Kerry and Lara Go To Scotland

So how is Peter?

2010-07-08T11:24:00.002-05:00

The short answer is “good”, but of course that won't be much of a blog entry considering how long it's been since I've written.

Peter has been completely off supplemental oxygen for a couple of weeks. This allowed some doctor's appointments to be canceled. Yeah! We still have to hold onto the equipment for at least three months in case he gets a cold or something and needs the oxygen. It was all shoved into the closet the same day we found out he didn't need it anymore. The closet is the most spacious room we have in our flat anyways.

We did have a concern about Peter's eyes. Randomly, Peter's eyes began to jiggle vertically. This is called a nystagmus. We got an appointment with the ophthalmologist that did the surgery on Peter's eyes while he was in the neonatal unit. The ophthalmologist examined Peter's eyes and said that physically Peter's eyes were great, perhaps a little nearsighted, but fine. He referred us then to a neurologist who had Peter get an ultrasound of his brain. It looked like there might have been too much fluid in his brain that may have been caused by a blockage in the ventricales, fluid, of the brain. This can happen to a premature baby because some bleeding in the brain happens at a premature delivery. This blood can cause a blockage in the flow of the fluid in the brain. This type of blockage could have caused the nystagmus, but could also lead to worse things. They talked about the fact that Peter may need a shunt from his brain to his stomach to drain the fluid. After an MRI, which is much clearer than an ultrasound, it was discovered that there was no blockage and no unusual build up of fluid in the brain. His head will continue to be measured for unusual enlarging and we will continue to have check-ups with the neurologist. All this to say that they don't know what is causing the nystagmus, so they need to wait and see what happens. As of the writing of this blog, the nystagmus has become less frequent and we are very confident that it isn't effecting his vision substantially.

According to the check-ups Peter has had, everything from his heart to his growth is all very good. He is catching up to the size he should be and he has a great appetite to help. We have introduced him to baby food according to his birth age as we were instructed. Since developmentally he isn't as far as a normal baby is when eating the first time, like in sitting up and developing teeth, we are staying with smooth food for a little while. Developmentally he is progressing according the his gestational age (his due date age). He is a little ahead in the use of his hands and how much he babbles, but slightly slow in holding his head up. This is not unusually for even a term baby, but the doctor's are kind of holding Peter under a microscope looking for the first smallest sign of trouble.

Other than all the doctor's appointments, vitamins, and strange developmental timing, Peter is just a normal baby...sort of.

Linlithgow Palace

2010-05-22T17:44:00.000-05:00

How conflicted must the man have been
Who, posted high atop Linlithgow's tower,
Would daily scan the placid, verdant glen
For any sight of opposition's power.

The loch below, on clear and sun-filled days
Would gleeful play with cooling gusts of air;
The multiplex, refracted rainbow rays
Were dancing, rapt in the Creator's care.

And even through a damp mid-Lothian mist
The guard would look about at gentle slopes
And wonder how the present world had missed
Its true and peaceful Avalonian hopes.

Instead, he knew the harshness of that state
That all around him called reality.
“For anger, lust, deceitfulness and hate
Is all there is or has been or will be.”

Perhaps the guard would dare imagine, with
A disbelieving grin, a time and place
When one could stand up here (it is but myth)
To merely wonder at Edenic grace.

Then shaking peaceful thoughts out of his head
He deems mere idle dreams, he looks again
Upon the far off hill; from there his dread
Will any moment come, his violent end.

Time Management

2010-05-10T16:57:00.000-05:00

Having Peter at home is so much cooler than having him at the hospital. Obviously, Peter's presence 24/7 demands an immense (though not entirely unexpected) amount of time, but if all I had to worry about was Peter, who cares about the time commitment? And, let me give a tremendous shout out to Lara who spends more time with Peter than I do and still manages to be surprisingly productive, though she doesn't see it that way. The problem is not Peter, it's all these other things I'm supposed to be doing, most especially a little thing called a doctoral dissertation.

The way the PhD program at New College works is that your first year is technically probationary. After nine months or so in the program you go before a review board. For that review board, I have to submit an official dissertation proposal, a sample bibliography, and a sample chapter of around 7000 words. My review board is June 9. I knew back in February as I was looking ahead to the coming year that March would be very busy with Peter related things, and that we would have visitors in May, so I expected to have a busy April working on getting ready for the review board. Fortunately, I've managed to produce something that I am actually satisfied with. It's not really related to what I thought my dissertation would be about when I first got here, but it's good work, I think, and I've learned a lot doing it.

What's really surprising, despite the fact that every time I've tested it its proven true, is how the more I have to do the more I am able to do. This was always the case in undergrad, where my worst semester was the one where I did not take 19 or more credit hours. All the extra time strangely drained my general productivity. The same appears to be true now. Not only do we now have Peter at home AND I have a hard deadline in front of me, but I've also continued to be involved in soccer and church, joined the church's men's choir, started attending an OT reading group, worked on my increasingly glitchy desktop computer (AARGH for defective motherboards), read at least one novel a month, played a lot of Nintendo and Super Nintendo games on my computer (via emulator), and begun two new online MMORTS games to the two I was already playing regularly. All this AND I wrote a chapter that was too long (the unedited file for my 7,000 word chapter originally had around 20,000 words). I trying to figure out what I've been neglecting. Oh yeah. This blog. But I did post the two poems.

Ok, so I really want to tell everybody about this MMORTS game I'm playing called Lord of Ultima (MMORTS – Massively Multiplayer Online Real Time Strategy, for those not in the know; though it actually looks like some sort of Mars candy, maybe like chocolate-covered fruit-flavored M&M minis). It's a city/empire builder where the construction times and army march times take longer time than a standard single-player real-time strategy. There are no NPC (non-player character) cities. Every city on the map is (or was; many are abandoned) operated by a real live person who might very well live in an entirely different country. So when you raid a city, somebody on the other side of the world curses in a different language. I love cultural experiences!

The “Ultima” part of Lord of Ultima is familiar to those who have experience in RPG's (role-playing games) going back to the 80's. The Ultima series is classic, and the foundation for Ultima Online, the grandaddy of MMORPG's (Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game; this one just sounds like a Borg whose circuits got crossed: “Serstistance is fulty!”). Admittedly, Lord of Ultima's connection to the Ultima game series is thin, but it's still kind of cool to see some familiar monsters, dungeons, and place names. Plus, the graphics are among the coolest I've seen for MMORTS's (though it would be even better if the buildings changed as they leveled up, like in Kingdoms of Camelot).

So as you can see, I've been spending my time well. Seriously, in actuality, as I've filled up my schedule, my productivity has increased more than accordingly. I find that having a game or two (or three) to check periodically throughout the day helps my concentration when working and increases my research/writing stamina. This welcome paradox has been very fortuitous (or, should we say, providential?) recently, because I have not been able to dedicate five days of any week in the last three months to research because of either Peter's doctors appointments or computer troubles. Fortunately, the three to four days per week that I can dedicate have been doubly productive.

Instead of a haiku of the week, I will try to post a haiku or some other poem at the end of each blog post.

Squeaky noises mean
That Peter is sucking on
An empty bottle.

A Haiku by Kerry

A Haiku in the style of Robert Burns, dedicated to all true sons and daughters of Scotland

2010-04-27T06:02:00.000-05:00

If ye cannae do

Wha e'er it is while it rains,

Ye are nae a Scot.

Peter's Tummy Ache

2010-04-19T15:03:00.000-05:00

I know it hurts, I've been there, too,

the pain that swells inside of you.

But it will pass, I promise it,

It won't be long before you will forget.

I fear there's little I can do.

This hurts me worse than it does you.

My hugs and kisses cannot send

This cursed discomfort to a hasty end.

So I'll hold you tightly to my chest

And pour my love into each step

I'll kiss your fuzzy head and pray

That God will make your tummy ache go away.

Finally Home!

2010-03-30T10:42:00.001-05:00

OK, so I haven't blogged in a while. The last six months have held some of the worse experiences of my life. The last two months have tested me in ways I never imagined, but in the end, I am so glad to have Peter that I would go through it all again if I had to.

Peter has done well though out his short four month life. Everything that was asked of him he did well from breathing to enduring tests and even an eye surgery. In the last month, as the time for him to come home drew nearer, the stress level seemed to grow exponentially. Things stopped being clear cut. It used to be that everything was measured and had a prescribed treatment, but then it turned into a free- for-all on opinions about how to raise a baby. One nurse would tell me I need to breastfeed because it would protect him and prevent illness. The very next day a nurse would say we need to give him formula because he isn't growing fast enough. One specialist would say don't ever give him a bottle because then he won't breastfeed and he really should breastfeed. Instead he should begin a tiny cup. Then a doctor would meet with me as though I was being difficult because giving him a bottle would help him get off the feeding tube faster. One nurse would write a feeding plan for when I should feed him then the next day I am told that I will over tire him by following that plan. I would call the hospital at night and be told Peter was settled and fine. The next I would be told that he was screaming and I need to try to spend more time at the hospital. Finally I was asked to stay at the hospital over night. I was excited because I thought that some consistency would occur. None did. Finally after weeks of staying at the hospital on and off and try every feeding method and technique under the sun, we were allowed to take Peter home.

Peter came home on March 13th. We have a machine in our apartment that pulls oxygen out of the air and sends it to Peter via a plastic tube that has prongs that stick in Peter's nose. We also have five oxygen tanks. One is a back-up to replace the machine if we were ever to loose power or if the machine broke. The other four are to use when we go out with Peter. They are about the size of a fire extinguisher and fit in a book bag. This constant leash attached to Peter it not as bad as the staff seemed to thing we would be worried that it was. The they were constantly trying to reassure us when we were just thrilled to get Peter home no matter what it involved. Peter seems to be more annoyed at the oxygen than we are. He constantly pulls the prongs out of his nose. The staff gave us various types of tape to try to hold it in place, but with Peter's determination the tape just served to pull his hair and get the prong stuck in odd positions. We have stopped using the tape and just adjust the tube to fit around his head snugly. We continue to place the prongs back into his nose the same zillion times a day we were doing before.

Peter also has an apnea monitor that we can use when ever we like. It has a probe that tapes to Peter's chest and alarms if Peter ever stops breathing. The nurses said we don't have to use it, but most moms use it all the time at first. I found it to be a horrible waste of machinery. First of all, to actually get the probe to stick to Peter you have to use a type of tape that peels Peter's skin if you try to remove it without drenching it in lotion first. Even though this industrial strength tape sticks to Peter wonderfully, it doesn't stick to the probe. Instead of giving us peace of mind, the dumb thing would get stuck to Peter's shirt, go off, and scare us to death at random times in the middle of the night. Eventually we just put the device away.

Other than those two devices, Peter has multivitamins and iron supplements he takes once a day. He is mostly breastfed with a bottle of prescription preemie formula once a day that has extra calories to help him grow faster. He also has about two doctor's appointments or check-ups each week.

Even with all this extra stuff, Peter is a pretty normal baby. He development is supposed to follow his gestational age (which would make him one week old developmentally), but in reality, he tends to fall somewhere in the middle of his birth age and his gestational age. Another words, he acts like a typical 2 month old baby. He cries, feeds, plays, and interacts with us completely normally. For this we are very grateful. It is so much fun to see him interact with the world and I love dressing him, bathing him, talking to him, and just holding him. The tiredness of feeding him multiple times a night is just physical. The tiredness that came from worrying about him has pretty much gone away.

Peter still has to be continually tested until he is off the oxygen. He will also have a hernia surgery in a month or so. He isn't quite normal and that has given him a unique personality. He is our little miracle and I look forward to everyday with him.

The Beginning of an Era

2010-03-12T14:31:00.002-06:00

Peter comes home tomorrow. Lara and I are both agreed that this is going to make our lives immeasurably easier. We've been parents now for 3 1/2 months (longer, I realize, if you count from conception). Still, it feels momentous. From now on, "we" means three of us. I think Lara is more in that groove than I am: she has been at the hospital with Peter far more regularly than I have in the last two months. In the last two weeks, she's spent more nights at the hospital than at home. This much time alone has enabled me to consider our situation, and my dedication to this family, more closely. It's also enabled me to watch some movies Lara doesn't like.

In the last month (it's been a month since I posted last), I celebrated my 30th birthday. This seems like it should be more important. I mean, the 10's digit changed. That's big time. At numerically significant moments like this we humans have a sacred tradition of overreacting. When I turned 10, it was a big deal because I was a whole decade old. Turning 20 was more important to me than 21 because it meant I was no longer a teenager and I wasn't planning on going out and getting drunk. Often, people who have grown up with an unreasonably young concept of where "old" starts get depressed at 30, possibly because they can't think of any other reason it's important when it seems like it should be ("OH NO! I'm THIRTY. I'm soooo oooooold!" - at which point I would like to poke this person in the eye). I've never really felt like "old" started until somewhere around 60, and even then it wasn't "old" as in past the point of usefulness, but "old" as in some parts don't work the way they used to. For me, "old" has never been something to dread, it is simply something that is, and it's only necessarily something that is on the outside. I feel sorry for people who get old on the inside.

Even so, 30 felt significant to me, I think, because it sounds like the point at which full adulthood, along with the associated furrowed brow and weight gain, truly begins. But you know, I still can't really identify with that overly serious worldview that seems to be part of what most people mean by "grow up." If adulthood is anything other than 90% play, I can do without it. I like smiling, running and jumping, playing games, laughing, teasing, and making faces. I still chew bubble gum in order to blow bubbles. I still tend to like cartoons better than anything else. Ice cream is the nectar of the gods. Sure, I fall victim to worry, especially recently. The most tragic thing about worry is how it blinds me to the wonder of the moment. Recently in prayer, I have been frequently feeling the impulse to look around me in child-like wonder. Look! Realize that you're in Edinburgh! Look at the buildings, the roads, the walls and fields. Feel the crisp air and breathe it in! Listen to the sounds! Smell the ... hops (yeah, for those of you who come to visit, Edinburgh has a pretty distinct smell that comes from local breweries). Okay, don't smell the hops, but you're alive, in Scotland, with a wonderful church, getting your PhD, together with your wife, and you have a son who shouldn't have survived the first night! Worry and anxiety, which it sometimes feels is the demeanor expected by small-minded individuals who take themselves way too seriously, shut all that out.

The feeling of significance, of entry into adulthood, may also be exaggerated because this was my first birthday in which I am a parent (which sounds like it should be antonymous with invisible). But the immutably young part of me, the Toys R Us kid, sees that what I've gained with Peter is a new playmate, somebody who will eventually find all my gags fresh and funny (for a while, at least), somebody who will like puns and what I call time bomb jokes (the kind that I throw into a conversation not expecting anyone to get it until later; they're really more for my own amusement). So what is so inherently significant about 30? Absolutely nothing. As I've noted elsewhere, if our numbering system was not based on tens (but on, say, powers of 12, like the Sumerians, or powers of 16, as in hexadecimal numbering in computer engineering), this birthday wouldn't be even have the illusion of significance. What is significant is that here I am at 30, embarking on a totally new journey to a destination I cannot see and have never seen (dangerously overused metaphors acknowledged), and I could not be more optimistic about our lives only getting better and better. God is driving the current and I'm along for the ride. Tomorrow, truly, is the beginning of a new era.

Thursday Football

2010-02-10T11:42:00.002-06:00

Thursdays have come to be one of my favorite days of the week. Perhaps interestingly, the reason has nothing to do with the University or Peter or Skype time with family overseas. Rather, my peculiar good will toward the penultimate day of the work-week derives from a source unconnected to anything causing my sojourn in Scotland or directly resulting from it. Thursdays are soccer days.

Come sing the glories of that sport,
That game divinely blessed,
Whose single rule is “hands no touch!”
(Or if so don't confess).

Come dance on pitches green and smooth,
With some lines painted, too,
On which one ball is passed and struck,
Past a keeper to put through.

Come score a goal with head or feet,
Or buttocks if you want'er
For there's no manlier sport than this:
Football (that is, soccer).

For the last five years I have had little to no contact with the game that has in no small way defined most of my life since I was five years old. This is because adult recreational soccer in East Texas is almost non-existent unless you want to play on Sundays in Tyler. Going to church in Longview kind of put the finishing touch on an already logistically difficult idea. I had vague hopes of renewing a regular involvement in soccer of some sort when we were planning on moving to Scotland, because I know that the sport has a much bigger role in society here. It's a rarity for a group of guys to get together over here to play basketball; baseball and american football are pretty much non-existent. But people here are fanatical about soccer and rugby, the first full match of the latter of which I had the pleasure to watch the night Scotland won an upset victory over international powerhouse Australia for the first time in a generation. Professional soccer, or football as they call it pretty much everywhere else in the world except the USA, has the sort of drama and larger-than-life personalities in the UK that one expects from the NBA or the NFL, the connection with national identity of MLB, and the fanatical fanbase of the NHL. I like it here.

The first Sunday we attended the church we ended up making our home, Buccleuch and Greyfriars Free Church of Scotland, I was quick to observe that they had a group of guys who played soccer on Thursday nights. I'm afraid I have to admit that this was a major factor in my decision to keep attending Buccleuch. Obviously, my attachment to the church is much deeper than that, but soccer on Thursday nights was a catalyst like a pretty face in beginning a deeper relationship. In other words, it was love at first sight.

The only way it could be better, in my opinion, is if it were a full 11 on 11 on an outdoor pitch for 90 minutes. Instead, we play 8 on 8 on an indoor 7 on 7 field for 60 minutes. Until recently, the shorter game length was critical for my survival. The first several games were positively embarrassing. I played okay, but my muscles quickly tired, I wasn't very quick to a contested balls, my cardiovascular conditioning was pathetic, and I even had trouble chipping the %*&$# ball. I knew I was in bad shape, because the last time I had even kicked a ball with my sister I had pulled a hip flexor, which is not fun to say the least. But I stuck with it, because despite my poor conditioning I felt like a part of me that had been missing was back. Part of my reason for getting involved in ballroom dancing was to find something physical to do to replace soccer. Unfortunately, all it ended up doing was creating a new favorite and irreplaceable physical hobby. Joy is starting to get expensive.

Beyond my expectations, my physical conditioning has returned in what appears to be full force. I don't know if I am as fast as I used to be, because the field is small enough that I haven't had a chance to get up to a full sprint yet. But my leg muscles appear to be close to as quick and strong as they used to be. My ball handling skills are returning (and with them the confidence that enables one to see the field creatively), sometimes surprisingly well. My left leg (the weak one) is at least as strong and accurate as it was in high school, maybe more, which is shocking. And best of all, last Thursday when the game ended I was stoked to realize that I felt good enough to go another hour, and that is not an exaggeration; it is an honest assessment of my leg and lung condition.

I honestly think that this opportunity to play soccer on a regular basis is an intentional and multi-faceted blessing from God. The physical exertion has been instrumental in helping me to be physically and emotionally in good health during what is in many ways the hardest time in my life. I feel and look better, and the stress relief helps me to think clearly, and thinking is a huge part of my job description right now.

Perhaps even more importantly, it helps Edinburgh feel like home, a feeling which, I've come to realize, is not actually tied to a particular place. Anyone who has moved somewhere and grown can tell you that even though you return physically to the place called “home”, it's never really the same. Those nostalgic memories instead become a set of ideals, a vague sense of safety and happiness which we call home, but which we seem unable on our own to recover. I know the sad reality of the saying that “you can never go home again.” But God is good. Sometimes when you leave “home” for his sake, true home finds you in the strangest places.

Justification by Faithlessness

2010-01-28T11:02:00.003-06:00

One of the most significant contrasts with my previous experience that the city of Edinburgh has presented to me is the presence of beggars. Let me hasten to qualify what I mean. I am no stranger to the sight of men and women who stand on the street corner in the U.S. and hold up signs that say, “Need food, God bless”, or something like that, though I must say that I have never personally aided someone in that particular situation. I like many Christians have bought into the notion these people aren't really as desperate as they claim, that they are professionals who prey on the sympathies of good people, etc. I've only once picked up someone on the side of the road to help them because in the the back of my mind I hear the voice, panicked without experience, that says that hitchhikers have guns and are going to kill me and steal my car. It would probably do us middle-class, white Christians some good to be forced to hitchhike for a little bit.

Nevertheless, I have at times bought food or gasoline for, or even given money to, people who approached me on the street or in a parking lot and asked me for it. Lara and I helped a man buy a train ticket our first weekend here. We witnessed to him, prayed with him (he was in tears; no one's going to convince me that he was faking, either), and gave him most of the money he needed, which wasn't really that much. I honestly feel that helping people I don't know is an essential part of what it means, at least for me, to be a true follower of Christ. It doesn't matter if some or all of these people took advantage of me. It is my responsibility to be vulnerable, to not look out for number one, to let God be my vindicator. So I say, but my implementation of this principle has been very selective.

Up until now, however, I have justified this selectivity in two ways. First, I have tacitly believed that the Spirit of God would alert me when I came across someone who really needed my help, and this I still believe. I think we have to be sensitive to the possible direction of God that would counter our normal pattern of living. On the other hand, in situations where I did not help someone, my conscience was generally let off the hook before I turned around and helped someone because my mind works surprisingly quickly to fabricate a justification for acting out of fear. Or laziness. Traveling at 45 to 70 mph aids the justification process, because the more quickly out of sight, the more quickly out of mind, but being on foot in Edinburgh has put a face to the cultural phenomenon of begging.

That there were regular beggars who staked out particular places on the streets was something Lara and I noticed our first weekend in Edinburgh. The regularity of these people struck me as odd. I had not personally encountered someone sitting on the street with a cup, asking for change, apparently sleeping in sleeping bag in that very spot, even on the coldest of nights. My first reaction to it was to dismiss them. These were professionals, I said. There are too many government programs (another wretched justification for Christian inactivity in the U.S.; if conservatives are going to truly not be hypocrites, we cannot use government for stinginess at the same time we vote for the elimination of those programs which support our stinginess) for these people to really need to be begging. They were choosing to beg.

The first beggars were easy to forget because we didn't stay in that area for very long. But after we moved to Buccleuch Place, I have come to be able to recognize the local beggars by sight. There is one lady in particular, overweight, mildly hooked nose, looks to be somewhere between 35 and 45, who stakes out several places on Clerk Street. A particular man, slight of build with ordinary features is often located right next to the entrance to the Tesco we shop at. They are not aggressive, hardly even vocal unless you look at them. I've tried to appease my conscience by smiling at them and greeting them, but they always replied by asking for money. I stopped looking at them.

Not giving was also easier for me to justify at this stage in our lives because, frankly, we don't have an income. God has provided in miraculous ways, but I don't have a dependable income, and I feel a slight (perhaps manufactured) twinge of guilt at the idea of using gifts or loans to give money to beggars. I have not really been able to contribute to our local church except by contributing some time (and not much at that). We are in the process of fixing that problem.

But today, as I was walking to Tesco from the Elephant House, where I had purchased a latte for £1.62, and was thinking about playing soccer tonight (which involves a bus fare of £1.20 and £5 to help with renting the field), I was caught off guard when I saw the beggar at the entrance, not the usual fellow, but a girl, probably in her twenties. She could be pretty, but she looks beaten down and was not attractive. My heart went out to her. She didn't hardly look up as I whisked around the corner into the store. My decision was made at that point to give her some change when I left the store.

After a shopping trip where I bought everything I needed for several days' worth of lunches and breakfasts for less that £13 (and this was one of my more expensive shopping trips; grocery shopping over here is actually rather inexpensive compared to my experiences in the U.S.), I fished out a £2 coin and put it in the girl's cup as I left the store. She looked up, appearing to be mildly surprised and said, “thank you,” in such a way that I was certain she really meant it. I smiled back and left. It is customary for me to reflect on events like that and evaluate them afterward, trying to understand how they fit into a larger and more comprehensive approach to Christian ethics. I felt good. I felt like I had heard the voice of God and done something pleasing to Him, and I still think this is the case. But as I approached the crosswalk I would take to return to my flat, I spotted the overweight beggar woman with the hooked nose down the road just a bit at the bus stop Lara and I use to go to the hospital. It was then that I realized that the reason I had been open to helping the girl was because she was younger and prettier. That was it. I am disgusted with myself right now as I write this. I do not mean that I was sexually attracted to her. That was not at all a part of the situation. The only masculine motivation to my actions was general protection and aiding. But the fact that she was a young, prettyish female made it possible for her to break past the wall of faithless justifications I had built around the insignificant change in my pocket. I had judged her less likely to be a professional con artist and more worthy of my donation than the overweight woman simply based on the way the two women looked. I had been selectively vulnerable to the world around based on the meanest of foundations for judgementalism. I don't know what any of these people have been through. I don't know if they are mentally disabled, if they are forsaken by their families, if they are asking God for some sign of his love for them. I can't know what they've been through until I know each individual. How shallow have I been that I have profiled people on the street based upon what other middle-class, white Americans have said.

This creates a dilemma for me. I can no longer act and think the way I have till now. Something must change. Either I must live fully by the principle of vulnerability, which I believe to be the very heart of the gospel, or I must harden my heart against every beggar equally. I choose life. Will God hold it against me if the money I give people is used to buy alcohol? I can't possibly know that it will or will not be used that way, so where does my culpability end? I believe it ends when the money leaves my hand. You buy gasoline from companies who exploit third-world countries. The crude oil form of that gasoline is just as likely to have come from Saudi Arabia as anywhere else, and let's not fool ourselves by saying that there is not significant funding of terrorism going on with oil money. Does that mean that driving your car is immoral? No. This is the problem of corporate sin, a concept with which we in the West are not intuitively familiar, a problem which is dealt with by the cross of Christ. I believe in spending your money in a moral fashion, like supporting fair trade agriculture, but who else is being taken advantage of in the chain of commerce that links me to the fair trade coffee bean? God forgive me, for the evil my money supports, and for the evil in me which uses that as a justification for stinginess, for greed. No, I will not be deceived into thinking that I am culpable for the money I give in obedience to Christ being used for the perpetuation of sin. I choose to be willfully vulnerable in totality, not in part. Jesus deserves that much. I don't know, yet, what this will mean in its entirety, but I do know that now, whenever I go over to Clerk Street, there will be just a little insignificant change in my pocket. I can skip the latte.

Watching the Grass Grow

2010-01-19T10:42:00.000-06:00

I haven't written in a while because while a tremendous amount has happened in the last month, it is difficult to organize those events or the feelings surrounding them into a short, coherent blog entry. Also, I just haven't felt the energy necessary to write one of these. It takes a surprising amount of energy for me to write one of these, because I really try to pour myself into it. The purpose of this blog to begin with was to chronicle our experiences & feelings and God's faithfulness so that it would be a lasting testimony and a future encouragement to others. Therefore, I feel it incumbent upon me to bare myself while writing. Don't worry - I always put my clothes back on afterwards.

I have a son.

It's a very short sentence, and it seems pretty straightforward in its meaning, but it's not really. Within those four words are packed an immense amount of emotion, history, and future. I don't even fully know what it means. At a very basic level, I know that there is a new human being who emerged a month and a half ago from Lara, and who shares with me 50% of his DNA. I know that my sense of well-being is now very much wrapped up in this new human being. I know that he is very small, but that his personality is very big. At times I am overwhelmed by emotion when I even think of him, and at other times I feel completely numb when I am sitting right next to him. I know who he is as well or better than anyone else in the world, except perhaps for Lara, but I don't feel I really know him, yet. He is like me, but he is also not like me. He will surprise me countless times in the future as he shows me how much is like me and unlike me.

I feel so attached to him, but it's difficult to feel the full depth of the emotion, because so far physical interaction with him has been very limited. More recently, we both have had the opportunity to hold him, and we can reach into the incubator pretty much whenever we want. We've been able to change his diapers and feed him regularly. Still, I can't wait until he doesn't need the incubator and CPAP anymore when we can hold him without a time limit. Then, I think, I'll start to feel like I can begin to express to him what he means to me. As it is, most of my affection is expressed through staring at him.

I have to be honest, though. I get bored watching Peter sleep for five hours. I love him more than anything, and I am thrilled everytime he moves or opens his eyes. Just last week I heard his first actual newborn “wah, wah, wah.” He was irritated that the nurse had put him on his stomach, which is where he has preferred to be up until he threw this particular fit. He settled down once he was on his back again. These little things are amazing and wonderful. But watching him sleep is boring.

So I bring a book and sit there next to him for a couple of hours reading. But then I think to myself, “Why am I here, if I am just reading and not looking at him?” I can read just as well, better even, somewhere else. Many days, when Lara and I come to the hospital together, I spend about an hour with Lara and Peter, then I go downstairs to the hospital restaurant where I can concentrate (which is where I am as I write this) and read or write or whatever I need to do to feel like I am going somewhere. I'm there until a little less than an hour before we go home. Then I head back up to the neo-natal unit, watch him for 45 minutes or so, then leave. I've started wondering why I come even on days like this.

But if I take too much time away from Peter, I begin to feel guilty, like I should feel like I'm missing something. I came in today after having taken two days to stay home and work on research to find Peter having clearly gained weight since Monday. I can't really say that I feel bad, though. I just feel like I should feel bad. I actually feel that I have begun to discover a balance in my time spent here at the hospital. Two to three times a week max is sufficient for me to feel like I'm getting stuff done and seeing Peter enough. I don't feel guilty about that at all, but I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. I think I would feel guilty otherwise.

I'm not really as conflicted as it sometimes sounds. I think our current existence, while difficult, is actually rather fun. I mean, when is life ever ideal? It hasn't ever been for me, except for scattered five minute spurts when I can focus on only the good and ignore the hard. I want to cherish this time for itself, because how many people get to experience the amazing joy and relief of having an extremely premature baby who survives and thrives? I love having unique experiences. They are what define my life as opposed to anyone else's. If that sounds existential, it's because it is. Who is Kerry Lee other than the choices he makes and the things he experiences? The only appropriate ideal against which to compare this is the hypothetical plan of God, but how do we know even that outside of experiencing life as it comes to us? We've been on an adventure with God for a long time. I don't want to start being a party pooper now, especially now that I have a new partner in crime.

The Neonatal Unit and More About Peter

2010-01-07T07:46:00.002-06:00

I get most of my subject matter for these posts from questions that I receive. I also get the source of my questions for Peter's doctors from questions I receive. Since Peter has been born I have had cotton in my brain and have not been able to think of these things to ask myself. So continue asking me stuff, so that I can ask and feel more informed.

Well, the neonatal unit has become somewhat familiar to me in the past month. I have found that it has three areas: the intensive care area, the high dependency area, and the special care area. Peter has been in the intensive care area since he was born. This area has about ten beds split into two rooms. One nurse is assigned to each baby and only the very sick, very small, or very premature are in this area. Once Peter is almost or all the way off the CPAP and is needing little intervention, he will be moved to the high dependency area. This area has room for nine babies and one nurse is assigned to two babies. Finally, when Peter is pretty much only on the feeding tube or on nothing at all, he will be moved to the special care area. This area is like a typical hospital nursery with open cots and more freedom for the parents to handle their babies. Often babies go here for a little bit of light for jaundice, or minor care that can't be done at home or in the maternity ward. Most babies are kept with the parents in the maternity ward when born, so this area is a little more specialize than a typical nursery. Peter will be move here to be watched and get bigger before going home. Because he was so premature, he will have to be completely free of any assistance before he can go home. Other babies may go home while still needing a feeding tube or a little oxygen or a heating pad, but there are too many factors and risks to do that with Peter.

Since the last time I posted, Peter has continued to make progress. We were told by the doctors that they would wait a while before trying to take Peter off the ventilator again so that he could grow and get stronger. Peter had other ideas. On Christmas morning, as the doctors were making their rounds, Peter pulled on his ventilator tube and dislodged it. Instead of replacing the tube, the doctor decided to put Peter on the CPAP to see if he could stay on it for a few days. That was over twelve days ago and Peter is still on the CPAP. The CPAP is a little mask that goes over his nose and gives him oxygen. The ventilator was a tube that went down his throat and helped inflate his lungs while giving him oxygen. This is a huge step forward.

Also, at this time, Peter does not have any lines in him (like an IV or such). He still has an oxygen monitor strapped to his foot, a body temperature monitor that he lays on, and heart monitor stickers on his chest (which fall off pretty often when he wiggles, but he hasn't had any heart problems anyways). He also has the feeding tube still. He will continue to have the feeding tube until he reaches what would have been 34 weeks gestation because until that point he will not have the ability to suck, swallow, and breathe at the same time.

Peter's eyes have also opened finally and he is actively looking around even though he can't see much yet. At six weeks old, an eye doctor will come and look into his eyes to see if they are developing properly. In extremely premature babies there is the tendency to develop to many blood vessels in the back of the eyes which impair vision kind of like a cataract. They can fix this pretty well with laser surgery.

The main focus is for Peter to continue to gain weight and mature. This will help him to regulate his body temperature well enough to get out of the incubator and onto a heated cot. They had to switch Peter to half breast milk and half formula so that he could get enough calories to gain weight. As of this post, he is eating 7ml of milk/formula every hour and weighs 2 lb 7oz.

You may wonder what I do all day at the hospital. When I first get there, Peter's nurse updates me on how he did last night, what the doctor's plans are for him, and if there was an increase in his food or oxygen, etc. Then I will sit by his incubator and talk to him or just watch him or read until something comes up. Every hour, I get to feed him with a syringe on the end of his feeding tube. Once every six hours, more or less, his nappy/diaper is changed and I am allowed to do it when I am there. I can also rub his skin with coconut oil when it looks dry or give him a pacifier/dummy. Usually about twice while I am there I will go to the “humanlactor room” to express milk. I sometimes get to see various tests that they run on him or get to talk to his doctor. Many times I will get into a conversation with his nurse and find out more information, though sometimes the information alters slightly depending on the nurse. Recently Kerry and I have been able to hold him. If he continues to be stable on the CPAP, the opportunities to hold him should increase. Of course, I also take pictures any time some thing new happens.

So there you go folks. Feel free to post any questions because it gives me things to ask about.

Christmas and New Year

2010-01-07T07:39:00.002-06:00

I thought I would take a short break from the Peter updates to talk about how Christmas and New Years differs in Scotland than in the US. Kerry and I were able to celebrate both holidays with friends who are from here and so we learned a few things.

Christmas day does not seem to be dominated by the gift giving frenzy so common in the US. Gifts are still a major element in Christmas here, but there is a lot of focus on the Christmas dinner as well. The Christmas dinner is traditionally a turkey centered feast much like our Thanksgiving dinner. Cranberry sauce has even been imported for this purpose. It seems, once asking around, that goose may have been traditional in years past, but the American turkey has become king. Along with this meal's varied sides , it is required traditionally to serve brussle sprouts, Christmas pudding (which is a fruit bread), Christmas cake (similar to fruit cake but with frosting), minced pies (which does not have meat, but a dessert pie with dried fruits), mulled wine, and chocolate truffles.

During the dinner, those around the table will open the “crackers” at the same time. These tootsie roll shaped little packages are held by two people sitting next to each other while crossing their arms and holding the package on the other side of them to make a circle around the table in which everyone's arms are crossed and each person has the end of two packages, one on each side of them. Everyone then pulls the packages apart at the same time. These packages make a pop sound as they open and reveal a small trinket, a joke, and a paper crown that everyone wears. Also on Christmas day, the Queen give a little speech on TV that most people watch.

That pretty much describes the differences. From Christmas trees to Christmas cards, the rest is very similar. I have have to say that the lack of materialism in the holiday here was refreshing. Decoration did not ooze from every corner and annoying blow up statues are not in the yards (wherever there was a yard), but the potential for that option was still present.

Oh, and unlike the US, Boxing Day (the day after Christmas) is a national holiday. That day is still celebrated much like American's by spending the day shopping.

Now New Years Eve and Day is a much bigger holiday in Scotland than in the US. In fact, the holidays are seen to be almost equal in importance. On New Years Eve in Edinburgh, a section of the city around Princes Street in closed off for a huge street party. Ticket paying partiers come from around the world and dare to cold for a night of fun (which I am not sure what all that includes). Then at midnight, the cannons from the castle shoots and fireworks are lit from five hills around the city for a spectacular show. Then people are supposed to go visit friends' and relatives' homes bearing a gift for the first house they enter. On New Years Day there is a another great dinner. Traditionally, this dinner is steak pie.

Well, that is a summary of the holidays as I saw them. My friends from the UK can feel free to post comments correcting any misunderstandings or omissions that may have occurred. I hope I did both countries justice. Happy holidays!

Peter and Family Update

2009-12-12T13:30:00.001-06:00

In the last blog I explained all of Peter's equipment and the condition he was in. Since he is now 15 days old, I am going to give you an update on his condition.

Currently, he has less wires around him than he did before. They had taken both of the lines out of his umbilical cord so that the cord could fall off and he could get his belly button. They put a line into an artery in his arm for about a day and decided he didn't need it unless his was sick. To keep that working they would also have to run none nutritious liquid through it and it was another potential source for infection to enter his body. His heart has been good so he didn't need the blood pressure gage that was on it, so they just took that line out completely and didn't replace it.

He was weaned from his supplemental nutrition and is taking in exclusively breast milk. He is up to 4.5 ml per hour. They also give him a liquid multi-vitamin and vitamin D. When he gets to be 6 weeks old, he will get iron supplements as well. They were able to do this because he is successfully have normal dirty diapers. One nurse said “he is pooping for all of Scotland!” which seemed to be a strange saying, but at least it means he is doing good.

He was able to be off the ventilator for 3 hours and on a CPAP which just blows air up his nose. This was really good and they are hoping to try again next week.

He has stickers on his chest for a heart monitor and a temperature monitor strapped to his foot. He also has a light that measures his oxygen levels strapped to his arm and an IV in his other hand they give him antibiotics and blood transfusions when he needs them.

We have learned a lot about the human body such as hemoglobins are the red blood cell count (and the main reason Peter needs blood whenever he does). This count gets low when blood is taken for blood tests a lot. His body is a little slow in renewing this. This also effect his oxygen saturation which can cause them to have to turn up the amount of oxygen they give him in his ventilator. Everything effects everything!

Overall, he he is progressing and doing well. They have done a chest x-ray and a sonogram of his brain and both come out fine. He is just moving along little by little.

Kerry and I have been visiting him from noon to 5:30 p.m. everyday. Some kind people from our church has given us a ride, but if wee needed, there is a bus that goes directly there. The hospital is just under 2 miles away so that it is not too difficult to get to. The nurse there have also been very good. They answer our questions and keep us updated about Peter. We are also encouraged to call in to find out how he is doing is we feel concerned. The hospital is called the Royal Infirmary and they have one of the best Neonatal units in this area of the country.

Except when we are sick or if Kerry needs to go to college stuff, I imagine we will continue this routine. I expect that we will most likely visit on Christmas as well.

Kerry and I are doing well. It took me awhile to allow myself to recover from labor and delivery, but I am doing good now. We both get tired though emotionally from watching Peter and worrying about him. There is this hovering parental nature that seems to have taken over. We go through our day doing chores and getting tasks done, but our thoughts are with Peter. It makes for a strange torn life. We spend a lot of time with him, but somehow it feels like its not enough at the same time it feels like it is the majority of our day.

When we go home, I no longer feel like Kerry and I are enough. There is a huge facet of our family that is missing and I don't feel settle without Peter here at home. I also feel dazed trying to figure out what I need right now and what will we need when he comes home. The whole progression of events in our lives have been interrupted and turned upside down. Finally, everything we had expected to happen over the next few months has been re-evaluated and resorted out into a new progression for our lives.

Of course, in the end, it will all turn out just right.

Peter in the Hospital

2009-12-03T19:16:00.000-06:00

There have been a lot of good questions about Peter that we have been asked that I felt need a longer forum than facebook to answer.

Peter was born at what we thought was 23 weeks. I had two sonogram to date the pregnancy at the very beginning because of my PCOS (poly cystic ovarian syndrome) because my cycle was very irregular. It is very unlikely that these scans at 6 and 7 weeks could be very off, but Peter was born looking two weeks older. This increased his chances of survival significantly. He was 1 lb 9 oz and about 13 inches long. He had to be resuscitated immediately after birth and place in the neonatal unit.

There Peter now has a ventilator which is a tube going down his throat that forces his lungs to breathe. This at minimal levels. He has a tube down his nose into his stomach that they use to feed him beast milk every hour with a syringes. He has an IV in his hand that they can use to give him blood transfusions or medication. He has a line into a vein in his umbilical cord that is also for blood transfusions or medication if needed. He also has a line into an artery in his umbilical card for taking blood samples so that they don't have to prick him all the time. From this is also a monitor for keeping an eye on his heart rate and blood pressure. He then has a monitor strapped to one feet for monitoring his temperature and a monitor on his other foot that checks his oxygen levels. These monitors on his feet are switched every six hours to keep them from bruising him. He is in an incubator that is kept very warm and has high humidity to keep his skin moist. This is also why they do not have clothes on him at this time. Our skin tends to be 12 cells thick, but his skin was only about one cell thick because he was so young. This means he could loose a lot of water through his skin if they are not careful. Also his skin is very delicate and so they treat him very carefully. He should develop normal skin thickness within a couple of weeks. At that time his skin color will not be so red and plastic looking.

All of this seems like a lot, but for Peter's gestational age, he is doing very well and is very stable. They are often testing his blood and checking everything possible because preemies are in high risk of infections and they want to catch any sign of it as early as possible. Even though he he is doing very well, he is not expected to go home until close to his original due date. This is because there is just a lot of growing he must do. For instance, they are having to tweak various things for him. One day they had to give him just a little bit of insulin, another day they put him under a light for jaundice. Sometimes they give him just a little bit of blood to help his hemoglobin levels which tend to go down with all the blood they take for test. These little adjustments will probably continue for a while.

They tried to take his ventilator out and put him on a CPAP (air blown into the nose) about two days after he was born but his brain would not tell him to breathe often enough. They put him back on the ventilator for a little while and intend to try again in a couple of days. This is OK because they needed to see how much they could push him and make him exercise his lungs. He maybe on and off the ventilator periodically until he his strong enough to stay off.

For food, he was first given a liquid through his umbilical cord that had amino acids and nutrients, but they are slowly weening him off of that and progressively giving him more breast milk. Breast milk is the easiest thing for his stomach to digest and it gives him a lot of help with his developing immunity system. He has been doing very well with this and is having plenty of wet diapers. They change his diaper once every six hours so they do not have to mess with his sensitive skin. They are just now waiting for him to have a bowel movement, but it may wait until he is taking in more milk.

I wanted to do research on the issues preemies deal with, but these issue vary greatly and can be discouraging as a statistic. Peter is doing very well and has been really blessed by God with very few of the problems that preemies can deal with. He is still very delicate and we are told to expect good and bad days. Even so, with prayer and patience, we feel that he will continue to do well. Thank you all for your love and concern. Please continue to pray for him. He is my strong little man, but he also has a long journey to travel.

Black Friday

2009-11-29T15:38:00.002-06:00

Starting insanely early in the morning on this day, shoppers all over the United States were rushing with maniacal intensity to store-shelves stocked with merchandise on sale. In a no-holds-barred (unless you get caught) battle royal strangely reminiscent of UFC and WWF, housewives, soccer moms, and dads in search of discount electronics were shouldering and elbowing their way through all these other dopes (probably thinking how stupid these people are for getting up so early), making a path to the prize whatever. At times, this stampede has even proven dangerous for some poor employee. Consumers depend on it for their Christmas budget. Retailers depend on it for their annual sales. Somewhat melodramatically, we call this day Black Friday.

About the same time, a drama of a different sort was going on in the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Lara was nearing the end of the effective time of her last dose of diamorphine, and the pain was reaching a climax again as the contractions accelerated and intensified. It was way too early for our baby to be born, and Lara was heroically trying to hold on for another couple of days to give him as much of a chance at survival as she possibly could. The doctors needed to consult as to whether it was safe to give Lara more, but they eventually did, and the pain gradually became manageable again.

As an extremely interruptive side note, diamorphine, I've just learned, is also called heroin. Heh heh.

In the early afternoon, Dr. Stenson, who had consulted with us the night before, arrived and spoke with us again to answer any questions we might have since our last conversation had been necessarily brief. We learned a little more about the baby's chances for survival. The best estimate we had for his gestation was 23 weeks, close to the end of the second trimester. According to Dr. Stenson, the survival rate for babies born at 22 weeks was 0%. The survival rate for babies born at 24 weeks was near 50%. The 23rd week was critical. Everything that could be done to increase the baby's chances was being done. They had given the baby steroids (by injecting Lara) to help with his lungs, and another dose would be given at midnight if Lara held on. Dr. Stenson, however, was very pleased that the birth had held off as long as it had, since he had been expecting a delivery the night before.

At this point, our hopes went even higher. We had gone from hopeless to having some hope in a one-in-ten chance to now feeling like our baby had perhaps a 50/50 chance. Based on a 23 week gestation, Dr. Stenson expected the baby to be about 8 to 10 inches long and weigh about one pound (500 grams). The baby's lungs would not be very well developed at all and would need significant help to provide enough oxygen for the baby. Nevertheless, the baby's chances were steadily improving the longer Lara did not deliver.

Lara, meanwhile, was providing me with some comic relief, largely on account of the nitrous oxide she was sucking on rather regularly, and probably partially on account of the heroin, I mean diamorphine. It started with a stray reference to her flowers on farm town. In the context of talking about the pain, she said, “The roses are planted next to the lilies.” I, slightly confused and very amused, asked her to clarify. She frowned and said, “That didn't make much sense.” Then she mumbled something about how the pain looked like lilies to her. Ah. That explains things ... I think. These comments became increasingly frequent as, apparently, the nitrous oxide had a cumulative effect. She said something at one point about putting on a cape, and I thought, if she tries to fly I'm tackling her.

In the later evening, Lara was talking with her dad when she suddenly said, “Oh! My water just broke!” Then I heard the trickle which, honestly, sounded like a distant small waterfall one might encounter in the forest. At that point, we knew it was a matter of hours, not days, and the hope was to make it to midnight so that one more shot of steroids could be administered.

But delivery was not going to wait. As Lara became less and less coherent, the situation became more and more serious. What at first looked like what might have been a totally normal amount fresh red blood increased to a concerning point. We later learned that Lara lost a liter of blood during that time. About 9:00 pm, the new midwife Vivienne, who had just taken over for Emma, Lara's midwife for the last twelve hours, began to listen for the baby's heartbeat. It was difficult to find, and when she found something, it was dramatically slower than it had been just a few hours before. Vivienne's face looked grave, and I was thankful that Lara was not really mentally with us. Vivienne made the decision that we needed to go ahead and deliver the baby, and Lara needed to start intentionally pushing when the contractions came. At this point, communication with Lara was next to impossible because the contractions had been getting more intense, reaching a new level of pain, and only one in ten breaths she breathed was not from the nitrous-oxide-darth-vader-hair-dryer-gun thing. She kept telling us that the baby was coming down and she couldn't stop it. We would assure her this was okay and exactly what should be happening, but she didn't seem to hear us.

Around 9:15 the pain reached a new level and Lara began to weep. I tried to comfort her, but I felt monumentally irrelevant as all I could do was kiss her forehead and speak encouraging words. Suddenly, Vivienne said, “There's his head.” I looked and there was the top of a tiny head. Lara pushed as a contraction racked her abdomen, and out came his entire head. Just seconds later another contraction came and Lara pushed. Then emerged before my eyes a bluish skinned, impossibly tiny, perfectly formed baby boy, and the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

But he wasn't breathing, and I only saw a tiny bit of movement in his right arm. During the delivery a doctor and another midwife had entered the room, and the three medical pros rushed our baby, named Peter Kerry Lee whether he survived or not, into a nearby room to resuscitate him and stabilize his condition. Following Peter out of Lara's womb was a very large blood clot, lots of blood, and the placenta, apparently already detached. Vivienne was very serious: “I'm not sure what we can expect, dears.” What appeared to be his slow heartbeat, now that we knew the placenta had detached early, could have indicated that he was not getting oxygen for an unknown period of time, and his chances hadn't been that great to begin with.

For the next while of unknown duration we waited, intermittently praying and talking, nearly crying and feeling numb, jumping at every movement of our room door, seeking some indication on the face of the entrant as to whether Peter was okay or not. Finally, someone came in and told us that Peter was stabilized and they were wanting to bring him into our room so we could see him before they took him to neonatal to place him in the incubator that would be his womb-away-from-womb for next several weeks. The excitement of hearing this was only surpassed by the moment he was wheeled in on a table, wrapped up so completely that you could only see his beautiful face, being assisted in breathing by a hand pump operated by Dr. Stenson. I have no idea what the conversation was at that moment. My son was alive, stable, and doing well. Eventually he was taken away, and we were left alone for a moment. I sat in my chair next to Lara, who had long ago become completely coherent, grabbed her hand and, laying my head on her chest, wept uncontrollably.

The story afterward is probably known to most of you readers by now, and it primarily consists of normal post-birthing things. It turns out that he was bigger and more mature than we had expected. He weighed 700 grams (1 pound 9 ounces) and is about 13 inches long – more the size of a baby at 25 week gestation. Regardless of how old he actually is, God is responsible for his survival to this point. Who knows what is ahead, but we have this moment right now when I can see him alive and touch him and try to express somehow to him that he has a dad who loves him very much. For this moment at least I have a baby son.

So at 9:23 pm on the day after Thanksgiving, while it was mid-afternoon in retail stores across America when most of the crazy sales were over and the more relaxed shoppers were filtering in to see what they could scavenge, Peter Kerry Lee, the firstborn son of Kerry and Lara Lee, was born at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh, Scotland. For me, the meaning of Black Friday has been forever altered.

Pre-term labor

2009-11-27T10:16:00.000-06:00

9:30 am November 27, 2009

Well, communication from me dropped off for a while, and my friend JDD can tell you that this is not surprising. After Lara's mom passed away, I had little trite or clever to say, and my time here has been spent in one of two pursuits: coming to a viable dissertation topic during the day, and finding a way to spend time with family online that a number of people could and would participate in. Neither has been simple. Perhaps someday I'll tell you about it, but as of right now I am sitting in a hospital deli while Lara is upstairs at the maternity and delivery section of the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh, hoping that our baby will hold on for a few days or even hours more before being born.

On Thanksgiving, 26th of November, we were at the house of some friends from church having just finished eating a very fine supper. Lara had been uncomfortable all day, complaining of mild to medium lower abdominal pain. In fact, she had been feeling this sort of pain on and off for a few days, and I can even remember some days several weeks ago when she complained of the same sort of pain, but we thought (and probably correctly) that this pain was associated with stretching ligaments and perfectly normal. This night, however, the pain began to intensify and happen in increasingly frequent waves. After calling the NHS24 line (for medical advice) we decided to go the hospital, if for nothing else to get something for the pain.

After a brief (but thorough) overview of Lara in the emergency room, they whisked us up to another room where they began to inspect Lara specifically with regard to her pregnancy, including a quick ultrasound which revealed that the baby was head down. The baby was coming, and soon, at just over 23 weeks. Our initial response was shock and dismay. We knew that at 27 weeks a baby could have a decent chance at survival. All we could do, before and then, was to pray and call on the mercy of God.

We were then taken to a last room where we would be until after the baby was delivered. By this time the gas they had been giving Lara to reduce the pain was becoming increasingly unable to sufficiently deal with the pain at its worst. Some morphine fixed that problem right up. Both of us were still trying to process the information, varying between numbness and grief. But then a consultant from pediatrics came and spoke with us. He told us that 23 weeks is about as early as a baby can be delivered and have a chance at survival – a one-in-ten chance. Suddenly, “one-in-ten” became a life-preserver, something to latch onto and hope in. Even if the baby survives, he said, there would still be a strong possibility of some sort of mental or physical handicap. The point of this was that a decision needed to be made: given the likelihood of a lower quality of life, when the baby was born did we want them to do everything they could to help the baby to survive or not?

It's certainly much easier to glibly declare one's ideology when not actually faced with such a decision. In that moment I saw a future where Lara and I may have a child that is never fully independent, that may not live a full adult life, and I selfishly asked if I really wanted that. But I also asked myself if it was more selfish to bring a baby into the world and against nature help it to live a life that may be far from normal. Nevertheless, I am convinced this baby is from God, and it's my duty to, in another sense, help this baby, against nature, live a life far from normal. Lara was far ahead of me in this line of thought, answering politely but adamantly that we were aware of the possibilities, but we were committed to giving the baby every opportunity for life, and I agreed. Lara and I have discussed the possibility of a handicapped child and how we would parent such a child.

After that, it's been all about waiting. I tried to sleep in the chair, but that was definitely not happening, so I used my jacket to make a pillow and lay down on the floor, which was surprisingly comfortable at 4:30 in the morning. I must have slept pretty soundly for a little while, because the next thing I knew there were two people bringing in a pad for me to sleep on. Apparently, the midwife in charge of Lara had come in and seen my feet sticking out past the bed. After moving to the pad, I slipped into a coma.

This morning has been much the same as last night. As the time for the next shot of morphine approaches, the pain crescendos, falling back again after the shot. Lara sucks on her nitrous-oxide bestowing pacifier shaped like a hair blow-dryer and making sounds like Darth Vader. That combined with the morphine have provided for some rather silly moments, like when she tried to blow into the pacifier instead of breathing in from it, and then croaked a scary sounding guffaw when she realized what she was doing. An encouraging development has come this morning in that with the last shot of morphine the contractions basically stopped, and the baby was higher in the womb than it was last night when they searched for the heart beat. I'm not going to get my hopes up too much, though. No really.

I woke up woozy and slightly nauseous, but I wasn't really disoriented until I came down the elevator this morning only to discover that for some reason the ground floor looks completely different today than it did last night. I know there was a corridor here, but now there are three other corridors in different places leading in directions that make no sense. I was expecting to see David Bowie walking on the wall or something (hint: Labyrinth). And this brings us back to the hospital deli. I'm looking around thinking about the different things that bring people to hospital delies, and wishing I didn't have two recent and very personal insights into that query.

Guy Fawkes Day

2009-11-10T14:38:00.002-06:00

“Remember, remember the fourth of November!” This rhyme was quoted by the those around us who celebrated the strange holiday of Guy Fawkes Day or Bond Fire Day. This uniquely British holiday celebrates this catholic dude who tried to blow up the protestant parliament and King James I (aka the initiator of the King James Bible). Guy Fawkes was unsuccessful and put to death. King James then proclaimed that this day should be remembered for the preservation of the King's life. Unfortunately, very few even realize that it has to do with the monarchy and only remember Guy Fawkes.

Kerry and I did not realize there was a holiday since our church was going to go play football (soccer in the US) like always and all the stores were open. We found out when Kerry received an invitation the watch a fireworks show at a nearby park. Since we already had confirmed the football arrangements, we declined, but we still were able to see some fireworks during our bus ride to the indoor sports complex.

From all that I can gather, not very much is done on this holiday since nothing else indicated their was a holiday. Perhaps it is like our Presidents Day in the fact that kids at school do things and the government sometimes does things, but most families go on with normal life. When I did a search about the holiday online, I found traditions that included burning a mannequin or kids standing by a mannequin that they made begging for “a penny for the Guy”. We saw none of these things.

It actually was very similar to the way Halloween was celebrated here. Supposedly the UK celebrated Halloween the same way we do in the states, but we saw absolutely no trick-or-treaters even though there are families in the flats around us. In fact, I could not find any candy in the stores to buy for trick-or-treaters until after the holiday was over. I did see costumes sold, but those, it turns out, are sold all year around for dress-up parties.

Looking back, I do remember fireworks being on sale at a few store before Guy Fawkes Day, but not enough to make me wonder. Of course, that could be because of living in Texas we have a fireworks stand everywhere year around.

All I can say is that I hope Edinburgh is not so dormant when Christmas comes around.

A Guide to Kerry and Lara's Baby Registry

2009-10-30T12:27:00.001-05:00

It turns out that both baby showers and baby registries are American inventions. Luckily ToysRUs is located everywhere. So here is a guide and explanation to this registry.

Since we live in the UK, we registered on the UK version of the site. You may not find our registry if you just type in Google “ToysRUS”. You must go to “www.toysrus.co.uk” to find it. Then you will have to type in my email address to find the specific list. If you don't have my email address, you can email Kerry and he will send it to you. We registered in the UK so that shipping costs would be minimal and the confusion factor on the company's part would make the purchasing part simpler, hopefully. Either way double check the shipping costs because it may be better to buy things like baby clothes in the US and mail it that pay the shipping. You may also want to combine your order with others so you are only paying one shipping fee.

This now has caused a few more questions. Terms for some products are different. A cot is a crib, a nappy is a diaper, and so on. You will just have to click on the item and read the description. It is pretty clear in the description if it isn't from the picture itself. Also you may want to search the site and see things like a tens machine that is supposed to relieve pain in child labor or some of the other UK differences. It is kind of interesting. If there is anything you think we missed on our list, we can add it with little trouble.

There will be a few things that are noticeably missing from the list on purpose. This includes some furniture and a car seat. The reason for this is that we are living in a tiny furnished apartment. The second bedroom already has a dresser and a wardrobe (in place of a closet). We also don't have room to have a crib and then a bassinet or moses basket stand since we must keep the bunk beds that are in there. There is also nowhere to place a rocking chair no matter how much I would like one. If I could figure out where to put it, I will certainly add it to the list. We don't own a car and the buses don't have a place to put a car seat. We have observed many parents just holding their babies in their laps for the short trip. I would rather used a baby carrier (thanks Susan) than just hold the baby, but either way, there is no use for a car seat until we are in the US. The stroller is not for an infant because the bulky infant strollers would be harder to deal with on the crowed streets and up and down our stairs than just a carrier. When the baby is too heavy for the carrier, I will use the lighter stroller for longer trips. I also did not list blankets, because I received a great deal of blankets to put in my luggage when we flew here. They are wonderful and traveled well, but I will not need anymore. The top drawer of the dresser is already filled with them. I am certain I will use them a lot.

So why did I have the things that I do? In the UK, using cloth diapers is not as unusual as in the US. With us having a washer/dryer in our flat, it makes sense to try and save money if we can. Diapers are probably one of the biggest cost I have heard associated with having a baby. Also breast feeding is more common here as well. I have done my research and I do already have a few bottles in case, but I am certain I will breastfeed the baby. I also would have liked to vary the sizes of clothing I had listed, but I still do not know the gender of the baby so I stayed with under 6 months and mostly under 3 months. I included a baby tub because our kitchen sink is too small to work for a bath as many people had suggested. Even though most of you may not need some of these explanations, I just wanted to let you know my thoughts so that if you see something I had not thought of, you will let me know. I have done a lot of research, but I do not have a lot of experience. Some of you have suggested small things I had not thought of or read anywhere. Sometimes those little things make a big difference in saving ones sanity.

So that is our baby registry guide. If you have any problems with it from purchasing to delivery or even just some of the items, let me know. The prices may seem a little high, but it is pretty average to low compared to other stores around here. If you want to purchase the same item from ebay, I suggest looking at only those who will ship to the UK. Often they can ship it to me cheaper than you can from the US. I am not particular about brand names either though I wish I could have found more Winnie the Pooh or teddy bear stuff. Also, if you do buy something somewhere else, do let us know so we can take it off of the registry. I know that ruins the surprise, but it may save us the risk of having to return a duplicate object which would be a bit of a bus trip. Well, thanks to everyone and I hope the registry helps make things easier for you. It was fun to create and research!

Domestic Bliss

2009-10-30T12:03:00.000-05:00

I thought I would lump together some of the observations I had of domestic life in Scotland. Since everyone speaks English and there are so many American fast food places, one could sit in Starbucks and forget you are in a different country completely. The main places to experience culture shock is in the grocery store. How can “real American hot dogs” come in a pickle jar? How in the world do they call it Mexican food or even label something spicy when I can hardly taste any black pepper let alone a chill pepper? These are a few of the surprises.

The main difference I noticed in grocery shopping is that I have to plan on carrying everything home. This limits most everyone to a hand held basket instead of our American sea of buggies or carts. This is also convenient since the isles and the store in general are quite small. This then gets to my next point. The choices of products are very limited. I do not mean that you do not have a choice of brand which is similar to the US, but that if you want pineapple it better be in season. Your choice of meat or produce will change regularly and if you are wanting to make a particular recipe, then it ought to have a limited ingredient list that is not to specialized. In general they have everything you may need if your cooking from scratch, but things like Ranch dressing and slightly unusual spices like lemon pepper seem completely gone. Some items are the same as in the US but just named differently, such as dish soap is called washing up liquid. Somethings are in one grocery store and not in another, such certain brands of potato chips (which they call crisps).

I also experience this sort of variance in shopping for home do-dads. For instance, many store have shelves of kitchen gadgets, but only one had ice trays. The department store where I was told were reasonably price were over ten times as much as the dollar store style stores. There is variance in the US, but not that much! To prove my point, Jenners, a large department store, sold duvet covers (pillow cases for the comforters) for 80 pounds while the Pound Stretcher sold duvet covers for 8 pounds.

Now why do I need a duvet cover? Here in Scotland, they don't use top sheets. You make a bed with a fitted sheet, a duvet or comforter, and a duvet cover. Nothing is tucked in or folded. It does shorted the time to make the bed to just straighting the duvet. I really like it.

While we are talking about the home, I should mention that there is a switch on everything! Every outlet has a switch and even the outlets for major appliances. I cannot say how many times I put something on the stove to find out ten minutes later I had never turned on the switch to power it. I also made the mistake of turning off the switch to the refrigerator and ended up with a puddle around it. Luckily, we had not bought much groceries yet. This switch fetish apparently derives from the super high electric bills. I have not received ours yet, but people are obsessed here about saving power. Many homes do not even have a dryer. People just hang their cloth in front of the heater.

We are still trying to figure out our heaters. There is an electric space heater in every room and no central thermostat. Kerry had I have to figure out which of the three awkwardly labeled knobs, a switch, a timer, and and two outlet switches to adjust the temperature. We then have to decide which of the heaters to actually adjust to begin with.

So back to cooking, the stove has two compartment where we usually just have a oven in the US. One is the oven and one is a grill. The tiny stove has done well so far, when I turn it on and when I remember it is labeled in Celsius. Luckily, we have not had any fire alarms go off. That would be too embarrassing.

Of course somehow this leads me to my recent observations about Christmas. Many stores have just put out their Christmas things, but so far the Christmas sections are quite small. They also have these things called crackers which are little wrapped gifts in the shape of tootsie rolls. Two people are supposed to pull each side and it give a little pop. Inside is a small gift and a paper crown. The one who got the largest side wins the gift and the crown in some people's versions and some people just give the gifts to everyone to pop open. These crackers are about as popular as Christmas cards.

Well, these are my observations for now, but I am sure there will be a continuation. So until next time, as they say here, cheers!

Reflection

2009-10-26T12:10:00.001-05:00

I want to thank you all for your well wishes and sympathy during this time. I flew back to Dallas Friday, October 9, to be with my father, grandmother, and brother. Then on Wednesday, we flew to Florida with my mom's ashes for the funeral. Friday, October 16, was the funeral. My brother, Joe, being a youth pastor, conducted the funeral and I, my grandmother, and my cousin, Andy, also spoke some words. The service was a celebration of my mom's legacy and devotion to Jesus. Afterwards, everyone met at Olive Garden to eat, talk, and visit. For a funeral, it was as pleasant as can be. My mom's faith left us the certainty and comfort of knowing we would see her again soon. Again, I want to thank everyone for your encouragement during this emotional and difficult time.

A positive side of effect of this sad affair was that I was able to see family I had not seen in two years and able to talk about the coming baby. This was a special thing for Kerry and me. I have not had such nice family time in a long while. Of course, that is my fault because I am the one moving all over the place, but I can't say I would change a thing. Either way, I felt happy to reconnect with some of the most important people of my life.

During this century long week, I also have been able to spend time looking back to see if I have any regrets. My goal in life is to live with no regrets and at the end of my life to be able to look back and be content with all that I have done. During this time of reflection, I have decided that I would rather risk everything and fail than never reach for my dreams at all. I have no regrets. I wish some parts had been easier but I am content with everything I have done so far. My life is dedicated to Jesus and that gives me a bigger focus than how many cars we own (which is zero) or how many things we possess (which is surprisingly little). I see faith, friends, family, dreams, and experiences as the only earthly things that last. That is our legacy, and being cautious in the pursuit of thee things is the only way to guarantee that you will not succeed in these areas. In comparing my goals with the accomplishments of my mom that I admire, I see that one cannot pursue a faithful relationship with God or even human friends and family with reserve. I will need to work on that more.

In light of these thoughts, I am eager to go back to Scotland to finally get settled in our new home. Home is the center of one's world in which you are able to reach out to others. Without a satisfactory home situation, it is hard to pursue any other goal. Kerry went and got our shipment of things before joining me in the US. Most of our things other than the books, are sitting waiting to be placed in the spots I had envisioned when packing them. Things that turn a place into a home such as pictures, tablecloths, doilies, and art are so important because of the memories and comfort they bring. They are the physical reminders of the relationships and experiences that make a life feel full and complete.

In looking forward to this nesting instinct, I have struggled with wanting to take everything that I feel I might need with me. A lot of household things seem to me to be unreasonably expensive in the UK. these things are simple, dumb things like hangers, rugs, towels, washrags, and even kitchen utensils. I also feel the need to take comfort objects, objects that are really best classified in the junk group. I just feel a little insecure and want an identifiable teddy bear type object that makes one feel safe in the world at the moment, but I can't figure out what that object might be. Perhaps I am wanting things to replace some lacking in relationship time I feel at the moment. It doesn't matter, the practical side of my nature will keep it in check.

Finally, I have spent more time this week thinking about Baby Lee than I have at any time in my pregnancy. I have thought about what Baby Lee should call various family members. I have thought about how my mom raised me, and how we should raise our baby. I have really just noticed the baby;s movements and started to think about Baby Lee's potential personality. I have also wondered what more I am really going to need in the UK for a baby. It appears that until we fly to the US, we may not need the car seat. I may want to adapt to some the UK child rearing sensibilities as I learn of them. The whole world of the newborn baby seem more foreign now than it did just months ago when I thought I would depend on my mom for advice. Kerry's mom will be a good source and I respect her mothering abilities very much, but my foundation has been shaken. I wonder also how this baby will see the world being born in such a different circumstance than most people. This baby will in its blood and earliest experiences be a citizen of the world. What I mean is that this child will learn about so many different ways to live at such an early age. Baby Lee will be exposed to the UK mannerisms in terminology, while at the same time hearing and experiencing American culture and being exposed to the Cuban way of life. This child will, like me, not truly belong to one cultural group, but be versed in overcoming cultural idiosyncrasies and navigating various forms of social interactions. Hopefully, Baby Lee will inherit Kerry's natural charisma and friendliness and less of my awkwardness. Above all, I want to focus on giving our child a biblical education. Baby Lee will not merely go to church to learn how to live a godly life, but will get focused family time in which we really teach the importance of prayer, study, and relationship with Jesus.

I suppose that all of this has been my week of reflection and I think that my time in Scotland will be forever effected by it. I spent very little of my time in Dallas and Orlando actually going places, but emotionally, mentally, and in every other way it was a very busy week.

Arthur's Seat

2009-10-10T13:09:00.004-05:00

On craggy Arthur's Seat I found a bloom.
Alone and stark its violet velvet life
Persistently against the cold and grey
Did share its beauty on the stony slopes.
Then once atop the rocky heights I stood,
The sun I glimpsed through granite stratus wisps,
Descending now and glowing drowsily
As jagged shadows strengthened at its wane.
Where once volcanic violence destroyed,
where ash and lava formed a rocky crust,
I now found green and bushy herbs and grass
Reborn amidst the fertile remnant soil.
On Arthur's Seat and in its frigid breath
I learned how Nature thinks of life and death.

Wrestling

2009-10-10T03:46:00.003-05:00

So much of what I could write about Edinburgh seems completely useless in the present context. Lara's mom died Thursday evening (which was after midnight for us). If you've followed this blog, you will know what has been going on, but here's a summary. Elizabeth Barnoske was diagnosed with the most aggressive kind of brain cancer back in March of this year. Less than seven months later, after repeated hospitalizations, a surgery, radiation, and two different kinds of chemo-therapy, she slipped into a coma and died quickly. She was to turn 51 this December, and see her first grandchild next March.

First of all, let me throw out the disclaimer of saying that I am perfectly aware that death is a human problem that, theologically speaking, is the result of our corporate rebellion against God. I know where death comes from and that it is the naive and uninformed atheist who justifies his/her atheism by the question, "How can a loving God allow suffering?" All we actually deserve is suffering and death. God has provided for our reconciliation to himself and the defeat of death through Jesus.

Yes, I know all of this.

But I have to be honest. God's laissez faire approach to cancer makes me mad. Sure, I can look at it from the perspective that at least she didn't suffer over an even longer period of time, at least she died relatively quickly. Only she did suffer, constantly for the last seven months, and in ways no one should ever have to suffer. There is nothing good or redeeming about this, and I have more than a little difficulty understanding how God is glorified through allowing a servant of his to suffer and die in such a horrible way. Where is the covenant benefit? Beyond feeling grief, I feel totally humiliated for having believed that God might possibly heal cancer. Is it a sign of spiritual immaturity to trust God? Surely not, but that's sure what it feels like.

I guess the issue for me, and for every Christian as they go through times like this, is what can we reasonably expect from God? It's pretty clear that God wants our total allegiance and trust. Okay, but what does that mean? Is trust that is not defined by some set of expectations truly trust? The whole Bible, from beginning to end, speaks of times (maybe exceptional) where God miraculously intervened for his people and delivered them, often through healing. This healing aspect of God's intervention seems to expand and accelerate in the New Testament. Obviously, one of the ways you can deal with these things is to dismiss them in a cessationist sort of way by saying that healing was only for the apostolic age (many of us do this even if we are not doctrinally cessationist), but I still don't think this is justified by the texts without projecting our own disappointment back upon them. Christians tend to become cessationists when their naive hopes of God's intervention are not realized. In this case, the fact that our relatives weren't healed is justified by saying that they have entered into (at least the first stage of) life everlasting.

But can we honestly push all the weight of God's blessing forward to an undefined future, saying it's okay because of the resurrection to come? The attitude that Jesus' resurrection means that God can stop intervening in earthly affairs is totally backwards based on the picture painted by the New Testament. The Kingdom of God is here, or at least that's what we are told. At times like this, the whole theological balancing act between realized and future eschatology just seems like a gigantic cop out: whatever of our experiences doesn't fit into one category we just push to the other. It feels like an elaborate hoax, a justification for a system that simply doesn't work. For example, if the supernatural ethics of the Sermon on the Mount, of self-abandonment and not caring about money, don't seem reasonable based on your experience that you really do have to look out for number one and money actually does make the world go 'round, then excuse yourself by saying that these ethics are to be fully realized in the future kingdom and we must simply live by the rules of the world around us. Or as another example, don't bother trying to identify the presence of beasts one and two from Revelation in our current governmental systems, or the Harlot in our own sub-culture's participation in the larger human culture of rebellion and idolatry, because those are images that only pertain to the last few years of human existence. I just don't see in the apostles' written words an attitude of waiting for anything, except the return of Christ.

Obviously, therein lies the time-related reason for pushing anything into the future. We await Jesus' return and the manifestation and fulfillment of his rule in the world, which includes such things as the final defeat of death and the vindication of his followers by a resurrection and everlasting life thereafter. But the question still remains, what can the followers of Jesus reasonably expect from God in this present life, especially now? Nothing? I think not. The certainty of a future total victory over death provides a foundation for what we might call peace and joy. We Christians have that vague concept of spiritual comfort, but what does that mean? I still hurt, and I know that Lara and Joe and Dave, among others, are hurting worse than I am. I know that God loves us, but I would like to feel it right now.

I'm tired. I'm tired of wrestling with death, with cancer, with God. I'm tired, but I am not going to let this issue go simply because I want to slip back into the slumber of unawareness. God is not off the hook, and neither am I. Especially in the United States we allow our prosperity to turn us into spiritual herbivores, beasts who avoid real issues by turning on the television or by going shopping or by some other escape method. If I read the Jacob cycle and Job correctly, I don't think God wants to be off the hook. Somehow, it is through this wrestling that God is actually known in all of his fulness and glory. What I want with regard to cancer is some sort of propositional guarantee of something, some sort of concrete expectation I can depend on each and every time. But when it comes to truly knowing God, propositions are a mere starting point. The real and harsh truths of life cannot be glibly reduced to mere statements. They transcend even our ability to describe them; we can only glimpse and reflect.

So today, Saturday 10th of October, 2009, I sit in my new flat, the one we had just moved into and were spending our first night in when we got the call, wishing Lara were here but also being glad that she's in Dallas with her dad. They both need that right now. When Lara's gone, I eat less and generally feel lethargic. I'm going to ty to eat, get out, and type some preliminary thoughts for my dissertation today, because that's still going on despite the events of this week. The funeral is supposed to be next Friday or Saturday, and I'll be flying to Orlando for that purpose later next week.

Sprinting Cripples, Brisk Winds, and a Russian Cafe

2009-10-04T10:08:00.001-05:00

It's funny how people and cultures stubbornly defy any attempt to reductionistically characterize their idiosyncrasies. For example, you might say of Scots that they do things more slowly than we do in East Texas, like signing leases and turning on utilities. But take that statement any further and you would be inaccurate, because there are things that Scots do a great deal more rapidly than East Texans. Talking, for instance, appears to be done with the thought in mind that this could be one's very last breath and it is therefore imperative to squeeze every bit of important (or unimportant) communication out by the time this breath ends. This also seems to become more true the thicker the Scottish accent. Apparently, those whose accents are the least discernible by non-natives are the ones most in touch with their own mortality.

Similarly, walking is done here at slightly over 175% of the capacity of one's musculo-skeletal structure. I walk quickly for an East Texan, even for an American, generally speaking. Obviously, I have had to slow down some for my pregnant wife, but we have been maintaining what I consider to be an acceptable pace in our meanderings. Over here, though, we always seem to be in the way. As early as last Friday we were noticing the conspicuously frenzied pace of walking in Old Town. At first we thought this must be because of the large percentage of University students with whom we were sharing the sidewalks. Then, in a phenomenon strangely reminiscent of the opening scenes of Office Space, we were passed by a man with a cane. He wasn't really using the cane (though he hobbled as if he needed to), so much as he held it out in front of him slightly, and set it down every now and then when it wouldn't be too much in his way. To complete the surreality of this situation, Lara and I immediately began to perform the “My Little Buttercup” scene from The Three Amigos (keyword here is surreal, and yes, I am lying about the musical number).

Scottish weather, too, defies any attempt to reduce it to some governing principle. Basically, there is weather, and it happens frequently. We are learning that you never leave the house without an umbrella, because yesterday it rained on us without clouds. I don't know how that's possible, but the only rain clouds I saw were way off in the distance. Then again, we were also experiencing what felt like hurricane force winds, so maybe the rain was coming the rain cloud 25 miles away. Sideways rain appears so far to be the main kind of rain in Scotland. I mentioned always having an umbrella, but I've had to use it differently, more like a shield in combat than a mobile pavilion. Sometimes, the rain is more like ether, existing everywhere and coming at you from every direction at once. In that case, using an umbrella just makes you feel like an idiot because you get wet no matter which way you point it. Perhaps if I have a giant inflatable plastic globe which we could role around in like hamsters...

Speaking of the wind yesterday, it was very impressive, reminding me of Tulsa, and Lara of Hurricane Andrew. Yesterday also was the day we chose to visit the Royal Botanic Gardens, which are directly in front of the place we are staying. The wind was strong all day, but it was stronger in the afternoon than the morning, so we were able to see most of the Botanic Gardens before standing upright became impractical. On the way back to our residence, the wind (which did not come from one direction exclusively, but whichever way was most inconvenient at the time) resisted our approach to St. Colms such that we were actually leaning forward as we walked. At one point, I tucked my head and leaned forward while taking a few steps, only to look up and be sure I was three steps behind my starting place.

Despite the capricious weather, walking around has actually gotten a great deal easier for both of us. I was perhaps more accustomed to daily walking than Lara because of our work environments in Tyler, but even I was tired and sore the first few days. Lara has managed to strike out on her own a couple of times as I spent a few hours in a library, and like a boomerang she always came back. One thing that has helped some is learning the bus system. I can do a PhD, but this bus schedule is intimidating, particularly when they are referring to places you won't find on most maps, because they aren't street names but district names. Finally, we found a bus route number that took us from near St. Colms all the way to the main part of the University (it actually goes by New College, too). With trepidation we got on that first bus, paid our fares and climbed some stairs to the top of a double decker bus, sitting close to the front. Miraculously, we got off at the right place.

Actually, that first bus experience was loads of fun. I'm still not quite certain how the whole center of gravity thing works with double deckers, but I recommend you try it at least once in your life. While we were on that first bus, a young man who turned out to be a student at the University asked us if he was on the right bus route to get to the University. I love irony. His name was Christoph (or Cristoff or Kristoff, I didn't ask him the spelling of it), and he was from Belgium. He didn't realize it, but he had the honor of being the first Belgian I ever met who wasn't a waffle. We exchanged the required student chitchat, like where are you from, what are you studying, etc. I explained that I was a PhD student in the Divinity school and my project was a comprehensive study of spirit in the Old Testament. He looked at me without understanding, but in a completely neutral way, indicating he had no idea what I was talking about. This is not the sort of blank, dismissive look you might get from someone in the US in such circumstances which basically means, “I'm glad you care about that because I sure don't.” Rather, I honestly think he was completely unfamiliar with the Bible and what the study of it might possibly entail. I knew that there were young people in Western civilization who were so unfamiliar with Christianity as to at times never even have heard who Jesus is, but he may very well have been my first actual encounter with that reality.

Despite tackling the bus routes, we still enjoy walking. Today we walked to church, a local one called Stockbridge Parish Church, which is part of the Church of Scotland. Just as last week we had a very pleasant experience with another COS at Palmerston Place, Lara and I were warmly welcomed despite the heat being out in the building. Church of Scotland services are actually very similar to what you might experience at a Methodist church, including a section toward the beginning of the gathering which is aimed at children and young people. The sermon happens about two thirds of the way through, and there is singing both before and after. Communion is not taken every week, but appears to be a monthly occurrence. The minister at Stockbridge Parish Church is actually a woman (today was her birthday), and her sermon today was very well prepared and delivered. We were able to talk to her afterward, and she is very nice, unassuming, and mild-mannered to the point of being a bit bashful. So far, our experiences with the Church of Scotland have revealed an organization characterized by smaller congregations with vibrantly friendly and mission-minded Christians. This is not to say that missionary efforts are not needed. On the contrary, the majority of Scots are quite clearly not Christians. They don't even pretend to be, like many Americans do (I'm convinced that the statistics of Christianity's prevalence in the USA is swelled by the presence within much of the country of a cultural faith, ethnic Christianity, if you will). Therefore, whatever help the Scottish Christians can get to reach their people is vitally needed. I'm just saying that I think the Church of Scotland is playing and will continue to play an important role in that outreach.

Today after church, we ate lunch at this Russian cafe run by Russian immigrants on the corner of Brandon Terrace and Huntley St (or Inverleith Row, or Canonmills; roads often have two or three names here). We each had soup and a Piroshky (Russian for pie) for half of what we would have paid elsewhere, and the food was really good. If you've never had Russian food, it apparently depends heavily on mushrooms, but don't let that stop you if you're not a mushroom fan (as I am not). I will likely eat there again, whether we live in this area or not.

Courage

2009-10-04T10:05:00.000-05:00

I haven't let you all know what we have been up to lately. Since the last blog, we moved into St. Colm's house where we are staying in some rooms indefinitely. There we have to share the bathrooms, kitchen, and common areas. It is quiet and clean, so we have unpacked some and bought some groceries. That is pretty much all we did on Tuesday.

Wednesday, I had to get over some of my fears of traveling the city alone. Kerry must work on his studies and I could do some of the errands nearby without much chance of getting lost. For some reason I still just had a great big desire to stay locked up in my room. I did not travel across the world to be freaked out! So we walked to New College and there I left Kerry to go to Princes Street to find a cheap cell phone and information about bank accounts. I got information about both very easily and was able to explore the Writer's Museum before the time I was to meet Kerry. I felt really proud that I was even mistaken for a local a couple of times. It probably was because I didn't look quite as lost as the hordes of tourists who were also there.

The next day we followed a similar schedule after going to some University offices trying to find all the things we needed to open a bank account. We took the bus for the first time because these offices were on the very opposite corner of the city center. We also didn't completely succeed getting the information we needed because some things needed to be mailed to us later. This time after leaving Kerry at New College, I purchased a Skype phone, found an art shop and bought some simple art supplies, visited the Museum of Childhood, and then went to the National Library (which was kind of small). I had expanded my sphere of travel a bit farther and felt pretty good.

At this point I may have traveled as much as a half mile away from New College, but I still preferred Kerry good sense of direction (though, some of his short cuts would have been easier the longer and smoother way). Today was a real test. We traveled by bus down to the main campus library so Kerry could use those resources and so we could be close to a flat we were scheduled to look at. We were nervous about whether or not it would fall through. When the time came, we were able to see the place. Someone was still living there and it would not be available until next week.

It was a first floor (in America it would be the second floor) two bedrooms and one bath flat/apartment in a quiet area, situated only about a 15min walk to New College and right next door to the main campus library. The kitchen, dining room, and living room was one space that looked like just a large kitchen (with an American size refrigerator!). The master bedroom was large with a nice window and built in bookshelf (which would be very nice!). The second bedroom was also large with bunk beds. There was also plenty of storage and closet space. It was furnished and a good price. We immediately wanted it and were desperate not to lose it. Unfortunately, Kerry needed to go to his first class, and we needed to pay the deposit. This had to be done in an area of town I had only been to once before, and I had to be there before the offices closed for the day, which was before Kerry was out of class (4:00 p.m. of course).

This made me have to muster as much of an independent spirit as I could. Kerry handed me most of the maps we owned and pointed out the location of the building I needed to go to. I had the cell phone that we bought for this purpose, but could I call Kerry while he was in class? Anyways, we parted ways. He went towards New College and I towards Holyrood Park. I was able to get there and pay the deposit. I found out later that I was supposed to fill out an application, but no one seemed to know that at that time. It still worked out well because we could just fill out the application on Monday. With the deposit, it was ours. Then I traveled to New College and waited for Kerry at the National Gallery where I did a few sketches.

Finally, we went home to eat dinner and I called my Dad. It turns out that even though Mom is doing better, the cancer is spreading and there is nothing they can do. Again, my courage was being tested, but not just mine, the whole family was in turmoil. After talking to my dad, my brother, my grandmother, and even my mom, I have to face what will I do and how will I respond.

I am afraid I cannot answer that. I still don't know. I know a few of you have gone through this. I wrote this in the blog because I know it will be the central focus for me of the next few weeks. Keep us all in prayer.

House Search Continued

2009-09-28T12:13:00.000-05:00

So today we continued our house search. The weekend everything was shut down (concerning relevant business; tourist stuff and restaurants are always open). Today we were able to resume our productive activities, sort of. It seems that very few people show up to work anywhere until 9ish o'clock. Then the all take an hour lunch that could start earlier than the posted time and may run later as well. Finally most businesses seem to close their doors at 4:00p.m. This has been consistent since we arrived.

The first thing we did after breakfast was go to New College, where Kerry met with his advisor, signed up for a research seminar, and picked up some necessary papers. This was a completely positive experience, though I was a bit worn out following him up and down tons of stairs. ORU has nothing compared to New College when it comes to stairs.

After that we headed to the accommodations office which is in the opposite corner of the city center from our hotel. We had to do this because we called a half a dozen times to find out when we could finalize student accommodations, but could not get the one person on the planet who knew anything about anything. Once we got there, it turns out that we can't finalize the accommodation paperwork until we see it and we can't see it until Thursday. We were upset so we asked about the other two places we saw online. One was already taken and the other was the same story as the first. I had happened to pick up a flier from New College (a habit that I have to pick up almost anything that is free). This flier advertised accommodation in an Oxford style college (like a shared mansion) next to the Royal Botanical Gardens just north of New Town. They had double bedrooms (housing for couples) as well as included Wifi. This particular place would be similar to a Youth Hostel or a dorm in that you pay for a room (not sure if bath is in suite) and have to share the kitchen and laundry facilities. The rent was nearly 200 pounds less per month than the university housing and all the utilities (except phone) was included. When Kerry called the guy he spoke to said that approval to stay would take about an hour and to just bring our luggage in the morning and we could try it out. At least, he said, we could stay there until we found somewhere else. The fact is that we would have to find somewhere else once the baby was born, but it would be good to have a semi-permanent residence in which we could start to work and live a little. We had given up on finding a pet-friendly accommodation or even being in the nicest area of town, but this solution would give us the opportunity to do both in a more laid back casual manner. Plus, the picture of this house was very beautiful and located in a great area of town. It isn't perfect, but we will end up making friends.

Now, some of you may be wondering why we are having such a hard time. In the US you walk up to an apartment complex, pick up a brochure, look at a room or not, and sign a lease in the same day. Here you cannot sign a lease until you can see the room. This includes University housing. There was no way possible to have accommodations before we came that we know of. Secondly, the agent will usually schedule you to see the place when it is convenient for them and show it to multiple people. I really don't know the steps after that, since we haven't gotten much farther than scheduling to see a place and then getting it rented out for under us before we can see it. It also seems that the Scots here keep talking of a lot of places available right now, but all the agency offices we pass and the websites we have looked at only have about three at a time ready to lease. Also there is no rhythm to when they become available or where they are located. So, in summary, this sucks!

The Shiny Side of Edinburgh Part 2

2009-09-27T12:15:00.001-05:00

After all of this we retired in our wonderful hotel room in which both Kerry and I struggled to go to sleep. For some reason the the bed at the hotel seemed nicer, but the one at the Youth Hostel was easier to fall asleep in. I totally don't know why. In the middle of the night, I discover an envelop slid under our door. It told us that tomorrow morning we would be move to a nicer room in the main building because that building was being shut down for techinical problems. So in the morning, we again moved our luggage down to the lobby in the linen closet elevator (it took three trips). Luckily, they tagged all the luggage and said that it would be in our new room when we returned. So off we went to eat breakfast and attend the church around the corner.

It turns out this was a fantastic church to attend. The denomination was Church of Scotland and there was some litergy which we enjoyed, but the sermon was phenominal! The gospel that was preach made us feel at home and the spirit of God was very much there. We met some young couples who we talk with for almost an hour and they gave us their contact information. We made our first friends! One thing about the body of Christ is that you can find a family of believers anywhere in the world. The grace and love of Christ makes us see no strangers. Kerry and I tried to figure out how we could attend this church if we live in the student accomedations that we will be looking at on Monday. Perhaps we will take the bus or perhaps we should visit some closer churches first before making a descision. I don't know, but we intend on going again tonight.

After visiting, Kerry and I ate lunch, bought a more detailed map than the tourist one we were using, and checked into our new room with our luggage already sitting in it. The Hilton upgraded us to a “Deluxe” room which meant it was even bigger and nicer. The private bathroom now had enough room to turn around in and was even larger than many in the US hotels we have stayed in. What a change in just a few days!

So, anyways, this is where I am sitting typing this blog in preperation for our internet blitz at Starbucks. I have to say in conclusion that I have constantly been afraid that God will drop us and we will not be able to afford to stay and have to move back to the US before Kerry can complete his PhD, but this fear seems so ridiculous right now. Every moment we have been here, God has not only watched over us, but he has open my eyes from what I was expecting, struggling and survival – like our worn out impression of Old Town, to the blessing and hope of what He wants to do like the glittering New Town. There are still a lot of questions that I have, like why is my mom having to go through this trial of cancer, but when all is said and done the whole gospel and Christian experience can be summerized in one word: hope. That is why we jumped off this cliff into Scotland, that is why we still pray for healing, that is why we believe in the future promise of eternity. The things that Kerry and I are experiencing is not luck. Our luck should have run out a long time ago before we even got here. What we are expirencing is one act of grace after another. So all of you out there, keep hoping because faith comes quickly behind it and then peace after that.

The Shiny Side of Edinburgh Part 1

2009-09-27T12:13:00.001-05:00

Well, Saturday morning we had to get up early and move from our youth hostel to the Hilton hotel. This took Kerry (because it was too much effort for my pregnant body) moving each one of our 40lbs bags down a narrow flight of stairs, checking out, calling a taxi, loading the bags (the driver did help), going to the Hilton, unloading the bags, and having them tagged and stored for when we were able to check in at 3:00 p.m. Even though this was an ordeal, the difference between the youth hostel and the Hilton was worth the effort. Did I mention that because of Priceline we were paying the same amount as we were for the Youth Hostel? Hurray!

We then had intended to take one of the free tours of the city and play tourist for the day, but once we wondered east from the hotel (which was in the unexplored west side of the city center) we came upon a wonderous sight. Yesterday we had explored a good deal of what is called Old Town. This area was pretty in a medieval bumpy stone roads and towering old buildings from the 1600s sort of way. The area we stumbled upon on Saturday is called New Town. The contrast was shocking. This area just north of the castle was made up of a main shopping strip running east-west on Princes Street that was a mile long full of modern, high fashion stores that would out shine any of our strip malls. One of the the less impressive stores on this strip was the Gap. Their was also a Starbucks on every other corner. The boutiques and resturants lined the North part of the street while a beautiful park lined the south side. On our way down this road that reminded us of home (American commercialism!) we came across beautiful views of the castle, Canton Hill, Author's seat, and the whole of Old Town in general. While every road seems to go uphill in Old Town, New Town looked down on everything, in more ways than one. We also came upon the National gallery and went in to see the free art exhibit featuring many Itlain artist and a collection of Scottish art. Then we turned North to explore the rest of New Town. The residential area was lined in uniform Georgian style buildings that instantly reveiled why these flats/apartments were so much more expensive than those south of the castle. The smooth, unhurried pacing gave us room to walk at an American's leasurly pace. Even in the busy shopping area, the population was noticable older and more varied than the 16 through 20 year olds I described in my last blog. The whole day was a large sigh of relief. Even though we may not be able to afford to live in this part of town at the moment (though the area we are focusing on right now is near the very nice Meadows park and away from the bustle), we deffinately know where to go to relax and where we would like to move to once I can get a stable income. It isn't like old town is a “bad” area of town, but it is the college area with LOTS of the young college kids type activities, cigerate smells, and clubs and the touristy area with lots of crowded streets, tartan shops, and tourist focused stores. New Town is where the population really live and shop.

After a pleasant walk we returned to the hotel to check into our room, move our baggage into the second building and up the elevator that could work as a linen closet. The room was large and spacious. We were so pleased with the almost King size bed and private bathroom. We relaxed for a while hoping to use the free Wifi we thought the hotel offered to communicate with family and businesses. It turns out that there was no Wifi, just broad band that you must pay for that we couldn't use even if we wanted to because of our laptop specs. So went out for dinner at a tiny Italian restarant in which the owner/waiter spoke little English. The food was cheap and good. We then searched for one of the zillion Starbucks to go online. Once we found one that was still open, we only had little over a half an hour to get everything done. I guess the UK doesn't do coffee shops on Saturday Nights.

How Not To Kill A Dragon

2009-09-26T13:49:00.006-05:00

So Kerry is leveling his experience levels today, but I am trying to figure out if we even squashed a dragon shaped bug. If you don't know what I am talking about, read Kerry's blog first.

Today was a difficult day. At first impression, I was very frustrated, but now I think it was good. I must recount what we did and did not do today to explain my view of our first full day in Edinburgh. Yesterday we flew in, and in the blur of tiredness checked into a youth hostel. This is kind of like a dorm, except we stayed at one in which we got our own bedroom. The accommodations were not luxurious, but we crashed at 7:30 and woke up 7:30 the next morning.

After a really good night sleep, I thought today would be a fantastic day for dragon slaying. We had seen a little of the town yesterday, but I was overwhelmed with people and city. I also had no idea which way I was facing and would have depended on a map had Kerry not recognized everything. Our first dragon to slay today was to find a furnished flat. The issue of permanent accommodations has been a source of stress for me since this is a very important step toward truly getting settled. I think every woman needs a nest, especially one three months pregnant. To get to the very first flat we were to see, we walked from the south center portion of the City Centre to the northwest portion of that same area. We began our walk through Meadows Park which was refreshing and beautiful, and I thought that this was very charming. After a hour and a half of walking up hill, after which we were over a half hour late to the appointment, I decided there was no way I wanted that apartment anyways. In fact, I was seconded guessing my “not getting a car” idea and was sure their were too many people in this city. I also had expected the streets to be straighter and longer. How can you call an alley a hundred feet long a separate street? Before I completely made that decision about the apartment, Kerry called the agency to reschedule the appointment, but they could not return until Monday. Fine. So we walked back towards the University to try to slay our second dragon, get Kerry registered.

As we walked our way back, I grumpily noticed we were still going up hill. How was it that we went uphill to get to the flat and then uphill to leave it. As I discovered throughout the day, the whole city is uphill!

Anyways, Kerry did get registered, and pretty quickly, but not completely. It turns out there are three steps. One step was done, but two more to go. It turns out that the University is spread out throughout the city, most of the hard part was completed at Old College in a very busy area of town, the attendance registration was in David Hume Tower near where we were staying, and meeting with his adviser would happen a New College near the castle. We ate lunch nearby as I watch a bunch of over stylized teenagers bustling around. I think these are the only people in the world who actually wear what they show in style magazines, and all of them seemed to be between 16 and 20 years old. It is strange to feel “mature” at the age of 27.

Then came the second flat that we saw. This one was up a zillion stairs and was unfurnished. We walked around in circles for about 15 minutes to find an elusive door number 24. The agent did find us and showed us where the apartment was. Inside it was on the top floor with no elevator. Even though we were kind of eager to sign a lease, that apartment just wouldn't work. Leaving there, we passed Holyrood Park with the enormous dormant volcano, Arthur's Seat. We did not attempt to climb it, but somehow it relieved some of the disappointment of the apartment. We then went to Starbucks, of which this city has one on every corner. The glorious oasis provided us with life giving caffeine and free internet, by which we were able to scope out potential other flats. Even though we would not be able to see any of them until Monday, it was good to get this dragon wounded at least.

We actually did the second step to Kerry's registration at this point.

Meeting his adviser would have to wait until Monday. This still left it on the to do list, so this dragon was not slayed, just seriously wounded. After that we went back to the hostel to find out that because we did not reserve our room for Saturday, Sunday, and Monday nights, we were going to have to find another hotel and move all of our baggage there. I was very depressed, but Kerry actually killed that dragon by bidding on a Hilton on Priceline and winning it. Fantastic! It is a little far, but we will get a taxi to move our stuff and we will be moving up in niceness for the same price. Now that is some major dragon slaying, but I can't take credit for that.

Even though I felt frustrated at not meeting our goals, we did start getting familiar with the city, a little less overwhelmed with the pedestrian traffic, and really picking out the nice areas which differed from online. So at least we have two wounded dragons and one dead one between us. Not too bad.

Behold Edinburgh part 2

2009-09-26T13:45:00.001-05:00

Friday (or How I Gained Tons of Experience Points)

Google Maps is a great tool, particularly the street level, which, I am told, has inadvertently allowed certain persons (not mentioning any names, but his initials are JDD) to view people in their underwear through street-facing windows. While I have not personally had this dubious honor, I nevertheless have found Google Maps to be an indispensable tool in preparing me for walking around Edinburgh. After a day and a half of walking through Old Town and some of the surrounding areas, I feel exceptionally comfortable and familiar. I have been able to navigate by landmarks in a city I had never before visited: there's the Starbucks I saw online, and there's that Greyfriars Bobby pub, and there's that Pizza/Kebab place. Now, some might for some reason think it's funny that my landmarks tend to be food-related. Yes, I like food. There's nothing wrong with that. And yes, I have tried two of the three previously mentioned landmarks already.

What Google Maps doesn't show you, even at street level, is that the city was apparently built on an earthquake and designed by Escher. I'm talking about the elevation variances, so we've had to learn the hard way that High Street is actually high, that walking the royal mile is like traveling from Jericho to Jerusalem, and that some roads run underneath others, instead of intersecting them. This can create a problem when you are trying to reach a destination that is supposed to be at a particular corner, only the corner is about 150 feet above you (now where did I put that tourist's grappling hook?).

We've had quite a bit of walking to do, because today (Friday the 25th) was supposed to be our day to find a flat. Yeah. We struck out. Of the three that we were supposed to see today, one we were late to because I misjudged how long it would take to walk there, one was let yesterday to someone else, and one ended up being too expensive. For Lara, this felt like a total waste of time. No dragons were slain, their rotting carcasses burned, and their bejeweled scales harvested for trophies of her valor (we did register me, which took all of 15 minutes – if you've ever registered at a University, you now envy me, heh heh). That's the way Lara looks at things. That's the particular angle she has on goal orientation. Establish a goal, then seek and destroy. That's also why she gets so much done.

I, on the other hand, while being similarly goal oriented, look at goals differently. Yes, I want to accomplish them, but the process of accomplishing carries with it its own rewards. I approach life more like the way I play a Final Fantasy game. While my brother would rush through the game as quickly as possible and then struggle to beat the last boss because his levels were too low, I fight endlessly to gain levels. I never equip the relic or drink the potion that makes random battles happen less frequently. I often do the opposite. Why? Because it makes me stronger. I gain valuable experience points and max out levels, acquiring the mightiest spells, the coolest blitz techniques, and the most expensive or rarest weapons and armor. It is my endeavor in such games to find every last magical item and thus establish my name in the annals of RPG fame! HAHAHAHAHA!

This is the way I look at life. So today was actually rather satisfying for me, because I felt like, even though we didn't make a decision about a flat, we learned valuable things today and thereby came closer to a good decision. Also, we walked around for miles, so my athletics skill jumped like three levels.

My coin accounting skill must be increasing like crazy, too. The UK has 40,000,000 different coins! I'm trying to learn them all, but so far I know them as the heavy one, the one that looks like a penny, the big single color one, the big two color one, the heptagonal one (yes, it has seven sides), the 3.26 pence one ... okay, maybe not the last one. And the paper money isn't much help either. After my first ATM withdrawal I was okay because all the bills came out looking the same. This would simple to learn, I thought. Only the bills from the second ATM withdrawal came out looking different, but they were the same denomination – Anglican. I've gotten some change, too, that looks a little different. Lara observed that the US has different looking bills, especially recently. But at least a five always has honest Abe on it. I have had at least two, if not three, differently colored 10 pound notes with different people on them. All in all, my various skill levels are definitely increasing, and I think I may max out my character in three months.

Behold Edinburgh

2009-09-26T13:38:00.004-05:00

Thursday (or Wednesday, or whatever, I'm too tired to care)

After a difficult Tuesday night in which I slept maybe five hours, we faced a hurried and emotional Wednesday. We had to say goodbye to Lara's parents and grandmother, with her mom lying in a hospital bed. We said goodbye to two cats we raised from kittens, bottle-feeding them from four weeks old. We said goodbye to our dog for who knows how long (it depends on the housing we can find). With all of this happening I honestly did not think much about my own family except to test call Skype, which I would use in Edinburgh to call them when we got there. For my test call I talked to my dad because that was who picked up. Then I got a call on my cell phone from my mom who wanted to say goodbye and hear the sound of my voice. Yeah, I felt like a jerk. I could hear Mr. T saying “Call yo' mama, fool!”

We flew out at 4:30 pm from DFW on Lufthansa (a major German airline, for those of you who are as ignorant as I was). We had not weighed our checked luggage, and ended up having to move several items around to make certain that all the bags were under the limit. We were aided by a very nice lady at the counter who made some exceptions for us. International direct flights, at least on foreign airlines, leave from terminal D. This was my first experience with terminal D. A, B, and C are basically all the same, semi-circular with shops on the inside of the circle and gates on the outside, metallic, shiny, and hectic. Terminal D was a little different. It is more squarish, with a kind of shopping mall feel to it. It was also significantly less hectic.

This was my third international flight (if you count going to and from Africa as two flights), and the shortest of the three. The flight was on-time and about nine hours. As I mentioned in a previous post, we were to lose six hours on this flight, so we thought it would be a good idea to get some sleep on the plane. I knew this would be easier said than done, since the plane left at 4:30 central time and would arrive at what would feel like 1:30-ish AM, and I don't sleep well on planes anyway. You already know how well that worked out.

Frankfurt's airport is an interesting blend of upscale, high-tech modernity and run-down, low-tech simplicity. In the B section of terminal 1 there is a really nice area upstairs with restaurants and comfortable seating overlooking the runways (with a McDonalds of all things – I really think it should be classified as a pandemic). Right outside of this area was an extended section with missing ceiling tiles and exposed wiring. It was kind of like Mad Max meets Ritz-Carlton, all the luxury one might expect in a post-apocalyptic airport.

I've heard that among Europeans, Germans are often caricatured as serious, long-faced, taciturn, and abrupt. Yep, that about sums it up. There was about as much hospitality as what one might expect from a county jail. I know it's one of the ruder aspects of American travelers to expect everyone to cater to them, but I honestly did not know how to order a pretzel in German, and we were in the freaking INTERNATIONAL SECTION OF THE AIPORT! One notable exception was one of the flight attendants, originally on Lara's side of our middle section; I moved to Lara's other side because she was much nicer than the one on my side who seemed rather put out that I didn't automatically know the drink options.

I have to admit that all the angry-looking Muslims waiting for what could have been our flight was unnerving, and it didn't help that the only response I got from my attempt to appear friendly was one of the Muslims getting up and moving away from our area. When our flight was called, I was relieved to be leaving Germany and relieved that the Muslims weren't leaving with me.

I slept most of the two hours from Frankfurt to Edinburgh, hoping that it might refresh me enough to make it through the rest of the day. At this point I didn't know what day it was, I didn't know what time it was, I honestly at one point had trouble remembering Lara's name. I wasn't really in the mood to be happy about being in another country. But the general friendliness level in Edinburgh was a stark contrast to Frankfurt. The lady inspecting our passports and visas for entry had to do some extra checking to verify our story (which I understand), but she did so in a professional and eventually personable manner. I never felt dismissed or an intrusion.

We were picked up at the airport through a service called Edinburgh Direct. The driver's name was Paul, and he was a delight. He made meaningful and comfortable conversation the whole way from the airport to our accommodations at Argyle Backpackers Hostel. I did my best to interact with him through the haze of ludicrous sleepiness, and I gave him a big tip.

Argyle Backpackers is a good example of the European youth hostel: cheap dormitory style accommodation for the most part with shared bathrooms and kitchens, aimed especially at young people traveling on a limited budget. Many hostels, this included, also have private rooms available for a little more money. It's a no frills way to stay somewhere relatively cheaply. Plus, this one was in a good location for us. Objectively, I don't know how comfortable the bed actually was, but I was asleep by 7:30 pm on what felt like the softest, most wonderful bed ever made by third world factory workers.

Ein Postlein (a little Post)

2009-09-24T03:39:00.002-05:00

I am sitting here in the airport in Frankfurt, Germany, regretting the fact that I have not posted in weeks. There is so much to tell, but it will have to wait.

Now, I know that there is a rule understood by travelers that being in an airport doesn't really count for being in the country. Well, I say: forget that trash. I'm in Germany! The airport buildings don't magically transport me to U.N.-ville. Besides, I had to walk ON THE GROUND to get to the tram that taxied us to the terminals from the plane, so nobody better be telling me that I haven't been in Germany. And if I'm not in Germany, how does one explain all the people speaking German, huh?

The flight here left the US at 4:30 central time and arrived at 8:45 am local time. Now that looks like a really long flight, but once you subtract the seven hour time difference it was a measly seven hour flight. PFFFT! PSHAH! Nothing. Except that my rear end is still numb two hours later and I know there was a 3-shaped indentation on my seat on the plane. I could tell you about the poor infant who managed to cry for the entire flight, or the poor mother who patiently did everything superhumanly possible to calm the baby, but honestly the most remarkable thing about the flight were the cool touch screen monitors in front of every seat that let me watch my own movie (from a selection). Sweet! I watched the new Star Trek movie and Monsters vs. Aliens. Going into the flight, we knew it would definitely be wisdom to get some sleep, so I did (about two hours).

Well, Lara and I will be in Edinburgh in a few hours. Tomorrow we'll view some flats (apartments) and hopefully sign on one. More to come.

Baby Showers

2009-09-03T16:53:00.003-05:00

One of the things I was prepared for in moving to Scotland was not to have baby showers with my friends. I thought if they wanted to get me something when I was there, I would try to register with some store in the UK that had a website that they could order from and not have to pay shipping. I was pleasantly surprised that others had thought about this before me.

Kerry and I attend a Bible study on Tuesday nights in Tyler with a group of friends who I hope are all reading this. They are fantastic! They threw us a surprise baby shower. Kerry knew about it and his version of keeping it a secret was saying, "The guys and girls are going to be together tonight and they want us to be 15 minutes late." We usually split up the guys and girls, so this was a clue that something was happening, but I wasn't expecting what I was greeted with. We walked in Mark and Sheila's house and everyone yelled, "Surprise!" The living room had some balloons, the dining room table had a cake that looked like a train and cupcakes that had pacifiers made of candy on them. There was a full baby shower waiting. The food was good, the conversation was fun, and the gifts were very appropriate for our limited luggage space. They were even thoughtful enough to find Classic Winnie the Pooh (which I know is hard to find) for the receiving blankets and pacifier that I received. The cute rattle had all the little tactile things that babies love hanging on it. The little baby clothes made me think, "Wow, I am going to have a baby who will wear this!" It was very neat! The whole thing was very wonderful and was the first surprise party I ever had. In fact, I can only remember having one birthday party when I was a little kid, so it was a very unique experience! I will treasure it always.

At work, I was told they would be giving me and baby shower/going away party the Friday after the surprise party I just described. I had not ever seen the company give a going away party before and I was surprised that I would get a baby shower since I am still so newly pregnant (I was only ten weeks). I was expecting only a few people to show up and a little celebration. I was surprised that nearly everyone in the company who could be there was there. The conference table was decorated in polka-dot themed cake, baby blanket, and cookies. There was also a "money-tree" in the center of the table with cards and money. There were also some small baby items on the table with which we played a "price-is-right" style game and then a name mommy songs game. It was very nice and everyone was very generous. I especially liked the card that was signed by everyone, even those not there.

I was very surprised by these two events, and it was more than I had expected even if I had stayed throughout my pregnancy. I think that I am always surprised by acts of true friendship because of my lack of friends when I was in school, but I hope that I never take these acts that I have experienced for granted. Thank you to all my friends who are reading this. You are all very special and I hope that such acts will be returned to you ten fold!

Baby on the Way

2009-08-25T18:00:00.002-05:00

It has been hard for me to figure out what to write. Finding out I was having a baby busted the last calm nerve I had. I have been reading as much as I can about everything from pregnancy to labor and delivery to the UK healthcare system to hushing a colicky baby. At the same time I have been stressing over the short time we have until we need to leave for Edinburgh.

The main question I have received in the last month is "Do you have morning sickness?" I am not offended by this question even though I hear it about 5 times a day from co-workers and friends since it would be the only thing I would be able to think off to ask too. The fact is I have been blessed to avoid that, though I have been snacking to keep the squeamish stomach feeling down. The main thing I feel is tired. REALLY tired! Then I have also been swinging between depressed and panicked with glimpses of frustration mixed in.

I have found that the glorious image of pregnancy that I kept for four years as we waited for this miracle to happen was completely an illusion. Pregnancy clothes are expensive! I was told by a friend who had her baby in Scotland to buy some to bring with me because they were almost nonexistent in the UK. Well, shopping for them before you need them is really hard. How do I know how big I will get? Will I have a cute basketball tummy or will I need a tent? No matter what I picked out, I felt depressed afterwards because I really don't want to get fat! I understand gaining weight for the baby, but how easy is it to just let yourself go and gain fifty pounds by the second trimester? Everything I have been reading also says that I should not be gaining any weigh right now either (since I am still in the first trimester). Well, like it or not, I have and that makes me wonder if I have already "let myself go". I guess I will just have to be resigned to working hard on losing it all after the baby is born.

After that frustration, there were the issues of finding books that talked about stuff I wanted to learn about. What happened to all the natural birth, hypno birth and water birth books? And why does Walmart only carry one pregnancy magazine? Why do the books about breast feeding not cover all the problems that everyone I know experienced? I would also like to read about pregnancy symptoms other that morning sickness and gaining weight. Is it normal to drink water like a camel? What about about the tiredness I feel now, since the books only mention it at the end of the pregnancy? Where are the over-marketed gear reviews and registry musts? Even the internet seems sparse, but then again I probably should do more that a five second search at a time.

Talking about the internet, I found out that the theme I had always wanted for my baby, classic Winnie the Pooh, has been almost discontinued from some of the major stores. I mean you can find Disney Winnie the Pooh almost anywhere, but that is just loud. I like the old fashioned storybook images. I wouldn't even mind if they replaced "Classic Pooh" with the Velveteen Rabbit or Wind in the Willow, but instead you get Disney or plain patterns, maybe some jungle animals too.

I was mourning over the google searches that showed every store carrying only one or two items when I came across a nice surprise. It turns out E.H. Shepard, the original illustrator of the Winnie the Pooh books and the recognizable "Classic Pooh" images, was British. He lived in Victorian England and the British are still in love with his books. They have lots of classy Winnie the Pooh baby things in the style I love. This asset to our new home location propagated many other happy thoughts.

It really is a fantastic thing that I will have the baby in the UK. First of all, we will qualify for their healthcare which will be free. Secondly, I have heard good reports about the system from the midwives to the house visits after the baby is born. Then, I will also have my dream of being able to stay home with the baby if I do in fact work freelance like I was expecting to. Also, with the housing being so small, there won't be as much housework to do when I am tired and busy with the baby. We will be close enough to everything that I won't have to plan all day excursions into town, but timing quick trips, between feedings, hopefully, for whatever I need.

I have to say that this was still odd timing (can we say God has a sense of humor?). I was not expecting my dreams of traveling around the world to include a child, but I think this was kind of a divine leash on me so that I will not feel like I am doing all of this on my own. I have an over-developed sense of being in control at all times. I like planning and working hard and I am proud of my accomplishments. Sometimes this causes me to feel like I have caused the good things in my life because I have worked hard for it, but the truth is, none of us can cause anything really important to happen without God opening the way. With my tiredness and lack of control over my emotions, I have also lost the vise-like grip over our schedule and finances. I can't seem to stay on top of anything anymore and somehow everything is getting done.

I have to say that this experience, which still has hardly begun, is something I have never imagined would happen. If you tried to tell me a year ago that we would be moving to Scotland and having a baby and Kerry getting his doctorate, I would have suggest you just choose one to pray for and we would worry about the others later.

As if life weren't interesting enough ... - Kerry

2009-08-04T22:16:00.007-05:00

Well, Kerry and Lara fans (yes, all five of you), the wait is over. While I have been remiss in my blogging commitment, the events of the last four weeks, I think, justify my brief break. I don't want to just fill up blogspace with meaningless literary wanderings. I have wanted, from the beginning, for this blog to tell a significant and meaningful story of God's provision, blessing, guidance, and just overall goodness. I think few things trump the events of the last four weeks in telling just that story.

On Saturday morning July 11th, Lara nudged me awake to show me a pregnancy test that had two lines instead of the usual one we had come to expect. It's difficult to express the blend of feelings of relief, elation, and terror that started to come over me in that instant. We have been off of any contraceptive since the summer of 2005 - more than four years of leaving children in the hands of God. That fact in itself explains the the relief and elation. But my terror was not, as you might expect, deriving from the supposed next question that enters a man's mind, namely "How are we going to pay for this?" I can honestly say that this question has not plagued me. If God can provide $13,000, and if God can give us this child, He can also provide the money to pay for it. No, my terror was more a concern for this child to make it past the first trimester and be born, for everything to be okay with it. That terror only grew until the moment we went for our first sonagram last Tuesday, July 28. Despite reason, I was fearful that the little bit of blood Lara had seen a few days before had been a miscarriage. I knew they were going to look in there and not be able to find a baby. I knew that it was going to be implanted in the filopian tubes or in the cervix. I knew something must be wrong.

But there it was, implanted exactly where it should have been, with a heartbeat at 111 beats per minute. It wasn't as old as we thought it was going to be (we were off by two weeks, thinking it would be eight weeks along instead of six), but it was perfectly formed and perfectly functioning, apparently developing exactly as babies have since Eve first conceived Cain. Then, I began to really trust that God was not going to give me a stone when I had asked for bread. This is a consistent faith issue with me, somehow thinking that God is waiting to jinx me, just to show that He is sovereign and that I should be faithful no matter what. This is also why I truly wish that the insider Christian joke about not praying for patience (since that is the surest way to get the capricious God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to jinx you with a test of your patience - ha ha isn't that funny) would just go away and never return from the abyss which spawned it. It's bad theology, and not helpful in the least.

So now we have a baby on the way, due March 23, 2010 (that's 3/23 - and all sorts of Bible verses come to mind). When most people hear about this, they're immediate reaction tends to be in the realm of cancelling Scotland plans because this complicates things too much. On the contrary, this is totally perfect. First of all, it is conspicuous that God waited until we were totally committed to going to Scotland to give us a child. I think that had we already had children, we might not have even considered doing what we are doing. But honestly, I think it will be easier for us to do this in Scotland than in our current situation. Lara was already planning to work freelance, meaning flexible (if busy) schedule, we are covered under the NHS healthcare of Scotland since I am a student, and the baby is due at a time when, perhaps, my schedule will be a little more flexible during those exhausting and stressful first few months.

I'm certain that the second part of everyone's gut reaction has to do with dollar (or should I say pound) signs. I will tell you that money has been on our minds, but God is handling it, and every time Lara or I try to take this problem on ourselves, it does not work out. A great example came about a couple of weeks ago. A car dealership in Henderson, TX (which, for my many out of state and international fans, is about a 45 minute drive southeast from Tyler) sent me an advertisement which guaranteed a prize of some sort if I just came by. The prize could have been a car, $2,500 in cash, or a couple of other things, including (most likely) a Walmart gift card worth up to $1,000. I thought to myself, "Well, it's on my day off, and what can it hurt?" So I went. It was raining when I arrived at the dealership, and business looked slow. A man greeted me and brought me inside where he began to give me the sales pitch for why they were doing the deal they were doing and so on. Then he asked me what sort of vehicle I might be interested in. Honestly, I said, my wife and I are selling everything we own and moving to Scotland, so I really am not interested in any vehicle, just the prize. He took it graciously and departed to get my prize. It was, not surprisingly, a Walmart gift card, but he did not know what the value was, I would have to call to get the balance. He did know that the value could be anywhere between $5 and $1000. So I got in the truck and got out my cell phone to call the number on the card. After entering a ridiculous amount of numbers the generic female voice told me that the balance on the card was ... $5. Not even enough to pay for the gas I would use as a result of this little excursion. I laughed and immediately called Lara to tell her. In the end, it was yet another gentle reminder that God was in control, not chance, not the economy, not me. And deep down in the very center of my being, I believe that. I have peace about this move to Scotland, and I have peace about this baby.

But while I'm not concerned about how to pay for it, there is something that concerns me, and that is the lack of overwhelming emotion I've had. I was expecting that once Lara was pregnant, I would instantly feel deep and inexpressible joy which showed itself in laughter and tears. I expected to feel superlative wonder at God's creative handiwork in the conception of a child. I expected to be obsessed morning and evening with thoughts of the baby. Instead, aside from a few moments where I nearly teared up, most of what I've felt at a very deep level is numbness, and there have been days where I hardly thought about the baby at all. This bothers me. I feel like it reflects on my preparedness to be a dad. It's just so hard to feel those extreme emotions right now with everything else that is going on. From the move to Scotland to Lara's mother to my grandfather to other family drama to the Lifeway store I work at preparing to move (which, by the way, provides probably 75% of my day-to-day stress), I don't really feel like I have anything left to give. But if I can't give that sort of emotional attention to my baby, what kind of dad am I? These are likely irrational thoughts, questions that will be resolved in time. I just feel less and less capable of doing something so incredibly important as parenting a child the more I become acquainted with my own shortcomings. But God has expressed a great deal of faith in us by entrusting this baby to our care. I know that He is faithful to bring that which He begins unto full maturity, and that includes both my baby and me.

Pretty and Can Tell Time - Lara

2009-07-12T21:07:00.000-05:00

I love to organize, sort, and clean ...to an extent. A truly organized person probably would not have to do as much cleaning and sorting as I do, since I really only do in-depth cleaning when I get a prolonged amount of time off of work and plan on being home. I would say this happens about twice a year.

Now, in-depth cleaning is not just wiping the counters, vacuuming, and those daily chores. I am talking about pulling everything out of hiding and being up to your elbows in stuff that you haven't seen since the last time you did this activity. Now I don't really like that part as much as I like the results.

Even with my habit of sorting, you really don't truly know what you have until you are moving. Earlier, I wrote a blog about how we were selling tons of stuff at a garage sale. This did leave us with minimums. Kerry's new question has become, "Lara, have you seen..." and my response has been, "we sold it." But now I am boxing up what we have left to store or take with us. We have decided a second garage sale is not worth the time or money since we have no big items to sell. I am continuing with my pages of pictures that we pass around to friends who are interested in buying, but that is all.

So now we get to the core stuff, the things that define us and make us feel at home. For Kerry and me, the majority (90%) of this is books. We have 65 paper boxes (12x18x10) of books. The rest of our boxes are personal items (pictures, awards, wedding memorabilia, etc.). We relented on our "sell everything" mantra to store these things.

Then there came the other stuff: the stuff that you use, you don't think about, and toss it into a couple of boxes at the last minute when you move and never ever sort. This can be clothes, toiletries, knick-knacks, good watches with dead batteries, etc. It isn't like I never go through clothes, but there are certain items, such as the t-shirt from my youth group or the sweat shirt from my childhood that I never ever ask why did I keep it? This time I was ruthless. If I wasn't going to taking it in our limited luggage all the way to Scotland, it was going to Goodwill. It was so difficult of a task that I had to repeat the process until my wardrobe could perhaps fit in two large duffel bags. You may wonder why I don't just store the cloths I don't take. Well, I don't want three years worth of bugs, mold, mildew, change of fashion, or change of my weight to make these clothes that I will have paid monthly to store become obsolete. Better to be done with it and buy what I need when I need it.

In the end of all of this packing, sorting, and purging (all three are still going on), I have discovered the joys of simplicity. I didn't realize how much of my clothes I did not really like but felt compelled to wear it because either I spent money on it, someone gave it to me, or I have a fond memory of it from long ago. Before the purge, I often struggled with wearing things out of fashion, the wrong size, or just awkward. Now, I only have my favorite things (mostly winter things since I don't care for most summer fashions), and I feel like I went and bought all new clothes. Everything are my favorite pieces, so I no longer pair a favorite piece with an ugly piece. In fact, everything matches better, too. The new limited choices are advantageous in that I don't have to spend so much time in the morning trying to figure out what matches only to wear something dissatisfying in the end. I have to say that immediately after the first round of purges, I was dressing really great for work for a short while, but decided to tone it down so people didn't think I had wasted all the money they had given me (through buying more stuff). That might have been silly of me, but I don't want to seem wasteful since people would assume something without talking to me. I wonder if they would even believe me when I tell them that the black suit had been in my closet for over two years, and the scarf was my grandmother's, and the brooch had been buried under some funky beads in my jewelry box since I was in middle school. On the weekends, though, I dress how I like and feel fabulous!

After this discovery of freedom with clothes, I did the same with jewelry (though I will give those to family, or store them, or something) and watches. I emptied out my jewelry box and quickly realized that I often wore the same earrings because it was so much trouble to go through all the junk in my jewelry box, which contained priceless treasures like a pin that says "Birthday Girl", or random beads, or a fighter pilot pin that I loved when I was eight. In the midst of all of this, I discovered that I have nice necklaces twisted together in a knot and a mass of earrings that may or may not have a match. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the box of baggies. Then I divided it all into "sets" of jewelry that I would wear. I placed a pearl necklace, bracelet, and earrings in one baggy, then a set of black beads and earrings in another. I continued this with only the "sets" that were fashionable and something I would like to wear. I finished with ten sets and tossed everything, except what needed to be thrown away or stored somewhere else, back into the jewelry box for family members to sort through. These ten baggies have enhanced my wardrobe incredibly. You may own far more or far less jewelry than I do, but this is a recommendation I have for everyone. When I put on an outfit now, I look in the mirror and decide that silver is what matches. Then I grab the silver baggy and everything is in there that I would want to wear without digging, sorting, or trying to match earrings. It is one set all picked out the way I like it. Three of the ten baggies are bead jewelry I just made. The problem with the bead jewelry is that it would get twisted around stuff very easily, but when I would leave it on the table so it wouldn't get twisted with the other necklaces, the cats would play with them and knock them to the ground, earrings and all (do you notice a consistent earrings problem?). This baggy idea has cured all these problems.

Now with my stuff sorted, I even took the time to repair things. The ink on Kerry's trench coat came off beautifully with nail polish remover. We got the batteries replaced in our favorite watches, and trimmed some loose threads off of a few garments. Now I feel pretty and can tell time. What a novelty!

Calling Scotland - Kerry

2009-07-03T18:47:00.001-05:00

Tuesday, I had my first experience talking to real live Scottish people on the phone. That is, I have spoken with Scottish people in person, but these were Scottish people in Scotland. Does that actually make any difference? I don't know, but it seemed significant at the time.

I have assumed primary responsibility for the finding and procuring of housing in Edinburgh. I felt this was fair since I enjoy doing this and since Lara is doing everything else. You know, 50-50. I have discovered one thing about Scottish people: they do not easily return emails. Perhaps this is an example of sowing and reaping, as my friend JDD will likely comment below. Nevertheless, I am not made of money that I can buy phone cards every few minutes in order to make international phone calls. I also discovered that there is a particular type of phone number in the UK that is like an 800 number in the US, but actually charges me more than the standard call amount. This, I thought, was somewhat backward. I thought the idea of a business toll-free number was to encourage customers to call you, but instead, these phone numbers appear to charge me, the caller, more in order to pay for the business's internet and phone charges. Obviously, these people have not fully grasped the glories of capitalism.

But as I was saying, I have been attempting to make contact with Scottish property management companies via email in order to secure a place for Lara and me to live. However, until very recently, the longest email response I have received after I would send a query about properties was, “Sorry, this property has been let.” That was it. No alternate suggestions, no further commentary or questions. Come on, people, take some initiative! I am wanting to spend some money here! But I have grace on the proto-capitalists with a poor work ethic and send them another email declaring that I am not specifically attached to the particular property in question and would very much appreciate any assistance they might give me in securing a property with certain characteristics and am very open to whatever suggestions they may have and kind regards, yours truly, with all due respect, hugs and kisses, and so on and so forth. Thereafter there comes no reply. Period. This pattern has taken place at least half a dozen times.

Finally, I broke down and decided to call someone. This is a bit tricky, because I cannot do this in the evening, since that is the middle of the night in Edinburgh. I must call in the morning. So Tuesday morning, I targeted two specific companies that had promising properties. My first task was to figure out how to make the call. I found the phone numbers, which were 11 digit phone numbers made up of a group of four, a group of three, and a final group of four. The first group of four, I discovered, was called a city code, much like our area code, but it is not always the same length, and it is not always attached to a city, either. The last seven digits, like our last seven digits, are the prefix and number, though I don't think the prefixes are assigned to specific carriers, as in the United States, since I think the phone lines are government operated (I'm not sure about this; someone may feel free to correct me). But these seven digits are not always seven digits. That depends on what city you're calling. Sometimes it's eight. With my phone card, I had to dial the 800 number of the card, hit 1 or English, enter a 10 digit pin, hit *5, dial 011 for international, 44 (for UK), then, according to the phone card, the city code and local number. The city code, however, turned out not to be exactly the same as the city code I had learned about. It was a version truncated by one digit. That did not make sense to me. Perhaps it will in heaven. I'll ask Jesus about it.

Finally, I sorted it all out and “ring ring.” This was also new, since the “ring ring” was a short grouping of two polite “rings”, as opposed to the more grandiose and significant “rings” one hears when dialing American phones. When the woman answered, her greeting was so quickly spoken and quiet that I simply had to assume she said something like “Thank you for calling so and so, how can I help you?” She could have said, “Cursed are you above all callers for interrupting my tea time,” and I would not have been able to tell. I haltingly identified myself and my purpose for calling, suddenly aware of how completely American I sounded. All of a sudden, every single phrase coming from my lips sounded idiomatic. I found myself thinking, “What sort of second person plural pronoun do I use?” It's easy in the US. Even if someone is not from the south, you know they understand “Y'all.” She was gracious and polite, but no she did not have any properties at the moment that were suitable. I must say this about the Scottish: so far, when I can get them to communicate with me they are extremely polite. They might secretly hate my guts, but it certainly does not come across over the phone or email.

I had no problems with her accent, though I have to say I was not expecting to. I usually am pretty good at understanding accents foreign to my own. Being emboldened by this successful phone call, I called the second, expecting the same ease of communication. The man's greeting was most likely in English, I think.

Once again I identified myself and my situation. We managed to exchange a few sentences, though I was growing worried because this man's accent was the strongest I had ever encountered personally. Finally, he spurted out a long sentence so fast and so thick with his Gaelic ancestry that I was immediately lost. Then the sentence ended abruptly with an upturned tone of voice indicating he sought a response. Unfortunately, the two words I had recognized were not enough to help me establish the syntax of the whole sentence and I, humiliatingly, was forced to say (likely not for the last time), “I'm sorry, could you repeat that?” I, who have prided myself on a good ear and above average linguistic skills was struck down in my second ever phone conversation.

What he had said was that I should talk to his associate in Edinburgh (this company handles properties in many cities) because his associate has actually been to these properties and could tell me more. Unfortunately, this last phone call had depleted my phone card because it was one of those backwards toll-free numbers I mentioned before. So I asked him for his associate's email address. I haven't gotten a response, yet.

Tartans - Lara

2009-06-21T13:55:00.002-05:00

I have always loved plaid. Perhaps it had to do with the detailed pattern that engaged my creative design oriented mind. I even felt tempted to buy various items in plaid to get into the Scottish spirit, from a lovely umbrella to a pair of daring slacks. This idea has been postponed until we actually arrive in Scotland.

The idea of seeing hundreds of variations to this iconic material in its traditional form of the tartan is very exciting. I don't know how a man in a plaid skirt can be the root of so much confidence and national pride, but somehow the kilt does carry an ancient sexiness that is rare in the states. With all that said, there is still something mysterious about the tartan and the plaid material that makes them unique. Can anyone wear any color they want or are they like gang colors where you can get jumped for wearing the wrong color in the wrong neighborhood?

In my primary research I discovered that certain colors and patterns were named after certain clans of even specific areas, such as the beautiful plaid named after the MacDonald clan from Glencoe (same as the clan massacred in the 17th century, which may be explained in another blog post). Further research showed that the 19th century, it turns out, was when the family named plaids started and these names may have nothing to do with the historic costume that became illegal to wear during the time after "Bonnie Prince Charlie" fought for Scotland's independence. This disappointment spurred more research.

In the vast history of the tartan, the plaid was used, but randomly just as each person thought looked nice or were specialized by certain makers in specific areas. In the 1700's, Scottish romantics started to celebrate their heritage by making the tartan fashionable again. The plaid manufacturers were eager to comply by creating unique patterns for each family. After a while clan chieftains were asked to provide the Highland Society of London a sample of their pattern to record for posterity. Many of them didn't have one, but decided on one at that time.

So all this is to say that it matters very little what pattern you pick if you wear the plaid for fashion or taste. In our research, we found that Texas and other states have tartans as well. So perhaps we will make Texas our clan. Then again, I may just collect any pattern I like. Does a Gregory blanket match a Campbell rug or should I have a set of MacCleod curtains with MacDonald cushions?

Report on Lara's mother - Kerry

2009-06-15T17:42:00.004-05:00

I am just now come back from visiting Lara's parents in Garland. As many of you probably know, Lara's mother had a cancerous tumor removed from her brain several weeks ago. She has since been in rehab and gathering her strength for the coming radiation and chemo treatments which began today.

This weekend was a pleasure. We left on Saturday night after I got off work and spent the evening talking. Sunday morning we got up early to attend the 8:00 AM retro-licious southern gospel "classic" service at Garland First Assembly at Firewheel (long name, great church). Afterwards we attended a Sunday School class whose focus recently has been a weekly dissection of Jesus' "I am" statements, this week's being "I am the bread of life." I actually felt engaged by the class, which, I am sad to say, happens rarely anymore in church. I realize that it must be at least partly my attitude that is the problem, but I also think that the Bible is just too rarely taught in church. The class began with the testimony of a man in whom I sensed a depth of spirituality that I desire for myself. His speech, while mild, was resplendant with a simple and balanced profundity deriving not from extensive education (though he did go to college) but from an actual and dynamic relationship with God.

The second part of the class was the lesson which had as its launching point John 6:25ff. The passage captured me with Jesus' response to the crowds seeking him: "Truly I say to you, you do not seek me because you saw signs, but because you ate from the loaves and were filled." What is interesting about this statement is that what Jesus says they both do and do not seek Jesus for comes down to the miracle of his feeding the 5,000. They are not seeking him because of what this miracle says about reality but because the miracle fed them. In other words, he is making an observation about their perception of reality and what they deem important as a focus of attention. They are not philosophical people, they are concerned with what they perceive to be the essentials of life. But Jesus doesn't leave them there. After making this observation he utilizes their attention to physical things to teach them about spiritual things, thus teaching that what they perceive to be the essentials are actually secondary. I don't know if I am communicating this well, but Jesus did not talk down to "simple" agrarian people as we often do in the American church. I have heard numerous ministers give their reasoning for not teaching the Bible in their pulpits, and it always boils down to a lack of faith in the real power of God's word and low expectations of either their congregation's ability to understand or their own ability to teach. Our focus on "felt needs" as a determiner of subject matter in the American church is but one of many things threatening to render it unsalty. But I digress.

We ate lunch at Fuddruckers, which I am convinced is one of the most dangerous words in the English language for those trying to have a pure speech but who are prone to metathesized consonants. I had the "Dogzilla." Nuff said.

Lara's parents both took a nap in the afternoon, leaving Lara and her grandmother to sit and chat and me to study Hebrew. Then in the evening we played Carcassonne. Today Lara's parents left early to take her mother to rehab and treatment, so Lara and I spent the morning and lunchtime with her grandmother.

Overall, this weekend was a real treat. Whereas I had thought that I might come back exhausted (as I often do when visiting Lara's family - they have a lot of energy and are constantly on the go), instead I feel energized. I am hopeful that Lara's mother with respond well to the treatment she is currently undergoing. Without going into too much detail, she is participating in a clinical study in which she is the first to have a certain additional treatment in this particular frequency and intensity. I ask everyone to remember to pray that Lara's mother does not suffer from side effects (like nausea, etc.) in a way that renders the treatment unfeasible for her.

A Return to Normalcy, the Predictable Type of Chaos - Kerry

2009-06-09T14:41:00.002-05:00

The sudden lack of unusual things happening toward the end of May sort of took my breath away. I was struggling to find something to write about when everything was normal, but then I realized that many of the four of you who read this blog may not really know what "normal" means for me. This "normal" is likely to change radically in September, so I have decided to prepare you for what this change will mean.

To begin with, "normal" does not mean "consistent" or "regular." A term was invented during World War II by low ranking members of the military: SNAFU, which means "Situation Normal - All @$#%* Up." I don't actually know how to pronounce that fourth word, but it's supposed to be something really bad ("atdahlerpowndpursentahsturesk" was my best guess). I would say that this aptly describes, and has long described, what "normal" life means for most of us. We struggle toward some semblance of predictability when life arguably has never been predictable for anyone.

I wonder if God even intended for our lives to be predictable and perfectly ordered. A life without change sounds boring. This, incidentally, was an attitude that kept me from being able to look forward to the afterlife when I was a child, because the way it was typically described was as an eternal worship service. I know the praise and worship leaders among you might find this offensive, or even heretical, but that doesn't really sound appealing to me. And my undergraduate degree is in music composition, so I am somewhat favorably disposed toward music, but the eternal mosh pit seems terribly impersonal and static.

Back to the subject at hand. What pattern can be discerned in my life at present typically looks something like this:

Monday - Work 8:45 to 5:15, pick up Lara, wash clothes, eat dinner at Subway, group dance lesson.
Tuesday - DAY OFF!!! but there are usually things that have to be done, including mowing the lawn, taking care of any car maintenance, playing video games ... you know, necessary stuff.
Wednesday - Back to work, sometimes have a private dance lesson.
Thursday - Work, sometimes watch a Netflix DVD at home.
Friday - Work, get jealous of Lara for being happy that it's Friday
Saturday - Work, last minute preparation for Sunday School lesson the next day, sometimes we have a dance to go to.
Sunday - Church, which includes teaching a Bible study during the Sunday School hour, teach Hebrew biweekly in the afternoon, chill out at home with Lara for whatever time is left.

To flesh out this skeleton, you must know that our daily commute is 45 minutes one direction. Also, though this has not been consistent by any means, we semi-regularly attend a Bible study with some friends of ours (shout out to Mark and Sheila) one night a week, which is now Tuesday. Also, it seems that every other weekend has some new event or challenge not listed above because there is no discernible order to them.

During May, this outline got all messed up. Because of the intense amount of stress and extra work involved in trying to sort through our belongings and sell them, we dropped the Bible study and group dance lessons. Each evening became much less predictable, and often what we intended to do was trumped by the needs of the immediate. I had not realized how much I drew upon those "extracurricular" activities to anchor me emotionally and give my present situation a sense of direction.

Dancing especially has been vital to my feeling that my life is not absolutely depressing. It has given me an artistic, physical, and competitive outlet and has introduced me to a number of new friends. It has also taught Lara and me a great deal about each other and our dynamic as a couple. Learning to be a strong communicator through subtle pressures in my arms and torso has been one of hardest and most rewarding things I've ever done. Sure, sometimes I have to resort to the drill sergeant style of ballroom dance leading with some dance partners ("LEFT ... RIGHT ... SIDE TOGETHER ... LEFT ... RIGHT ... SIDE TOGETHER ... ABOUT FACE ... PRESENT ARMS"), but this is getting more and more rare.

Things are not completely as they were before May, though. The closer we get to September, the more inadequate I feel, academically speaking. I have embarked on a comprehensive review of Hebrew and German, which will be followed by Aramaic, Ugaritic, Akkadian, Egyptian, and Greek, and I am reading everything I can that includes the "Old Testament Theology" in the title. I sometimes feel amazed that the University of Edinburgh accepted me, but accept me they did - I just got the visa letter this week.

One aspect of my life which has been fairly regular is Logos, my Sunday morning Bible study class. Having finished a study of Revelation a few weeks ago, we have begun to study Genesis, and I am spending a great deal of time reading commentaries and translating the pertinent portions. Just recently I was reading chapter three in Hebrew while on a break at Lifeway when I realized, ironically, that I was eating an apple. Suddenly it struck me that if Adam and Eve had been meat-eaters instead of vegetarians we might still be in Eden. I'm sure many of you have heard the first few chapters of Genesis used to support a vegetarian diet, particularly by Christian dietitians trying to sell their books and proprietary vitamin supplements (which become all the more necessary since their diets have eliminated some nutrients most abundantly found in meat). What I think is funny is that if Adam and Eve and eaten only meat, we wouldn't even be in this mess. We might all be fat, have high blood pressure, and smell bad, but there wouldn't be war. Instead, they eat fruit and look what happens. The love of fruit, then, is the root (or shall we more appropriately say seed) of all kinds of sins. I made this observation to a coworker who was in the break room with me. "But I like fruit," she responded.

Yes. Don't we all.

Somewhere Else - Lara

2009-06-05T20:20:00.004-05:00

To research the culture in which we are about to be immersed, I have begun to read about the ancient settlement of Scottish clans that eventually turned into Edinburgh. I have discovered some interesting facts, like that the castle in the center of the city is actually built on one of many dormant volcanoes that define the landscape, and the North Sea touches the east coast of the city. I even learned that every year the city's population of 400,000 swells to a million as it hosts their internationally known Arts festival. The medieval city plan is peppered with innovation. They pride themselves on being modern and culturally savvy. The countryside is described as something that came out of a fairytale with its green hills, country roads, and mysterious lochs.

I found it hard to imagine living there. In fact, I harbor a fears: that we will get there and move into an old dorm room in which we have to share a bathroom and kitchen with the rest of the floor; that the city is rowdy and gruff; that no one likes us and we can't fit in any group; that I will discover I can't work for some reason; and that our finances end up in shambles because we could not sell the house, car or whatever. They aren't rational fears, but fears are still there.

I then look and see all that has happened so far. Kerry was accepted into a very prestigious University, we have the funds to qualify for the visa (which I am eager to return to the lender so it doesn't get spent), we have been able to sell a good portion of what we own, and all while watching my mom recover very quickly from her brain surgery. It has been a full month of miraculous things. Every negative thing was countered and superseded by something better.

So back to those green hills and rainy days. Kerry and I look at Edinburgh as a fulfillment of quite a few dreams. Kerry dreams of getting his PhD and becoming a professor. I dream of improving in my career to the point that I can work at home and have plenty of business. I look forward to a city so tightly compact that I don't have to drive. We want to travel and explore the world while we are there. We may even start a Bible study and make life-long friends. And we are hoping to be able to finish the three years in better financial shape than when we started. For Edinburgh to be all this, it will take the hand of God. Is it possible to be so happy?

When we had moved to East Texas we had some dreams too. It was different. I had wanted to farm and raise animals and work freelance. Kerry was going to work on his music and apply for PhD programs. But things turned out differently than we had imagined. It was harder. Everything took a lot of hard work. We didn't farm or do much to our land that we had wanted because of finances. We worked hard in the work place dealing with feeling like failures because everything was being sucked away by school loans and debt. We struggled with the issues of infertility and not being able to have children. We had to push beyond well water, long commutes, and a frustrating driveway. We did learn a lot of things and made some good friends, but every step was a deliberate fight to push beyond the daily irritations. We couldn't give up and take an easier route because it would have prevented us from being able to do what we are about to do. I look over the 3+ years in East Texas and find that we have changed because of it. In the end many of our core dreams seemed to happen. We have paid off a lot of debt and re-evaluated our dreams and goals. I still struggle with how hard it was though. I can't help but wonder if this is the way life is supposed to be. Is this what I should expect in Edinburgh?

I think life is like a picture in the office of one of the ladies I work with. It was of a man and a woman sharing an umbrella down a cobble stone road with store fronts on either side. The rainy scene evokes the romantic dream of Edinburgh that I fear is unrealistic. I looked at the picture and knew that this would be the way things would turn out. The struggle in the rain was part of what made the picture so wonderful. It drew the couple closer together and made the street empty just for them. I find that the time here in East Texas was not as bad as it could be. It drew us closer to God and cleared out of our life all the clutter that we were holding onto so tightly. I see the good things such as even owning a house and wondering how did that happen? I see the jobs and friends at our jobs and wonder at the good people that we have encountered. Then I look at the future and see the road before us. We are in fact going to Scotland. It is real. And there are still dreams coming true. The impossible things are happening everyday. When I decided to put my trust in God, life did not become easier or harder, it became both.

When you are no longer satisfied with anything but what you were created to do, you have to push against the tide that is dragging you back in your life. This always causes conflict, problems, and trouble. When God is in control of your life, He makes sure you can go where He leads even if that means moving mountains. The miraculous and impossible still happens today. Some people see a miracle in the little things in life, which is legitimate, since it takes the active involvement of God to put the life spark into a seed to let it grow. The difference between the living and the dead is only the sustaining force of God allowing us one more day. The normal work of God in the everyday is one end of the spectrum, but God is not just "luck". He also does things that are unexpected too. In our church in Longview, a woman attends who had been dead for over an hour. God brought her back to life without medical help. That is pretty amazing. He is actively involved in my mom's life too. We feared many things only a few weeks ago, including death. She lay in bed unable to move her left side at all, before the operation, but this past Sunday she stood in church and worshiped God with use of both sides of her body and full mental ability. She should have been in the rehab center with so many others who went through similar things while struggling to regain these functions. God was with her and I believe He will continue His work until she is completely cancer free. If God can do that, I am sure, as I read about this far away place, God can work somewhere else as well.

On Garage Sales

2009-05-27T21:06:00.004-05:00

You either love them or hate them. In giving one, I think I now do both. I love going to garage sales, and I enjoy the selling part, but I absolutely hate preparing for it. I don't like figuring out prices, I don't like sorting through things I am getting rid of, and I don't like moving things to a new location (which was a requirement because of where we live). I only like the day of the garage sale, so long as it is good weather unlike the iffy weather we had, though it wasn't too hot. I guess overall, it turned out well.

I can see how there is a technique and skill to this all-American activity. People can become very good at buying at garage sales and very good at giving them. In fact, these "pros" often have nice homes and do not struggle with money as some critics believe. There is a persistent view among non-garage sale shoppers that these events are frequented by poor pack-rats who buy junk that litters their yards. This is not true. In fact the truth is quite the opposite. The major spenders tend to be well-dressed, purposeful individuals seeking specific items of value. My mom once went to a woman's house whose husband had a six digit salary and exclaimed over the beauty she saw. The house was filled with rose patterned collectibles and finely crafted antiques. The house was quite luxurious, at the same time tasteful and comfortable. The woman told my mom she bought everything at either garage sales or estate auctions. She didn't buy a single thing new.

These "pro" garage sale shoppers are the ones who check the newspaper on Friday and hit the garage sales right when they are supposed to start. They have a plan and a budget. They will look carefully through piles of stuff for treasures and some, mostly of Hispanic decent, will haggle for an even better deal (I can say this since I am part Hispanic).

The "hagglers" can and did drive some people crazy, but I find it interesting. Who cares if I marked something too high, these people will get a great deal no matter what, and at the same time I get rid of stuff and make a little money. I also like the game of haggling. It, from my side, is seeing how much can I charge someone before they walk away, while they are thinking, "What combination of items can I purchase to get the lowest price and best deal?" Some of the hagglers were very good and I was in awe of their creativity and guts. I felt like I had a lot to learn about haggling. Perhaps if we get a chance to go to a country in which that is the norm, I will be able to hold my own.

Now these "pro" garage sale shoppers and "hagglers" are not the only kind of people which frequent these events. Some of these other people I will call the "scammers". These people try to get thing for free, steal, or exchange money until you are paying them. They make garage sales a dangerous enterprise financially. These are not enjoyable except when you can squash their attempt in swindling you. Somehow defeating an enemy does give some satisfaction. We luckily had almost none of these at our garage sale. In Florida, I remember having a fair share of problems with them.

In general, though, most people are just "browsers." I have always fit into this category. I tend to show up at a garage sale because I was driving by. Then, I only buy something if it is something I have been wanting for a while or it is next to free. I and my family have bought quite a few things this way. I have bought some of my favorite (and nicest) clothes at garage sales. My high school bedroom set was purchased at a garage sale, and I even acquired a Christmas tree at one of these events.

The thing that everyone has to be aware of with garage sales or any kind of shopping is the tendency to buy something just because it is cheap or on sale. When I got home after the garage sale, I experienced a strange sense of relief to get rid of things. This relief was profound because I didn't realize how much time it had required to maintain everything. The cleaning, organizing, and fixing of items takes up so much of our lives. We buy junk just because we want more junk. People bought the strangest mixture of junk from the garage sale. Things that I thought were nice did not sell, and things that were next to trash did sell. Why? I really don't know, but I was
glad it was gone.

I think that I am going to conform after our time in Scotland and become a "pro" garage sale shopper. I looked over the collection of things I was selling and saw how little things were going for even though they were nearly brand new or very nice, and I wondered why I bothered to buy some of these things new at all. Bookshelves and some furniture really seem silly to buy new. Designer clothes and and kitchen ware also seemed to be ideal items to buy at a garage sale. Even books and decorative pieces can cost as low as a tenth of its original price. You only need to be willing to work and dig and haggle to find valuable treasure and barely-used designer items.

When we finally settle down after Kerry gets his PhD, I am going to refurnish our house with barely-used garage sale treasures and underpriced country-styled antiques. This way I might have beautiful things I never could have afforded new and maybe even rare items not made anymore. Who knows?

A Preview of Domestication

2009-05-25T19:50:00.002-05:00

From Tuesday to Thursday I experienced life from the driver's seat of a minivan. For reasons which I will explain below, we were in a Toyota Sienna (I'm not sure of the year, but it was pretty recent, I think 2007ish). Now first of all let me say that I was happy just to have a vehicle, but there were connotations that went with minivans in my mind. Connected with minivans were categories like soccer moms, suburbia, picket-fences, middle-age, no acceleration - in short, domestication. Minivans didn't have horsepower, they had ox-power. Minivans could often be traced as the chronological predecessor to the sports-car; they were the vehicular cause of the mid-life crisis.

So it was with a bizarrely mixed sense of profound appreciation for having a vehicle, excitement at the prospect of driving a new vehicle, and suppressed chagrin that the vehicle was so tame that I stepped behind the wheel of a minivan. Immediately, the chagrin went away. The blast of the air conditioner was insanely refreshing. My own car has been without an air conditioner this entire year, so Lara and I had gotten used to having the sun-roof open and the windows down. Also, Tuesday morning I had already walked a few miles in the increasingly hot day. Now I was chillin' like a villain in a meat locker. I could feel the sweat on my neck solidifying.

Then I pulled onto the road and joined the flow of traffic, cautiously at first, since this was not my vehicle. But gradually I began to test the minivan and found that it actually performed better than I had expected it to. The dashboard was a great deal more complicated than that of my 2000 Honda Civic, and I only barely kept myself from trying out the buttons before I got home. Once I got there, however, I discovered that the side doors were automatic! Shazam! Lara and I became very skilled at finding reasons why we needed to open those doors.

Seriously, though, the minivan was very convenient at a time when we really needed some encouragement. On Monday night I posted a blog that identified three ways in which I felt we were being challenged spiritually: our car, money, and Lara's mom's health. Tuesday, I started my car and discovered that it was spewing oil. Three seals on the back of the engine had busted at the same time. I asked the mechanics about this and they said that this sort of thing rarely happened. It cost us several hundred dollars to fix. Finally, while I was in Tyler dealing with the car, Lara got a call that the biopsy analysis on the mass taken from her mom's brain had revealed that the mass was a type 4 brain cancer - the most malignant sort. Needless to say, it was a difficult day, and one in which I questioned whether I had been foolhardy to post the Monday's blog.

My conclusion though is this: the combination of circumstances are too perfect for me to accept as mere coincidence. I know that this may be naive, but I am choosing to be naive and trust in the description of reality I see in the Bible until God is proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to have failed. And in the midst of difficulties, I want to proclaim how wonderful he is being to supply us a rather fun experience in driving a minivan with automatic side doors, stowable rear seats, nice AC, a thermometer and MPG readout, comfortable electric seats, and plenty of room to bring our gear with us for two days. So despite the crazy stress of this week, it has actually been a week of blessing. Therefore, if there is an intelligent spiritual opposition out there, consider this a thumbed nose in your general direction.

Nuts and Bolts - Lara

2009-05-24T20:25:00.002-05:00

I want to let everyone out there know the nuts and bolts of our preparation for the trip. We have spent most of May separating, sorting, and selling stuff. This has been in an attempt to raise the $13,000 we need in a savings account for our student visas. This does not include air fare, fees, deposit on our flat, or any transition time, but after we have our visas, we can use some of the money for that (assuming it isn't a loan). So far we have less than a fifth of that raised. We are going to borrow the rest from a couple who will charge us no interest so we can get the visas. Then, we plan on giving the money right back. We are hoping to raise the rest of what we need soon so that we can pay them back early.

We had a garage sale this last Saturday (5/23), and sold a lot, including much of the furniture we were trying to get rid of. We have practically moved into our master bedroom, because that is where most of the furniture we kept is left. We are going to try to sell our car and the borrow my father's truck until September, but that won't bring us any cash. We owe too much still, but perhaps we can save the payments we had been making. We are also talking to a realtor about either renting our house out or selling it. Either way we are going to need an agent to deal with it.

I have also been working on finding a graphic design job with some sort of publisher in Edinburgh. I have spent time researching companies and preparing my resume, or what they call a CV. I do have my resume on monster.uk, and I am searching for some hiring agencies as well. I would really like to get a good paying job near to where Kerry is attending school. So many marriages suffer during a doctoral program because of the hardship in balancing time. My work and his research need to be as much at the same time as possible so that we can spend time together. If I have to commute far, then that will take up potential time. I expect Kerry's schedule to be very sporadic and full, so we will have to be attentive to our spare time.

We will not be buying a car in Edinburgh since everything we have read talks of how the city is easy to walk around. Also the UK is known for its great mass transit systems: inexpensive buses and trains. We also understand that flights to continental Europe are relatively cheap and offer a great holiday option.

We have also completed the application for housing with the University and are waiting to see what the may offer. As I understand, the apartments (what they call flats) are often very small and usually furnished in the UK. This will minimize what we need to bring. At first we are considering just bringing what we can carry on the plane and shipping Kerry's computer. After Athena has been through her six month "quarantine" at my parents' house (required by the UK), we will be bringing her as well. This has also been a consideration in finding housing.

As we have been considering issues about our life there, we wondered about things such as international phone calls. We were advised to look at "Skype" as an option. We have also wondered about tax laws (income tax, council tax, TV tax), local churches, community events, festivals, and trying to create contacts and friendships there before we go. Pretty much everything is about research right now. We have even looked at some guide books and maps to get a clearer picture, but they have not helped as much as people we have talked to and resources on the Internet. Most guide books don't tell you much about day-to-day life.

It may seem like we have done a lot, but there is still much to do. We have not gone through the visa application process yet, which will require a visit to their office in Dallas to get biometric information and passport sized photos. We need to figure out how much luggage we can take, acquire it, and figure out what will fit. Kerry is continuing to prepare for the actual degree and matriculation process. We need to finalize both housing and job situations. We need to buy plane tickets, sell the cats, get the dog micro-chipped and blood tested, put stuff in storage or give to family members, and then hop on a plane and go to Scotland.

So are you overwhelmed yet? We have been, especially with all the other distractions and worries of this month. I had not thought about how life-altering this kind of move is, but I would still have it no other way. So post any advice or suggestions, we can use it. Thanks.

Friendship and Faith - Lara

2009-05-19T13:12:00.001-05:00

When Kerry and I wanted to do this blog, I did not think I would write very much for it. I am a natural journaler, but a blog is so public that I wasn't sure I would have anything to say publicly. It turns out that I have plenty. I have come to realize how important a community of friends are in preparing for our trip to Scotland.

I often like to think of myself as not needing help from anyone in my pride, but as the last blog showed, that was squashed pretty quickly and it continues to get squashed. I have never experienced so much in so little time. From difficulty raising money to my mom's brain tumor removal to our car breaking down and in the shop, I have felt like the American soldiers bombarded in the woods of Germany as portrayed in Ken Burns' World War II documentary. I have come to see what the important things of life are, and because of that we press on more determined than ever. It is what God has told us to do and what all our friends and family advise us to do. The result is I must give up figuring things out and just follow the light ahead with the faith of a child who doesn't know where daddy is leading, but knows everything will be OK in the end.

As the whirlwind of life has swept away the plans and lists I had created in my own power and as I gave the ashes from the fire that it caused to God, a beautiful phoenix has emerged. This time of trial has not been all dark; God has come to the rescue as well. God could have come to the rescue through unknown people, or the lottery, or even some sort of tax error, but instead he used friendships. The community around my mom has supported her and prayed for her as she is making a miraculous recovery from her surgery. While I was with her unable to accomplish anything concerning the move, friends have carried the vision of going to Scotland for us. Friends have helped us in planning and carrying out a garage sale. We have even been able to make our deadline for the student visa because of friends. No one person is giving us the whole amount for our visas, but the combination of so many people whom we care about and who care for us are making it seem possible. Each one is doing as much as they can: as it talks about in Acts 3 and in I John 4, the love of God is shown through his church. Not the building, or a church service, or an organization, but just people who, on their own conviction, saw a need and heard God's voice to answer it. People have given before we could ask for it. Some gave us money, other helped us with fund raisers, even more just bought the things I sold as an act of kindness. One couple even gave us an interest free loan to help us have more time to raise money without concern for the deadline. Not only that, some friends gave us advice, pictures, contacts, and information that was essential to continuing on in our preparations.

We are continuing to let people know our situation and asking for support, but so much has happened before we could even ask that it is overwhelming. The friends that have surrounded us and come to the rescue have done so in ways that blow my mind. Could Spiritual warfare be seen any clearer? I expected this blog to be about cute little stories of messing up Scottish idioms or having funny cultural experiences, but instead this is becoming a blog about God taking over some foolish twenty-somethings' lives and doing whatever he wants with them. I can bemoan our misfortunes, but instead I have learned to humble myself and ask for help from those God has equipped to do this work. I guess that is how a "body" of believers works.

Opposition and rescue - Kerry

2009-05-18T21:33:00.004-05:00

I will praise you, O LORD, with all my heart;
     I will tell of all your wonders.
I will be glad and rejoice in you;
     I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.
My enemies turn back;
they stumble and perish before you.

Psalm 9:1-3 (NIV)

The LORD is good,
a refuge in times of trouble.
He cares for those who trust in him,
but with an overwhelming flood
he will make an end of Nineveh;
he will pursue his foes into darkness.

Nahum 1:7-8 (NIV)

Ever since I received the acceptance letter from Edinburgh, there has been circumstantial resistance. A sampling of the more significant problems we have faced in just a few weeks include:

1.)We discovered that UK immigration had made changes just a few days before which made it substantially more expensive to get a student visa;
2.)An old debt came due which threatened to empty out our meager savings;
3.)Lara's mother discovered that she had a brain tumor;
4.)I discovered that my grandfather was in very poor health in the hospital.

Much of the financial burden came about after we had determined that the righteous thing to do was to tithe on all income related to the move (whether gifts or sale of our possessions or whatever). The amount of money we needed to have on hand just to apply for the student visa was staggering: $13,000, and our savings until then were $12,000 short. We had thought that perhaps we might have some resources to draw on to acquire some of that amount, but every resource we thought was a sure thing turned out to be worth functionally zero. By the time Friday, May 8 came around, Lara and I were emptied of both ideas and emotional energy. Then came even worse news: Lara's mom had a mass on her brain and was going into the hospital. Finally, as if to rub salt in an open wound, last Friday something (maybe a tiny spaceship) hit our windshield and cracked it significantly, irreparably, requiring it to be replaced. This circumstantial resistance was too coordinated for me to attribute it to mere coincidence. At the same time, I am not self-centered enough to think our spiritual enemy is going to manipulate British immigration reform just to thwart my education. That would be bordering on psychotic.

In the typically Semitic wording of Revelation when speaking of spiritual forces antagonistic to the righteous, it was given to the enemy that he should thwart us. That passive voice is a circumlocution which really indicates the activity and will of God himself. The enemy can do nothing unless God allows it, and he only allows it for a time (“time, times, and half a time” being equal to 3.5, which is half of a complete seven, indicating temporariness). Where the enemy is allowed to attack, he does so with venomous wrath, knowing his time is short, but the attack's true purpose is to give God an opportunity to be glorified.

The image that formed in my mind was that it was like we were in tall grass, with enemies hidden all around us, waiting for an opportune time to ambush us. The call to attack came when I received my acceptance letter, and suddenly we were overwhelmed by the attack of the enemy. But the cool thing is that when it seemed we were going to be washed away by the onslaught of the enemy, God came in like a flood, pushing ahead toward the goal that he had set for us. The door was open, and no man or spirit or set of circumstances could shut it.

The very day we sent out a payment for the old debt, a friend promised to give us an amount exactly equal to it, without knowledge of the debt. Two days later, another couple, after being prompted in prayer, promised us the use of an unreal amount of money so that we could be assured of getting the student visa. Two days after that, Lara's mother's surgery went well, the tumor giving no indication so far of being life threatening (we're still waiting for more data on that, but I am confident that God is faithful). And the windshield replacement was something we probably needed to do anyway if we are going to sell the car, since there was another, but less severe, crack in it before the kamikaze spaceship busted it.

This utter helplessness and total dependence on God is somewhat new to me. I've been in what seemed to be dire circumstances before, but it appears to me that my powerlessness is starker, more obvious, more severe than at any other time in my life. I'm stoked! I think I better understand George Müller, who prayed that God would use him and his life to be an example of God's faithfulness, and that prayer was certainly answered. Living by faith is like a ride at a theme park. Roller coasters feel dangerous, but the seat belts and safety checks in place make the ride acceptably safe. But if roller coaster safety is “certain”, how much more certain is God's provision, who controls all circumstances and knows all things.

For those who read this, please keep Lara's mother and my grandfather in prayer.

My Subject of Study - Kerry

2009-05-14T19:58:00.004-05:00

So you're wondering, why are they going to Edinburgh? What is Kerry studying? I am going to attempt in this entry to give you an introduction to what I will be studying and why. I have long been concerned with the lack of familiarity with the Old Testament which is characteristic of the average Christian. This is what originally led me to consider focusing in the Hebrew Bible. I am convinced that the New Testament is only partially comprehensible unless it is studied within the context of the religious history of the Hebrews. This is because the New Testament writers saw their experience with the risen Christ as being the culmination of that very religious history. Christ is the fulfillment. The question many Christians appear to be unequipped to answer is: of what is He the fulfillment?

More specifically, the New Testament reality of the Holy Spirit is almost exclusively studied as a New Testament discipline, with hardly more than a passing glance in the direction of the Hebrew Bible wherein the Holy Spirit expectation originated. Scholars and pastors excuse this neglect with the oft repeated (but wholly false) observation that there is not really that much about the Holy Spirit in the Old Testament. But on the day of Pentecost, Peter's understanding of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit was not that this was an essentially new phenomenon, but rather that is was the fulfillment of Israelite hopes as found particularly in the prophet Joel (though one can find similar thoughts in Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, among other places). In other words, there was an already existing category by which this new experience of outpouring on all flesh was understood.

This category, however, has been overlooked by most of the important scholarly work in the area of pneumatology (that is, the study of the spirit) until rather recently. One of the most important works on pneumatology in the 20th century, Conversion-Initiation and the Baptism in the Holy Spirit by James Dunn (admittedly a work concerned with specifically New Testament pneumatology), does not dedicate even one of its seventeen chapters to the Old Testament background. The Pentecostal critique of Dunn's work by Howard Ervin, Baptism in the Holy Spirit, does not correct this as part of its critique (though I think the Pentecostal position is only strengthened by Old Testament pneumatology). While I understand that Ervin's intent was to respond point-for-point to Dunn's work, such an oversight reveals the lack of priority OT pneumatology has had across the board. There has been some good work done in this area more recently, especially by Daniel Block of Wheaton College in his work on Ezekiel, but there is still plenty of room for investigation.

This is why I began to look seriously at studying the Holy Spirit in the Old Testament. Whether one is Pentecostal or not, I assert that understanding better what the Bible has to say on any point can only be beneficial to the Church as a whole. Now, as I began to seriously consider the Spirit's role in the OT, something began to stir in the back of my mind. I began to wonder where the idea that God even had a spirit came from? With most things in the Old Testament, the writers weren't inventing new categories so much as subverting existing categories. For example, animal sacrifice is not unique or even original to the Israelites. Everybody did it. What is original is the function of animal sacrifice in the Israelite religion. Further east, in Babylon, people thought that animal sacrifice fed the gods, so that according to one story, after a worldwide flood, when there was not anybody to offer sacrifices, the gods got really hungry. This mentality is specifically refuted in the Old Testament. Repeatedly, God indicates that He doesn't need the sacrifices. Somehow, we were the ones that needed the sacrifices. Theologically, this is described by the adjective incarnational, just as Jesus in his incarnation was a man, but through his humanity he turned our entire understanding of humanity upside-down.

So, I thought, the spirit, both of God and of man, must have some sort of ancient near-eastern corollary. Perhaps, by finding those corollaries, we may see more clearly what the spirit meant to the ancient Hebrew. Through this increased understanding, I hope, eventually, to shed some light on New Testament pneumatology, but that is many years down the road. For now, I want to understand OT pneumatology in its ancient near eastern context. This is the reason I am going to Edinburgh.

Stress and Stressibility - Lara

2009-05-10T12:41:00.002-05:00

I wasn't all that surprised when Kerry was accepted to the University of Edinburgh. I always knew he was a genius: that’s why I married him. Still, I was surprised that it was finally happening. It had always felt like Kerry wasn't accepted into the schools because of some divine timing in which everything would work out smoothly and peacefully. It only took me a couple of days to realize that this wasn't going to be easy. It was a dream come true, don't get me wrong, but the realization that we were going to have to pay for it caused a series of panic attacks. After a day or two pacing the house as a list of all that needed to be done hit me in waves churning in my head. I finally sat down to do what I always do: make a "to do" list. Even that was unsatisfactory, so I divided the list by month. The summary for the list is this: May - sell EVERYTHING and raise $13000 dollars for Visas, June - Find a Job and a furnished Apartment in Edinburgh, July - Apply for Visa, August - Sell car and buy plane tickets. Also floating between months was getting the dog micro-chipped and blood tested so she can go to the UK, find a home for the cats, sell/rent the house, move out of house, put stuff in storage (what we are keeping for sentimental reasons), and pay for all the fees without dipping into the $13000.

At first I thought we only needed $8000, but that is only for Kerry to go by himself. It might as well have been a million dollars because we didn't have it, and no matter what ideas I can up with, we still couldn’t get it. I prayed about it of course, but I ran myself ragged the whole week ending April and the first week of May and we were only able to get a thousand dollars which we then used to settle our last bad debt from our previous college experience that all of a sudden decided to call. The thing is that it was the right thing to do to be current and right with everyone when we want God to bless us, but I was very discouraged. With all my abilities and all that I tried to do, a thousand dollars was still nothing compared to what we needed.

I have finally come to the conclusion (maybe a little late) that this wasn't about us earning something or deserving something. This was about God from the very beginning. Without Him we can't go. That's it, end of story. With God all things are possible. I remember reading about George Muller who had to trust God every day to provide for him and a house full of orphans. God always came through. I really don't know what tomorrow looks like at all and this has been the scariest thing we have ever attempted to do, but I know that God is leading us and that is enough. I am going to keep going and let God do His thing. If he wants, we could sell everything and end up staying in Tyler, but I just don't see that happening. I know God too well. He is up to something and we are along just show how cool He is when he does it.

Acceptance and Denial - Kerry

2009-05-07T20:19:00.001-05:00

It was rather surreal. There on my computer screen it seemed to be saying that I had been accepted into a PhD program at the University of Edinburgh, which was obviously impossible, since I had been rejected by six other schools over the past four years. Ha. Silly me. I must be misunderstanding the box on the Euclid site that bore the words "Unconditional Offer".

But I was not misunderstanding the message. It said clearly that Edinburgh wanted me. This was huge, for me, at least.

In order to communicate the magnitude of this moment, I have to relate a few things. I graduated from Oral Roberts University in 2004 with a Master's degree in Biblical Literature, expecting to go on and pursue my doctorate soon thereafter. With a 3.93 GPA and a 1530 on my GRE (out of a possible 1600, for those who don't know), I was pretty confident that I would be accepted somewhere. But over the next few years, as I received rejection letter after rejection letter, I began to wonder if I was just deceiving myself. Maybe I was a delusional loser, one of those people who spend their entire lives trying to prove to everyone else just how smart they are, and inadvertantly doing just the opposite.

In fact, deep down I had begun to suspect that I was unnecessary. The kingdom of God didn't need me. My job was just to sit on the sidelines while the star players did their thing. I get to cheer for them and look like a team player. The voice of defeat gradually began to convince me that it was undue pride which had ever made me think that I could go and do something as exceptional as earn a PhD and become a college professor. People like me didn't do things like that. People who had money and family connections were the ones who did that. When I had thought that I had been sensing the prompting of God, I had simply been making it up. Wishful thinking. Pathetic.

But now, here was a university who wanted me. And not just any university: Edinburgh. Scotland, baby! Woot.

I called Lara first. If anyone was wanting to go to Scotland more than I was, it was Lara. You can summarize a large percentage of her life goals into two words: world travel. I could hear her doing her little happy dance, the kind she does when she is eating dark chocolate, or when she gets a bunch of paper samples. I also could have predicted the tome she brought home that night from work with all sorts of information I did and did not need to know about Edinburgh (easily 60 pages, double-sided).

As for me, I spent the next two days in a daze. I don't know how much work I actually got done. All I could think was: "Wow, someone accepted me! I going to Scotland! No, it must have been a mistake. No, it's not! Wow, someone accepted me! Man, am I hungry - where's Justin?"

No amount of denial can change the fact that God had worked things out in a way that I could not. He is good, and this blog is to be a running commentary on what He can and does do for His children. Over the next three years, Lara and I want to chronicle our experiences from acceptance to funding to traveling to studying and working to graduation and employment. For my part, I want to dedicate this blog especially to anyone who has ever thought exceptional is impossible. With God, all things are possible.

In future posts, I want to relate the financial challenges we are currently facing, as well as a more in depth look at what and why I want to study in Edinburgh.