Telling stories

"Great stories happen to those who can tell them." 

My cousin Robyn made this remark to me at my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary party this weekend, an event at which lots and lots of stories were told. I wanted to attribute the quote to her but she laughed and said that no, she did not come up with it; she had heard someone else say it a while before.

Robyn and Arie, playing farm. 

A quick google search revealed the source of this quote is actually Ira Glass, who many know as the producer and host of the radio program This American Life. 

Ira Glass, you said it. Spot on.

I was born into a family of story-tellers, particularly on my father's side. His parents and their children can tell stories that will cause your whole body to lean forward with rapt attention and they have tales that will leave you breathlessly slapping your knees and throwing your head back with laughter.

Great aunts with my beautiful, joyful grandma! (second from the left)

Aunts, ruining the moment. Or perfecting it, depending on who you ask ;-)

My grandparents tell the best stories because they have so much material to work with. They lived through WWII in the Netherlands. My grandma remembers how one of her grammar school classmates celebrated his birthday during the war by handing our pinky fingernail sized caramels to the class, a treat his mother had probably made from a precious can of condensed milk. We were so lucky, she says, we didn't have a lot but we never had to eat tulip bulbs like some of our friends. That's hunger.

My grandpa, who was a teenager during the war, remembers hiding in a barn, way up in the rafters, as the Nazis came searching- for what I'm not sure- throwing pitchforks through the hay. They didn't find him, thank God.

After the war they both immigrated to Canada. My grandpa flew across the Atlantic on one of the very first passenger planes to make the flight. It was very loud, he says, and cold.

They met- Ralph and Jacoba- at a church function for young adults in Southern Ontario and when they were eventually married they moved into a house without electricity or plumbing. They raised eight children together, all in cloth diapers with a hand crank washing "machine" and a clothesline. My grandpa worked at first as a bread delivery man and then as a butcher in his own shop.

Grandpa and Grandma, married 60 years and still smiling! 

There are hundreds, if not thousands, of stories from their sixty years together. When I was a girl, one of my favorite things to do was wash dishes with my grandma and hear her stories about coming to Canada and learning English, about raising eight little ones in an old farmhouse with three bedrooms and one bathtub between them, about the fun they had in spite of it all- camping in the summer, ice-skating in the winters, and about the kids getting into trouble with various animals on the farm. My dad has a particularly good one about a time they tried to make a billy goat swim.

My dad's side of the family. Most of them, anyway. 

I hear these stories with amazement. My friends and I- we get overwhelmed because we have to fold all the laundry we pull from the dyer and when our one or two kids won't stay in bed. I don't think I have enough neurons in my brain to imagine eight kids and doing all the wash by hand, let alone gardening, farming, running a business, and preparing three meals a day from scratch, when even your scratch is pretty measly to begin with.

They'll be the first to admit they didn't do life perfectly (we can all relate), but when I hear their stories I am always inspired by how hard and humbly they worked to give their children a better future. My grandma made me smile on Saturday when one of my uncles told her that (because Canada is a commonwealth country) couples who celebrate 60 years of marriage- called a 'Diamond Jubilee' a are able to receive a personal congratulatory letter from the Queen. My uncle was asking my grandma for her wedding certificate so he could apply for the letter, knowing my grandma's affinity for the monarch, and she replied true to form:

"Oh don't bother the Queen with that. She has a husband in the hospital and a grandchild on the way. She is too busy for that."

My grandma doesn't want to bother the Queen. That's who she is.

Listening to her children and grandchildren give speeches and toasts. 

Stories tell us who people are and how they do life. They bring us joy and they serve as cautionary tales. Mostly, they inspire- don't they? They encourage us with a sense of if she could do that then I can do this. Stories are interpretations of history, a way to remind us of meaning and purpose in life.

There's not too much in life that I love more than a good story. What are some of your family's favorite stories?

xo

Changes coming to the Burden house

Today I'm taking a break from my regular adoption and family life posts to share some personal/professional news from the Burden house. 

A few posts ago I alluded to some big decisions that John and I were making. The decisions have been made and I'm finally able to share them.

My husband is a pastor and was recently approached by two churches, asking him to consider interviewing for the pastor positions they had open. In our denomination, pastors are not assigned to churches; the job search process looks more like dating where parties both woo and scrutinize each other to see if they would be a good fit. On the churches' end, the scrutinizing is typically done by both a "search team" and the leadership of the church (staff and elders). When the the search team and leaders think they have found a good candidate, the person is presented to the church and all members have the opportunity to vote "yes" or "no" to offer the job to the candidate. Offering the job is called "extending a call" or- shorter- "calling."

Over the last several months John has been interviewing at these two churches- one locally (we would not need to move) and one out of state, flying distance- not driving (big move).

The process was both exciting and excruciating. We love our current church, but John's desire has always been to preach full time and be the spiritual leader of a congregation. At our current church he is an associate pastor, preaching half-time. When we took the call to our current church, the elders viewed it as an opportunity to invest in a young pastor and have him be mentored by their very talented and experienced senior pastor. We viewed it the same way; we thought it was b a 3-5 year call and three years later it seemed like we had reached the intended purpose: John (and I) has learned so much from the lead pastor at our church, from the church itself, and we felt ready and equipped to move forward to our next calling.

Still, it was hard to imagine leaving. John preached his first ever sermon at this church when he was still a student, six years ago. This church has always loved and respected us, even when we've made newbie mistakes. They have knelt down in service to us time and time again when really, we should have been the ones on our knees. Perhaps most importantly: they are the church that brought our son home. They prayed, encouraged, donated, ate our pancakes, bought my fundraising necklaces, and finally welcomed us home when we arrived as a new, exhausted family of three. We took Arie to his first ever service at this church, celebrated our first Christmas together in its sanctuary, and renewed his baptism with its congregation. When we thought about saying goodbye, our hearts ached.

John being ordained at our church, Summer 2010.

Serving pancakes at our fundraiser, in the church to church people! February 2012. 

Arie's baptism renewal. February 2013.

Preaching

We stayed up late for many nights, talking, praying, thinking about making this change and in the end determined that it was time. We remembered one of our college professors telling us that in ministry you have to learn to say the word goodbye. And we remembered another seminary professor saying that you always want to leave while your congregation still wants you there because if they want you to go, you've stayed too long.

Once we determined that it was time to leave our church, we were left deciding between the other two. John's interviews and visits had gone very well and it looked like he would have two calls to consider. As incredible as it was to have two churches who wanted him to be their pastor, it was... confusing. Again we stayed up night after night, trying to determine where God was leading us. We did a lot of hard emotional and spiritual work to get to a place where neither the idea of staying in our house and community nor the idea of moving to a new house and community were driving factors. In the end we had to answer only one question:

Where could we make the biggest impact in God's kingdom? 

We both felt like our hearts were torn because our current city is a very "churched" one. In some neighborhoods there are almost churches on every corner. We struggled with the idea of staying here, wondering if there weren't already enough churches and preachers to accomplish God's work here. But we also struggled with the idea of leaving because we knew the local church was  healthy, poised and ready to answer God's call in a big way, whereas the out of state church was struggling with identity issues both big and small. While we felt the city might need more pastors and churches to share God's love, we wondered if we would feel frustrated and impatient (weaknesses with which both John and I struggle) there.

It took a long time for us to work our way through these questions but in the end our decision was made this way: we remembered that God uses us to impact his kingdom through the gifts he has given us and so we asked ourselves where our gifts- primary John's, but mine as well- would be best put to use. 

The answer was: at the local church.

All along the process I felt very content to let John make the ultimate decision and when he finally made it I honestly felt more tired than anything else. The process was so long and our future so uncertain, that when he told me which church he was choosing I just thought, "Okay. Phew."

Now we are getting excited. John has three weeks left at our current church and then we start at our new one! I'm excited because this new church already feels like home. It is a place where I want to invite my friends. It's a place that feels very easy, like a conversation with your best friend. It also feels like a challenge. The church's "motto" of sorts is that they are a place for people who have given up on church but not on God. It's somewhat funny to me that we are being called to this church because neither of us have given up on church. We actually like church a lot. And not just the community, but the ritual and the religious practices. We find great meaning and significance in them. It is going to be a very good and holy practice for us to figure out what it means to minister at a church for people who don't like church. We are both filled with prayerful anticipation for the new journey.

John's transition to this new job has also allowed me to make some changes. When he starts in July, I will be able to close my daycare in order to stay at home with Arie and focus more on this blog and my writing. When I started blogging it was a way to help with our fundraising and I thought it would be a story that brought glory to God. In my heart I also hoped it would become something lasting and thanks to you my faithful readers, it has. I joke with John that I know I'm small beans in the blogging world but I'm just so happy that I'M BEANS! I love writing and the fact that our story has meant something to other people- most of whom don't even know us- thrills me. Reading your comments is always a joy. I don't know what the future holds but I do know that God is calling me to keep writing and I'm very excited to see where that leads.

I'm also very excited to go grocery shopping in the middle of the morning! When the stores are quiet! And not at the end of a long day! Yes and amen to that too, no?

We have a lot of changes coming this summer, but for the first time in my life I'm not anxious about them at all. God has seen us through constant change over our five years of marriage and he has never failed us. Our changes are all good ones and we are overwhelmed with gratitude for them.  I'm sure we will wipe away more than a few tears over the next month as we say our many goodbyes, but we will be crying them only because we have been so blessed. I'd rather be crying while I say goodbye to something good than dry-eyed with indifference as my companion.

Feeling thankful, excited, and blessed.

xo

A teddy bear picnic

There is a light side, a bright side, on the other side of every shadow. The luminous part of not having a family for the first two years of his life is the way Arie delights in being part of ours now. He walked through his birthday celebrations with pure awe and wonderment. Being witness to his joy this weekend was bliss. Just, bliss.

My parents, brother Wes, and sister-in-law Kaitlin arrived on the afternoon of Arie's birthday, Friday June 7. As I posted before, he had been looking forward to his birthday with unrivaled anticipation and he knew their arrival marked the beginning of their celebrations. Early in the morning on his birthday, John and I surprised him with a ceiling full of ballons and took him outside to see his present- a sandbox- which he loves, but the real party didn't start until he got cake. And for that- we had to wait for Omi and Grampi.

As Arie woke up from his nap on Friday I told him, "Guess who's here??" He guessed, "Papa?" "No, not Papa yet; it's Omi, Grampi, Uncle Wes, and Aunt Kaitlin!!"

Arie suck in a sharp breath of air and exclaimed, "CAKE!!!!!!!"

They drove six hours to get here for Arie's birthday only to be bested by a cake. Three year olds...

We did enjoy cake after dinner that night. We sat outside so Arie could play in the sandbox while we ate dinner and when I brought the cake out from the kitchen the little guy almost fell over with excitement. He surprised us all by blowing out the candles with no prompting- leading us to believe that they must have celebrated birthdays in his orphanage- and scarfed down his slice without breathing. Or chewing.

Dark chocolate flourless cake bliss. We love good food around here.

After cake my parents presented Arie with his gift: a new trike. They shipped it to me and when my mom pulled the pictured box out from the closet where I was hiding it, Arie's eyes got big and round and he exclaimed, "A BIKE?!!?"

Your very own bike, buddy. Just give us an hour to assemble it.

We're lucky he's patient.

So far he's gotten the hang of mounting and peddling, but not steering, so I think John and I are going to be dealing with stiff backs for a while.

Photo credit for almost all of these pictures belongs to my sister-in-law Kaitlin. Such a blessing to not worry about taking them for once! Thank you Kaitlin!! 

Worth it.

On Saturday we spend the morning cooking and decorating for the big party. We were so thrilled to enjoy perfect picnic weather and no major cooking disasters. I did forget to put out one cheese tray and a pile of diced melon, but hey- more leftovers for us, right? No one went hungry!

Despite all our conversations and prep for the party, Arie was shocked by his guests for almost the first full hour of his party. He kept looking around our backyard in silence, mostly concerned at the kids who were picking up all the pinwheels we had placed around the yard and using them to infiltrate his new sandbox. It took a bit of reassuring before he conceded that moving the pinwheels was okay and sticking them in the sandbox was also allowed. Our little rule follower.

Arie's little pal Josephine introducing me to her teddy. :-)

After he warmed up to his guests, he ran around his party with happiness just radiating from his face. The kids, the food (well- the ice cream), the singing, the blowing out the candles (again), and the presents; it was three birthdays worth of fun. John and I wanted to cram in all the spoiling he missed from his first two birthdays and mission accomplished. Neither Arie nor we could have asked for a better party.

If I had to describe the celebration in one word, it would be: abundant. It was three hours of abundant friends, abundant chicken and guacamole, abundant ice cream sundays, abundant gifts, abundant hugs and smiles and laughs, abundant love.

Though I didn't really consciously plan it that way, I think abundant is a good message to communicate at a birthday party. In a world where we are always worrying about running out of things- gas, milk, time, energy, money, affection, love- that we take an afternoon to gather round, to look at each other and one special little boy, and say we're not going to run out of this. There's always going to be enough of us for you. 

When we gather, we do it under the name of a God who defines abundance. We gather under the name of a God who comes to us to give us life and life to the very full. His love is limitless and his blessings are without end. That's the very best name we could gather under. Our abundant birthday celebrations this weekend were a part of that life to the full that we humbly and happily claim.

Today we are exhausted, John and I, but we are so happy to have held in our hands such a beautiful, blissful party for our little man. For his birth, for his birthday, for our family, for our friends, and for the opportunity to celebrate together, abundantly, we are happy and blessed.

xo

Happy Birthday Artem Kayin

To my long awaited child,

Three years ago you broke forth on the world on the wings of the dawn. Night threatened to engulf your brand new existence but it could not because the Spirit of God himself held back that midnight tide, saying this far you may come and no farther. Every force that would threaten to undo you was pushed back and you, my child, were born into promise and light.

In His hand, you rose. Smiling, eating, growing, and learning, becoming your tender self. When I met you, you were so fragile. Your joy easily tempered by fear. I remember your silence as we took you from your orphanage. I remember how you shut down and fell asleep in the car, just to escape it all. I remember how you pulled your brow together in worry and how you whimpered and shook when we took you to that Russian doctor for you visa exam. I remember how you stayed awake until 1am when we flew home, too scared to sleep. I remember how you sat silently in your stroller, hands folded in your lap, with a blank expression in your face.

You didn't know. You didn't know what was happening. You didn't know who we were. You didn't know who was going to take care of you or even that you didn't have to take care of yourself. You didn't know.

Even in the middle of your fear, we saw you shinning. We saw the proud look on your face when you met us in the orphanage with the monkey we gave you. We heard joy in your voice when you laughed, tickled under Papa's hands. We saw the way you coyly smiled at the Russian doctor when he shook your belly and called you Baby Buddah. We recognized your mischievous smile when you tried to sneak up out of your airplane seat to play with the window shade. We saw your little mind finally finding peace between flights home as you at last lay down on a bench and fell asleep.

Since you've been home, over six months now, the fear and anxiety is slowly slipping away, making room for that joyful side of you to shine. You loved to be tickled and you love to laugh. You put the towel on your head after bath and shout, "Where are you???" through your giggles. When we first left our house with you, you stuck right by our sides not daring to wander even a couple feet. Now you RUN down our sidewalk to the park and yell for us to push you on the swing. You used to rock yourself to sleep and now you ask us to stay and run our fingers through your hair until your eyelids can't stay open anymore. You used to push us away if we touched you too much and now you snuggle in as close as you can and rest your head on my shoulder when I read you a book.

You are brave. You were scared of the bath and now you plunge your face in the water and tell us to watch while you blow bubbles. You were upset when your feet were without shoes and now you run through sandy shores in bare feet. You were scared to ask for what you needed and now you demand, "More!" a dozen times per day.

You are my long awaited child, but you were a long-waiting child too, weren't you?

You were rising, even still. Even without us, you were rising. I know why. It's because even if you rise on the dawn or settle on the far side of the sea, even if you go as deep as the depths or as high as the heavens, God is there. His hand will never leave you. He knit you together in your birth mother's womb and since your conception, all your days have been ordained for you. Your life is on purpose.

Your story is just beginning little one. Keep rising. He will lift you up.

Happy Third Birthday.

All my love,
Mama

Psalm 139

For the director of music. Of David. A psalm.

You have searched me, Lord,

    and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise;

    you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out and my lying down;

    you are familiar with all my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue

    you, Lord, know it completely.

You hem me in behind and before,

    and you lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,

    too lofty for me to attain.

Where can I go from your Spirit?

    Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

    if I settle on the far side of the sea,

even there your hand will guide me,

    your right hand will hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me

    and the light become night around me,”

even the darkness will not be dark to you;

    the night will shine like the day,

    for darkness is as light to you.

For you created my inmost being;

    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

    your works are wonderful,

    I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you

    when I was made in the secret place,

    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

    all the days ordained for me were written in your book

    before one of them came to be.

How precious to me are your thoughts, God!

    How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them,

    they would outnumber the grains of sand—

    when I awake, I am still with you.

If only you, God, would slay the wicked!

    Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!

They speak of you with evil intent;

    your adversaries misuse your name.

Do I not hate those who hate you, Lord,

    and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?

I have nothing but hatred for them;

    I count them my enemies.

Search me, God, and know my heart;

    test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

    and lead me in the way everlasting.