Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #15

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on our connections to family. This is our Maori friend, Arapaera. When we first met her, I had a difficult time making eye contact with her due to the presence of what I considered to be a very unsightly facial tattoo. No matter how hard I tried, it seemed that I could not readjust my attention from focusing solely on her chin. After that initial meeting, I could not have told you what she really looked like; what color her eyes were or how long her hair was. I would not have even been able to hazard a guess as to her age. I had only noticed one thing and it held my attention. I will also admit to having mentally questioned why anyone would make a decision to permanently alter their appearance in that way. I could not imagine such a thing, let alone understand it.

 

 

As time passed, and we had the opportunity to get better acquainted, the subject of Mokos, or facial tattoos came up in one of our conversations. I was touched and quite amazed to learn that Arapaeras’ Moko was a tribute to her family heritage. Mokos are not unusual in Maori culture and Arapearas’ Moko tells about her ancestors and her special place in that family. Each design and its placement speaks to some facet of her particular family story. She explained, with great reverence, what each curve represented. She related family history that was depicted by symbols displayed indelibly on her face. Arapaera considers it an honor to prominently and permanently tell the world who she is and where she came from.  No two Mokos are alike.

As I started thinking about conversations with our new friend, I reflected upon other cultures which also show respect and reverence for family. There are totem poles, clan tartans, coats of arms, and family bibles listing all the events of a family inside its cover.  There are unveiling ceremonies in the South Pacific on the one-year anniversary of a loved ones’ death. There are in-house shrines dedicated to the memory of deceased loved ones and family histories carved into walking sticks and into the eaves of some humble homes. There are stories; more like legends actually, that are passed down from one generation to another. These sagas become more epic in their retelling.  We save tattered photos and old letters because they touch some spot in our hearts. We tell the same worn out jokes over and over because they were told by a loved one. We cherish old quilts, family antiques and favorite recipes. We wish to remember.

I personally treasure a piece of Irish linen that a great, great (too many greats to count) grandmother wove as a young woman in Ireland. That single linen has been passed drown from oldest granddaughter to oldest granddaughter since the 1700s. This simple piece of ecru fabric would mean almost nothing to others, but because it is accompanied by handwritten signatures of all of the women who have cherished it, it means the world to me. It is part of my Moko.

So what is my personal Moko? What do I treasure that has permanence and speaks to the love and reverence that I feel for my family? Many of you are way ahead of me on this one and can already make a guess as to where I am going. While I have not chosen any kind of personal body marking, I have made some life choices, which I hope, will keep my family together forever. I have chosen to spend some portion of my life far away from home sharing what I believe with others. In reality, everything we are doing  here in New Zealand, revolves around the central theme of family and the importance of keeping those connections. In this process, I have also come to appreciate Arapearas’ Moko in a much different light. She has the courage to forever display who she is and what she stands for on her face, making no apologies. I hope to do the same.

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We are grateful for our family and friends who feel like family. We treasure you and honor who you are and what you stand for. We cannot imagine our lives without all of you in them. By the way, you might find it interesting that in Maori, the  nickname for  the word grandchild is Moko. That pretty much says it all, don’t you think?

 

Love Ward and Susan,   Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #14

 

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on gratitude and appreciation.  It is summer here in New Zealand and with the temperatures soaring into the low 30’s, it is difficult to imagine that winter will arrive with a vengeance sometime in June. But winter will arrive none-the- less and with that arrival will come the need for much warmer clothing. I have been warned that we will need all the sweaters, coats and warm socks that we can locate and we know that we did not arrive adequately prepared. We had a baggage weight allowance and I had a choice between packing a winter coat or cute shoes. Perhaps I was a tad short sighted, when I opted for the peep-toe pumps with the grosgrain bows instead of a parka!

At any rate, we will be shopping for items that will keep us toasty, and high among my priorities is the purchase of some items made from New Zealand wool. In truth, I can hardly wait to have a good excuse to shop for a coat and some sweaters fashioned from the wool shorn right here in our own backyard. After the events of this week, there is a new appreciation and deep gratitude for all of the people who work so hard to make those sweaters and coats possible.

Earlier this week, we had the unique and unexpected opportunity to spend some time in a shearing shed. These sheds are scattered through out the Gisborne countryside, but until this week, we had not seen any activity around them. We had noticed, however, that the local sheep were getting pretty wooly and I suggested to Ward that those fluffy animals might be a little uncomfortable wearing their coats in all the heat. Suddenly, as if on cue, we noticed that those same sheep were now “coatless” and we became curious as to the process. I will admit to having fallen slightly in love with the actor, Byran Brown, as he portrayed Luke O’Neill, a dashing sheep shearer in the movie, “The Thornbirds”. In that movie, Luke competes with other shearers and against time to win the local shearing championship and in the process, the heart of Meggie, the movie’s heroine. The aim of the contest was to shear as many sheep as possible in an allotted time period. The camera would pan from Lukes’s handsome, sweaty face (be still my heart) to Meggie, who was watching him in admiration. Of course, Luke won the contest and the girl as well, but there was no indication of just what a difficult and backbreaking job shearing actually is. But I suppose that reality would have certainly taken something away from the romance of that particular movie scenario.

The truth is that shearing is a back-breaking job. We have that on good authority from our friend, Ross Honey, who is a former champion shearer. Ross, who is my age, suffers from constant back pain. His hands and knees are always playing up as he describes it and he shows the stress of his job in his prematurely-lined face. He is tired, but loves to relive his glory days by telling a few shearing stories to anyone who will listen. He proudly recounts that his shearing record still stands in many communities. One day, at the height of his prowess, he set the shearing record of 416 sheep in one eight and a half hour session!  Just imagine picking up and wrestling a mature ewe weighing between 100-220 pounds 416 times in one day. There is no romance and no retirement. There is only hard work for as long as you are able.

So, earlier this week, we gained new appreciation and respect for yet another group of people who work so hard to make our lives more enjoyable. The shearers work in teams and when finished at one shed, they will move on to the next shed in another part of the country. The team that we met is by no means local, as they work what they call “The Circuit”. That circuit involves shearing in New Zealand for three months, then three months each in America (starting in Idaho) and Australia, finally ending back in New Zealand for a second round of shearing here. Each shearer has someone who feeds the sheep into the holding pens, someone else to sweep up the wool as it falls to the floor and

they all share the person who tamps down the loose wool by jumping into the bale and stomping in down while doing what appears to be a fancy high-stepping jig.

Each shearer is paid  $1.10 per ewe*, so there is incentive to work quickly. The average time to shear one sheep is about two minutes!  One young man told us that he was pushing himself that day, but having spoken to our friend Ross, we were acutely aware that there would come a day when that young man would no longer be young enough to work that hard.  I thought it interesting that the shearing boss would let the crew know that it was time to go back to work after a break by simply turning the music back on. The sound of the music combined with the bleating of the sheep and the hum of the razors was all there was to hear.. There was no talking among the crew. Complete concentration is needed to keep both animals and humans free from accidents.

We learned a lot that day. We were again reminded how grateful we should be for all of the effort that is expended on our behalf in so many ways every single day. I will never again buy anything made of wool without remembering the afternoon we spent in a dimly-lit shearing shed in New Zealand. The people we met were friendly and gracious. They took time to show two strangers what they do and how they do it. They patiently answered each of our questions and seemed pleased that we were interested. The next day, we took homemade brownies back to them as a thank you and were informed that it was the first time that anyone had ever done such a thing. We also left a special book with our contact information should anyone be interested in talking with us.

 

Hopefully, we will take the lessons we have learned this week and remember to be more aware and grateful. At first I was thinking, as I observed how hard those people worked, that I was so grateful that I personally, did not have to work that hard. But then I realized that I should appreciate the fact that someone else is willing.

As always, we are happy and trying to work our own kind of hard. We are mindfull of so many who do so much to make our lives comfortable and enjoyable. I’m also thankful for parents who taught us the value of work and for all of you who are such good examples of working in service of others. Thank you!

Love, Ward and Susan     Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand

* Of the 1.10 paid for each searing, the government takes out .35 in taxes.

Waiting for the music to start 

Each shearer has his favorite electric shears

This is literally back-breaking work

 

All this is done is less than two minutes!

 

Tamping the wool into bales

 

 

The sweeper is always on hand to keep things tidy

 

The shearer always starts at the feet

 

Then moves up through the body towards the head

 

 

This crew consisted of four shearers, four sweepers and one tamper

 

The wool comes on the sheep in strips about four inches across

 

This typical shearing shack has a holding pen to the left. The sheep are actually sheared in the building on stilts, so that they can be sent down a ramp back to ground level. Each shearer has a counter that he hits every time he finishes and the boss counts the number of sheep in each shearer's holding pen to make certain of the tally



Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #13

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on an experience that took place in the Cooks and the permanent blessing that it has been in our lives.

Some of you will find that this is a story you have already heard. For that, I beg your patience. For in the retelling there is yet another sweet addendum. For those of you who may be hearing it for the first time, there will be one or two very touching surprises. The moral to the story is to listen very carefully to the promptings we receive. It’s that simple. Listen. Oh yes, and acting on those promptings is a very good idea, as well.

One day almost four years ago, Ward and I were driving around the tiny island of Rarotonga. I really do mean around, as there is only one two-lane road and you either drive clockwise around the island or counterclockwise. On this particular day, we were driving counterclockwise and were about to enter the little town of Avarua. We hadn’t been in Raro very long, so most of the people and places there were still new or foreign to us. Ward was driving, when I had the distinct impression that we needed to stop. After telling Ward to stop, I questioned that impression and told him to move on. This happened three times; each time after telling Ward to keep driving, the impression became stronger. After the third time, I finally told Ward that we now needed to turn around. I remember that Ward was somewhat concerned about my indecision. He asked where I wanted to go and I replied that I didn’t know. All I knew was that we needed to turn around and I had faith that when the timing was right, I would know what to do next. For a few moments, I had forgotten to listen. But then I remembered.

I felt impressed to stop in front of a large white building. There were two sets of French doors; one set of doors were open, the other set were closed. It would seem natural to choose the open, more inviting of those two sets of doors, but I felt prompted to do just the opposite. Lives were changed the moment that I walked across that threshold. Inside I saw a lovely young woman who was operating a little nail salon. Her face was familiar, as it is such a small island, but I had never met her. My mind was frantically working to assess the situation and discern my reason for being there. I had no idea what to say or do next.

Finally, I asked Leanne (as I did think to ask her name) if she had an open appointment for a manicure and it just so happened that she was free at that moment. What a coincidence! I stepped outside to tell Ward that I would be a while and the questioning look on his face was answered on my part by a shake of my head and a shrug. All I knew at that moment was that I was going to have my nails done! I still had no idea why I had been prompted to be there, and I was hoping with all my being that by the end of my manicure, there would be clarity.

Clarity came as this young woman shared that she was scheduled to have a medical procedure the next morning .She was frightened and felt very much alone. Not being a Cook Islander, she was not familiar with the hospital or its procedures. Save for her little family, she had no one to turn to. Leanne felt very isolated and it was unsettling.  She did not understand the paperwork that she had signed and although I am no doctor, I believed at that moment she had made a huge mistake in giving written permission for the process to take place. I told Leanne that I would accompany her the next morning and we would sort out the situation at the hospital together. We visited with Leanne and her family that evening and Ward assisted her husband in giving her a blessing. That same evening we started falling in love with three children. Ivan, Usharn and Calaiyah. That love affair has continued.

To make a long story a little shorter, an abbreviated form of the procedure took place the next morning and all was well. Leanne had someone to hold her hand and to help her navigate the confusing world of medical paperwork and I was beginning to appreciate once again, why it is so important to listen and to then act when prompted to do so. We formed a bond with this sweet family and tried to help in their times of distress. In an interesting side note, Ward happened to notice that due to a clerical error, Ivan, who was ten years old, had no recorded baptism. On a lovely, balmy Saturday morning, Ivan was rebaptized in our ocean. We grew very close to this family, but I had never told Leanne how it was that I happened to enter her shop and consequently, her life that day. I never told her that I had listened to and acted upon the promptings of the Spirit. I was waiting for the timing to be right to share my story with her.

One Monday evening, several months later, the timing felt right, so I decided to give a Family Home Evening lesson on listening to the Spirit. Several families were in attendance, including Leanne and her children, and I began my lesson with the focus on listening to the promptings and then acting upon them. At some point in the lesson, as Leanne was moving from the lounge to the kitchen and back again, I noticed that some of my story was beginning to sound familiar to her. When I reached the part where I announced “This is how we met Leanne and her family”, I noticed that Leanne was crying. She had stepped into the kitchen and had not returned. Fearful that I had overstepped by sharing her story, I was anxious to speak to her and try to make amends. I was mortified that I had hurt her. Walking into the kitchen, I found Leanne sobbing and I was heartbroken. I put my arms around her and attempted to apologize for jeopardizing our friendship. The next moment will be forever and indelibly etched into my heart.

Leanne looked at me and managed a smile. She told me that I had nothing to be concerned about and that she wasn’t crying because she was upset. She was crying because she had something to share with me. That day, months ago, when I had been prompted to have Ward turn the car around, was the same day that Leanne had been fervently praying for help. Suddenly I realized that I had become, by listening to the promptings of the Spirit, an answer to someone else’s prayers. How amazingly wonderful it was and is to know that my Heavenly Father had used me as someone’s answer!  I personally have learned that it’s my job to listen, but it’s not my job to question the why’s of the promptings. Sometimes, as in the case of meeting Leanne and her family, I was blessed to know why. In fact, most of the time, I never know why and that, I think is as it should be. I have learned to have the faith to listen without question.

If you are still reading, and I hope you are, I would like to share yet another blessing that has come to us through our listening that day four years ago on a little island in the Pacific. Leanne and her three children moved to Hamilton, New Zealand three years ago and we missed them so much that we came to visit them last May. It was early in the morning , while we were waiting for our rental car at the Auckland airport, that I noticed a man wearing a black suit and a name tag run by us. Ward called, “Hey Elder” and the man turned around and came towards us. When we asked if he was a senior missionary, he replied, “No I am the mission president”! I then surprised us all by asking if he could use another couple and the rest, as they say, is history! As I write this, Leanne and her family are visiting us in Gisborne.  Periodically while composing this blog, I have had Ivan, her oldest son, as my editor-in-chief, catching my spelling errors and watching my sentence structure. It was by reading this blog at my side, that Ivan first came to know how it was that we became a family. It was while sitting with me at the computer, that I had a chance to remind Ivan of how important it is to listen and then to act. It is a lesson and blessing that we won’t soon forget. We are grateful.

As always, we are happy and working hard. It has been a very sweet week and we have so loved having our little family with us. We are grateful, also for the extended family we have at home and for all of our friends who feel like family. Thank you and please remember to listen.

Love, Ward and Susan   Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand 

 

Who could not love these faces?

( Ivan, Calaiyah, Usharn and Leanne)

 

These faces are another story!

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #12

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on communication; the good, the bad and the ugly.  As many of you are aware, Ward and I do not own cell phones. After returning from the Cook Islands, we made the decision to live with less “stuff”.  We had spent eighteen months among people who had so little that we became uncomfortable with having so much more. Originally, before we left for Rarotonga, I worried about who would cut my hair and how I was going to find someone to do my nails. Almost immediately, I realized that those concerns should not be concerns at all. We learned to do more with less and in the process, learned a lot about our ability to adapt.

But I digress. I have long been frustrated by some segments of modern communication. We are indeed grateful for all those conveniences that allow almost instant access, but as instant as it all is, there is a certain amount of disconnect. Where once people actually spoke face-to-face with each other, that eye contact has been replaced by texting even among those who are in the same room. People are entertaining themselves by wearing headsets and earbuds (who knew what that term meant 20 years ago?) often becoming so engrossed in what’s going on inside their heads, that they neglect to pay attention to what’s going on around them. I once had a confrontation with a student who refused to take out both earpieces during class. He argued that he could listen to me with one ear and still listen to his music with the other!

But I again, I digress. The main point and the focus of this week’s blog was meant to address miscommunication.  I have been struck by the misunderstandings that can occur when one is not able to hear tone of voice. Looking at someone while actually listening to them can offer huge insight.  Sometimes even a missing or misplaced comma or other punctuation mark can lead to a major breakdown in our appreciating the message and its original intent. Often a lack of cultural awareness leads to mistakes in judgement and miscues. Such was the case with Captain Cook.

Captain Cook was a famous explorer and navigator. His map-making skills are legendary and even now, he is esteemed for the accuracy of his work. His ship, the Endeavor, sailed and explored its way across most of the Pacific. He was fearless and intrepid. He spent many years discovering new isles in those vast waters and for the most part, developed friendly relationships with the Polynesians . He would often land in a new area, befriend the natives, enjoy their hospitality then depart having either eaten up, used up or loaded up all of the local resources. There are stories of how once friendly natives became less friendly as the ships crew literally ate them out of house and home. The Endeavor would then sail away, leaving the locals hungry and waiting for their next harvest. For the most part however, relations remained friendly.

In October of 1769, Captain Cook sailed into a harbor in New Zealand. His ship, the Endeavor was in need of restocking. The crew was tired and hungry and provisions were almost totally depleted. It was early morning as young Nick, the ship doctor’s twelve-year-old son spotted land and excitedly announced that sighting. The Endeavor dropped anchor and the sailors, having been at sea for a very long time anxiously prepared to wade ashore, all the while expecting the same sort of welcome that had greeted them on so many previous island visits.  The story of what happened next has become part of the local folklore in Gisborne. The tale itself went down in history as an example of a colossal and tragic misreading of intent.

The Maori people were actually, according to locals, excited when they sighted the Endeavor sailing into the harbor. They, like many other islanders before them, planned to welcome the strangers to their beautiful land. Their greeting would include all of the lovely traditions that now many of us have grown to expect with the Maori people.  As Captain Cook and his group set foot on shore, the welcoming “committee” proceeded to perform a Haka. Although the Haka can seem very threatening, we now know that it is not intended to be dangerous, it is meant merely as a challenge. Not knowing the intent, but finding the whole spectacle very threatening, shots were fired by the sailors and several Maoris were killed. The islanders went on the attack, which had not been their original plan, and the crew beat a hasty retreat to the safety of their ship. The Endeavor sailed out of the harbor, having not been able to restock and many of the crew suffered greatly for the next few weeks due to the lack of food. Because of the deprivation suffered as a result of that experience, Captain Cook named that port Poverty Bay and that is how it has been known ever since. At the base of Captain Cooks statue sitting in the harbor in Poverty Bay, is a description of the tragedy and the whole incident is summed up in this simple yet profound sentence. “ When traditional challenges were misunderstood, Maoris were killed”.

While we all enjoy the advantages of immediate communication, I wish at the same time, that we would slow down enough to pay attention to intent and nuance. My friend, Leanne, reminds me that it is important to take the time to try to understand people. In return, we hope that others will take the time to try to understand us as well. I have a refrigerator magnet that simply says, “Assume Positive Intent”. That single thought could have saved Captain Cook and his crew a whole lot of trouble and the same could be said of all of us.

As always we are happy and trying to work hard. We appreciate all of you and the understanding that you have shown to us over the years. Your positive intents have been an example to us of how to go about our lives. We hope to emulate the One whose intent is always a positive in our lives.

Love, Ward and Susan    Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand

 

 

Captain Cook stands watch at the mouth of Poverty Bay

 

This bowling club is just one example of the many organizations that use the Poverty Bay Name

 

Adventures in Paradise Volune 2 #11

 

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on change and how a mystery came to be solved. Reflection is a natural process this time of the year. As we face a new year and all of the possibilities that may be waiting for us, we also look back on what was and what might have been. Changes that we had planned to make last January may or may not have been realized; they may be in process; or they may have been abandoned all together. It occurs to me that many of us are way too impatient. We live in a world of immediacy. It is possible to dial up, punch up or look up almost anything with amazing speed and many of us have become impatient with anything that is not instant.

When we first arrived in New Zealand, we noticed something very odd about the surrounding mountains. The emerald-green hillsides were riddled with little, almost evenly spaced narrow tiers.  It appeared that some giant master carver had traveled through out the island chiseling away at one mountainside after another. It was a mystery to us and quite fascinating to contemplate just how all of those slopes had the same little ridges cut into them. These tiers began at the base of each hill and extended all the way to the top. My first thought was to wonder how in the world the farmers had made all of those ridges. How long must it take to complete such a task and what in the world were they planting? This mystery remained unsolved until one day I had a conversation with a local, who smiled patiently when I asked my question about the origin of the ridges.

 

Ross Honey unraveled the mystery by explaining that contrary to what I had assumed, there had been no planting, rather those ridges were the result of years and years of hillside grazing by cattle and sheep. Due to the fact that some flat lands are far too soggy for grazing because of their nearness to the ocean, the sheep and cattle are herded onto the hillsides. Over the course of many, many years, and in some cases, centuries, those sure-footed animals had grazed their way all across those hills. They were feeding horizontally! Eventually, after years of making pathways into the hillsides, they had created the totally fascinating and mysterious patterns that piqued our curiosity. Ward laughed when I wondered aloud whether any of the animals ever rolled down those hills while enjoying dinner. He assured me that four feet were definitely an advantage over two in this case!

So what does this have to do with change? It occurs to me that these ridges were not made quickly. The change in those hillsides developed over long periods of time and almost always, small changes would not be noticeable from one days’ grazing to the next. Significant changes were occurring, but at a very slow rate and early on, had the animals been removed from the hill, the ground would have returned to its’ original state. Later, after many years, the changes became permanently apparent and finally those hillsides were irreversibly tiered, never to be smooth again. Now, although many sheep and cattle still graze, some of those hills are not used any longer, but they will never revert to their original condition. They have become something else. They are not what they used to be.

Isn’t that the way with us? We think about change or the need to reconfigure our lives. Often we start out with excellent intentions only to find that the actual altering of who we are or what we are doing takes more time than we anticipated. It is possible that our efforts are making little inroads or tiers, if you will, but the change is so gradual that we don’t notice and we stop making the effort. Sometimes we are looking for an instant cure or immediate gratification to prove that we are doing the right thing. We are unable to see any evidence of change although it does exist. Given enough “grazing” time, we would be able to see positive results, but many of us are too impatient to continue. If it isn’t happening now, it isn’t happening! We don’t change because it takes too long.

Conversely, another way of looking at this could be to consider those little habits or changes that we pick up along our way without giving them much thought. There are those insidious little things that seem insignificant at the time. The “one time won’t matter” things. Those “it really isn’t that important anyway” things. Those habits that take hold of us one tiny step at a time, until we find that we have created permanent ruts in our lives. We look back at our once smooth hillsides and wonder how in the world did those ridges happen?

While it may be difficult and to some it may seem almost impossible, we know that we are blessed with the opportunity to make change happen in our own lives. Sometimes the most frightening realization is to know that we are in charge of ourselves. We have been given the opportunity to make choices and through those choices great change can occur. We can remember to be patient with ourselves and with each other and to appreciate that changing most always takes time and is done in small, incremental steps. Those mysterious hillsides didn’t happen quickly. But they happened and they stand as a reminder that small steps can bring about the lovely new patterns that in my opinion, make those hillsides even more beautiful and fascinating than they were originally.

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We are grateful for the new year and the opportunity we have to look forward. We are learning to embrace change and hope that we can learn to be patient in the process.

Love, Ward and Susan     Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand