E-I-E-I-O

I have never wanted to be a boasting mother, but I have to admit that Jack has a special talent. He has this unbelievable ability to spot a McDonalds. This kid sees the golden arches sign through trees, thick fog, as we fly by on a train, through really any circumstance. He starts yelling E-I-E-I-O whenever he sees one (which is because he associates McDonalds with the children’s song Old MacDonald’s Farm). Charles and I just shake our head in amazement most of the time – one because often we didn’t see it and two because we have become so accustomed to seeing McDonalds that they don’t make quite the impression on us as they do on our two-year-old son.

Why is this? At what age does McDonalds lose the ability to provoke this emotion? Does McDonalds become less good tasting or do we become more jaded and set our culinary threshold on higher sites? Wouldn’t it be great if the £1 ice cream sundae or $1 box of French fries still called forth this child-like joy and anticipation inside us?

Being good Americans, our family unabashedly loves a dinner out at McDonalds (in fact I was given the choice between McDonalds or Pizza Hut for mothering Sunday this year, and Pizza Hut only barely won out – and that was because I viewed it as a special occasion, okay and because of the ice cream factory!). Charles and I haven’t lost all of our excitement on the prospects of going to McDonalds. We still gear up for the occasion. I think I can learn from Jack’s special talent. I have to admit I wish I enjoyed little pleasures in life more like Jack did – I think I would probably be a happier person overall (maybe slightly chubbier too!). What other every day things have I been missing out on? What other things would I benefit from having a child-like perspective on? Are some of these emotions moving towards what Jesus meant when he talked about a child-like faith? Things to ponder for me, would love your thoughts too!

Reflections - Part II

Journal Entry from 3 September 2004 -

We woke up early Friday morning with a full agenda. Brian, Charles, and I went for a run down into city centre. We then took showers (learning how to turn on the electric shower and heat the water before getting in – a painful process during the learning phase I might add), ate bean burritos (once again) and headed for the bank.

We arrived promptly at 9 am (opening time) with great anticipation that we were only hours away from having a British bank account. Little did we know…

Charles and I spent an hour filling out paperwork with the bank associate. After going through tedious details and still fighting off jet lag, we headed to the teller to draw on our cash advance which we set up in advance with our US bank. The teller very curtly spoke to us and went over to the machine and ran our card. She then proceeded back to the teller window, which was the middle window between two other teller windows with no privacy blockers and a line of about 6-8 people waiting and loudly declared that our card was denied.

Very frustrated and slightly embarrassed, Charles and I left the teller station and began to think of a game strategy to get this mess cleaned up. We decided that we needed to call the US Bank so we headed back to the flat and waited for the bank to open. Charles spoke with the US Bank and they ensured us that our account was open and approved for the agreed upon amount of money (mind you, we had to wait until 2 pm Cambridge time for the bank to open in the US). After doing this, Charles and I headed back up to HSBC and stood in the same ‘no-privacy’ line again. Thankfully, we got a different teller than the first time (although we stood nervously in line guessing which teller we would be assigned as we got closer and closer to the front). Once again we explained to the teller what we were wanting, and she left to go swipe our card. She came back and more politely than the first told us, again in front of an array of people, that our card had been declined. A lot more frustrated and slightly more embarrassed we left the teller line.

Again we discussed how to fix this problem. Brian did not come with us this time so we were pound-less and phonecard-less in Cambridge city centre, so there was no other option left except sending Charles back home again to call the US bank. Charles left the bank running in nice street clothes towards our apartment (about a mile trip one way).

A sweaty Charles returned 35 minutes later frantically proclaiming that we needed to wire the money. We were at the bank until closing time trying to figure out what and how to do this. We had two bank associates helping us which was pretty impressive considering the bank was so crowded (and overall British customer service reputations). We left with the right information, went back to the apartment and called the US bank with routing information for the NY branch of the bank, which the money had to go through. We spent Friday night waiting for a call from the US bank confirming that the money had successfully transferred. No such phone call arrived. At approximately, 11 pm (5 pm US time) Charles called and was told that the money had left and had not been returned. So we went to bed Friday night wondering whether the money would successfully show up in Cambridge the next day and whether we had just been robbed....

Reflections Now

I don't know whether to laugh or to groan when I read this entry. How foreign everything felt when we first arrived! It seemed like normal things took some much longer than they should have. For example, I remember coming home from work the first couple of months and just being exhausted (much more so than in Chicago). About a month into moving to England, I read a helpful book on cultural transitions that indicated that feeling more tired doing normal everyday activities was a very normal cultural adjustment. It was nice to be somewhat validated in my feelings - but it didn't make the tiredness go away. Right before we went home for Christmas (so 3 months after arriving), I remember talking to my immediate boss on one of my jobs; I was just now feeling that we had built some rapport, and that he was starting to respect the quality of my work. I confided in him how hard I had found things when I first arrived and how I could barely understand what he was saying most of the time (meaning in contrast to how much better I felt I was doing now that I had been there three months). He smiled and said 'yeah I remember, we just all thought you were really slow...'. I think he was joking, but even to this day I am still not sure (British humour at its best - the less you understand the funnier they think it is!).

A specific reflection I have on the above story is that Charles and I have vowed to never ever shut our British bank account. I think we will do the best we can to keep this account open even when we move back to the US because we worked so hard to get it open and would hate to ever think of having to do it again!

Reflections - Part I

I was organizing our study the other day and found my diary from my first few days in England. The next few entries are excerpts from those days and then my reflections over three years later. Enjoy!

Journal Entry 2 September 2004

We arrived in Cambridge around 9 am Thursday morning September 2, 2004. Our journey included David, Monette, and Charles’s grandma taking us to the KC airport around noon and then flying from KC to Chicago around 3 and Chicago to London Heathrow from 5pm (Chicago time) to 6 am (London time). So needless to say we were very physically and emotionally drained upon our arrival. However, our tiredness was minimized by the fact that Brian (my younger brother) was our apartment waiting for us.

We unpacked our bags and made due with the space we had, took a nap, and then headed out to set up a bank account. The first bank we went to was Barclays. After a rather lengthy discussion we were told that Barclays would not be able to open us a join account. They could offer Charles a student account but couldn’t put me on it because I wasn’t a student and couldn’t open an account for me because Deloitte was not a ‘named employer of the bank’. So we left slightly defeated and moved onto HSBC. Here we were told that the line was so long that we would not be reached by 5 pm so we needed to come back Friday morning. So we left with a ray of hope.

We went back to the apartment and ate bean burritos which we brought from the USA. We headed to bed very tired and slept very well.

Reflections now

It is so much fun to read this. I can remember the emotions I had so clearly. The most vivid one was crying on the airplane as it left Chicago and being very aware that the man sitting next to me was staring, but I still couldn’t stop crying. This emotion is vivid for obvious reasons but it also sticks out to me because I had no idea how much I would cry three years later as I put one of my best friends on the coach to Heathrow bound for Brazil (via Heathrow, thankfully). Little did I know back in September 2004 how much God had in store for us in Cambridge largely through the relationships he gave us. Ana, Rodrigo and Gabriel are just one of the many examples. (I just wiped a tear away from eye as I wrote this!)

I pray the same is true in the next three years. As we are still settling in here in London, I am already aware of how God has given us some great friends. But I trust that three years from now I will be amazed at his blessing of friendship once again.

On a lighter note, I read the above excerpt and am struck by how my word choice has changed. I never would have guessed that I would start writing dates the European style (date/month/year), that I would refer to our apartment as a flat, and that I would call a line a queue (and that I would get very use to them living in a country that makes queuing their national past time!).

Superman, Thomas the Tank Engine, or Andy the Vicar????

We have a very predictable bedtime routine with Jack. He has come to love it and even expects the same components every night. Pyjamas first, Bible second, singing third, prayer fourth (only recently this step has been divided into two parts, ‘Jack prays, then Daddy prays’), and then kisses and into bed.

Since Jack was tiny, we have always said the same couple of sentences before going to bed. Right before we tuck Jack in we tell him, ‘Mommy loves you very much, Daddy loves you very much, but Jesus loves you most of all.’ Over the last couple of months this routine has changed to be a bit more interactive: ‘Mommy loves you very much, Daddy loves you very much, but who loves you most of all?’ and Jack cheerfully yells ‘JESUS’ through the sucking of his thumb. In the last couple of weeks, we have been greeted with Jack excitingly proclaiming ‘JESUS; and then yelling ‘ANDY’.

You see Andy is the vicar (pastor) at our church in London and Jack has really taken to him. We spend a lot of time talking about Andy, pretending that we are driving to Andy’s house, imitating Andy by wearing a coat and so on. Most of Jack’s friends are obsessed with Dora or Thomas. They have their cute Dora water bottles and Thomas backpacks. In my opinion, Andy could make some money from our family if he wanted to start marketing Andy pants (underwear for those American friends reading this)!

It is hard to know what to think of Jack’s new obsession. We have definitely done the best we can to explain to a 2 year old that Andy definitely loves him but not nearly as much as God. Hopefully this will become clear to Jack over time. I imagine this is just a passing phase as so many are at this age. However, as I have reflected on it, I pray that Jack’s excitement for people who love the Lord (and even have a pastoral authority over him) continues as he grows up and that he would chose to have this same love for himself.

Still learning...

If you had told me when I was 13 that I would live overseas when I was grown-up, and actually like it, I would have never believed you. I grew up in Jefferson City, Missouri and attended the University of Missouri-Columbia (only 30 miles away). I always joke that up until the age of 22 I never had to reprogram the radio stations in the car (luckily we did have more than one car during those 22 years…just barely). I loved my hometown mostly because it was where my family was and it was where I had learned to be comfortable. How funny God is....

In God's great wisdom, he had me fall in love with a wonderful man (yeah Mr. Foot Down) who had aspirations and callings outside of my little orbit. After marrying Charles in 2000, we have embarked on a journey that has redefined what comfort is for me. Showing me that comfort is not always defined by where you are or who you are with - in fact it is often the times when you are most outside of you comfort zone that you learn the most about yourself and your dependence on God. Learning this has not been an easy process for me. I can truly say that the process hurts at times, but my prayer is that the process makes me a person who is stronger and more dependent on the Lord.