my life produces a longing after God in other lives, not admiration for myself. Thoughts about myself hinder my usefulness to God. God is not after perfecting me to be a specimen in His show-room; He is getting me to the place where He can use me. Let Him do what He likes.
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