Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #30

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on perspective and how I learned a very valuable lesson this week on what is truly most important. This blog is less about New Zealand in particular than it is about what is meaningful in general. It is a lesson that I have been taught before, but a refresher course seemed to be in order as it appears that I still have much to learn on this subject. It’s also possible that I simply needed a little nudge in the memory department.

Before we arrived in New Zealand, I would often check the weather forecast by way of the internet. While I understood the universal symbols for rain and wind, I was perplexed by the temperature listings. I remember one day in particular, when the current Auckland temperature was announced as 16 degrees.  While I realized that there was a difference between our Fahrenheit and their Celsius, I had no real perspective on what 16 degrees would feel like. It was not until I actually physically experienced 16 degrees that I began to gain perspective on what constitutes a hot day and what would constitute a cold winter one. I learned a little jingle to help in shifting that perspective: 30 is hot, 20 is nice, 10 is cold and zero is ice! A bit of first-hand experience can go a long way in securing a modified perspective.

My perspective came crashing down around me when I read an e-mail from my son Travis last Sunday evening. Ward and I had just arrived home to Gisborne, after having spent a lovely weekend in Auckland and Hamilton. We had been privileged to participate in a conference with one our church’s twelve apostles, Elder Quentin L. Cook. It had been a touching, spiritual visit and that coupled by the fact that we had spent time with friends and young missionaries that we hadn’t seen in a while, we were left feeling peaceful and relaxed. That was, until the moment that I opened a message from my son. It read: “Something really weird is going on here.”

It’s difficult not to panic or have ones imagination run rampant when receiving such a message. Due to the time difference between New Zealand and Utah, my panic rose, and I was afraid that I would not be able to reach my son as it would be the middle of the night in Salt Lake. My discomfort was growing as I considered the possibility that I would have to sleep with my mounting anxiety until morning. I was beside myself and the knot that had been forming in my stomach was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute! I had no information on what sort of situation that word “weird” encompassed. Was something wrong with my son, my family or a friend? Had there been an accident? Knowing that it had been unusually windy, I wondered if something had happened related to the weather. Did that one descriptive word imply something earth-shattering or simply something unusual? My brain pistons were firing way too quickly for comfort and I was beyond frightened.

When I finally reached my son, nothing he said was making me feel any more relaxed. He related, with a photo included, that “something” or things had taken up residence in my home. The physical evidence in the photo was stomach wrenching and I began to envision just what permanent damage might have been done. While I was mulling over the possibilities, Travis mentioned that this situation was not even the weird thing that he had alluded to in his message. When he went to turn on the lights to gain greater perspective into our resident squatters, the lights starting humming, then grew dim and finally he noticed the adapter box connected to the downstairs TV was smoking. Having turned off all power to the house, Travis was waiting for his mother, ten thousand miles away, to assess the situation and make a decision on what to do next! To add to the frustration, it was now early Sunday morning in Utah and we would have to wait until Monday to contact the exterminator as well as an electrician. There was real concern that there was the possibility of a fire or that the house would need to be torn apart to facilitate new wiring. I was frustrated by the time frame as well as the distance and consumed by worry about what damage had and was being done to a home that I loved. I was tearful and feeling like my world as I knew it had come crashing down. There was also the concern about making long distant decisions and a real fear that my bank account, such as it was would be depleted. At that moment, I lost perspective, and could not imagine anything that could be worse than losing that home.

In my prayers that evening, I did have the presence of mind not to ask for a safe house. Rather I prayed for peace and a calm perspective. I was grateful that two people that I trusted would be helping me to solve the problems. Having just prayed for peace and a calm demeanor, I still found myself falling to sleep amid dreams of impending disaster. I was still concerned about the permanent damage that might have been caused by our invading house guests. I worried that either the house would burn down (which would actually have solved the critter problem) or that being in need of rewiring, my home would have to be torn apart. I closed my eyes that evening, accompanied by dreams of what could happen in the worst case.

The next morning upon awaking and becoming fully aware, I was struck by how peaceful I felt. It was not necessarily an everything will be okay with the house feeling, rather it was a distinct answer to the last question of the evening before. I realized that a worst case situation would not involve the loss of my home; rather it would involve the loss of people that I love who had been a part of that house. It would involve the loss of my faith and the loss of my direction. I realized with clarity that I would be able to accept and handle any problem relating to brick and mortar, but I would not be able to accept the loss of those people and principles that are the structure of my life. Putting everything into perspective, I realized that I could weather the loss of a building, but not a loss of those things that my life is built upon.

So, almost as a postscript, I will thank my friend and neighbor Jeannette Flamming for calling the exterminator. Thank you, Jeannette, for handling guests who entered my house uninvited through my dryer vent. Knowing that you are always there caretaking is a huge blessing for me. Thanks to my son, Travis, who turned off all of the power until an electrician could arrive. He had his own set of nightmares concerning his “inheritance” going up in smoke and I am sorry for his lost sleep. I was able to communicate with him instantly during the electricians visit, so we shared a giant sigh of relief when we were collectively informed that squirrels had eaten their way through an external neutral wire, thus causing the internal electrical problems. Thanks to Rocky Mountain Power for coming so quickly to replace that wire. Shakespeare said that alls well that ends well and I will agree with that! Once again, I have been reminded to keep things in perspective. You can’t take it with you, but relationships can last forever.

As always we are happy and trying to work hard. We weren’t given a new perspective, we just need slight readjustments to our old one. We are grateful for the lessons that we have been taught this week and are so thankful that all of you are part of that slightly revamped perspective. We value the relationships that we have with you and should you need a good exterminator or a superb electrician, we would be happy to share our recommendations with you! And instead of our posting photos this week, please picture in your own minds those experiences and people that you value most from your perspective.

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

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #29

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on whistles, wandering sheep and what it means to be a good shepherd. Several weeks ago, a friend gave Ward a tiny gift. This gift has proven to be the source of a huge lesson, and in the process, it has become the focus of this weeks blog. This is a shepherd’s whistle. This little innocuous looking piece of tin is invaluable to the New Zealand shepherd. It is remarkable in its simplicity while at the same time offering its owner infinite possibilities. It is a director, a communicator and often, literally, a life saver.  

 

This whistle is used by the shepherd to communicate with his shepherding dogs. Each dog has its own distinct set of whistles that only he recognizes. By maneuvering the whistle in his mouth, the shepherd can tell each dog, individually, to turn right or turn left. Those distinct sounds can tell each dog whether to go forward or backwards; whether to stop, start, or go up hill. This communication between a man and his dogs takes time to develop and it requires great patience in the process. The human must learn to maneuver his mouth and that small piece of tin so that a myriad of sounds is produced and the dog must be taught to focus so well that he can selectively hear only those whistles meant for him personally. The end result is that one man or shepherd, can with the help of his dogs, have complete command over a great number of sheep.

 It has been fascinating to observe how one shepherd and three or four dogs are able to direct whole herds of sheep. We observed, spell-bound as this scene unfolded in front of us one day as we were caught in a “sheep jam” on our way to Wairoa. There were about two hundred head of sheep blocking the road, and as we watched, we could also hear the shepherd, whistling for his dogs. Those well-trained dogs reacted to their instructions and that mass of sheep was turned as if of one mind and the whole lot of them was herded into a roadside paddock in a matter of moments. It was fascinating and as we passed, we spoke to the shepherd, who showed us that he keeps that whistle tucked into the side of his cheek for handy access at all times!

As the shepherd observes and directs from a distance, he is also able to discern whether any lamb has strayed. An important lesson to be learned here is that the shepherd does not whistle for the lamb to come home, he whistles for the dog who has the ability to rescue. The lamb doesn’t know that he is lost but the shepherd does. The shepherd relies on others to help find his sheep. He relies on those who have learned to listen to his direction. The dog has learned to listen so that when prompted, he can do what the shepherd asks him to do. His job is to bring the lost sheep home.

In a country where there are only four million people, and over forty million sheep, one could be forgiven the thought that the loss of a lamb or two wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But loss does matter and how would one go about choosing which lamb to lose? As parents, we understand this concept and we can appreciate how the shepherd views his flock and how he seeks to avoid loss at any cost.

Three weeks ago, fifty sheep arrived in our paddock. The land is leased out to the owner of these animals so that they can graze and be well-fed during the winter. We are aware that some of our new friends are destined for motherhood next spring and we are waiting anxiously to see what that August will bring. In the meantime, we have been given a charge to be watchful. We were asked to notify the owner should any lamb seem to be in distress. Now, I will readily admit that I have absolutely no experience with livestock and I am depending on Nephi-raised Ward to take the lead in this. But the reality is that we now feel the responsibility for watching over these sheep and we don’t want to lose even one of them. I have already grown quite attached to several of our wooly friends and at the moment am particularly concerned about two who are lame. I watch with tenderness as those two sheep hobble from one part of the pasture to another as they try to keep up with the flock. I can’t bear the thought of waking up one morning and finding that one of them is missing and I am imagining how our Heavenly Father feels about all of us down here on earth, so far away from home.

I suppose that you could say that Ward and I as well thousands of others like us, are listening to the promptings of the Shepherd as we are working hard to help find His sheep. We have learned to listen and to be grateful for those quiet directions that come specifically to us that help us to know where to look.

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We are so glad that you are not lost to us and that we always know where to find you. Thank you for just being “Ewe” and know that we think of you often.

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

 

 

Our sheep on a frosty morning

 

 

Breakfast is served!

 

I think my friends are warmer than I am since they are all wearing wool!

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #28

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts concerning creativity and the ability to make others smile. Several blogs ago, I mentioned our friend, Samantha, who is blind. You may remember that we were touched when she said that she was grateful for her “disability” as it prevented her from seeing all that was ugly in the world. Although I would not have argued that point with her, I find myself being grateful for the inventivness and creativity of my fellow human beings. I am grateful that I possess the ability to visually appreciate so much of what is around me. There is an added bonus for me, personally, when what I see also makes me smile.

Having said that, I would like to invite you to accompany me on a visit to my favorite little place in New Zealand. Tirau is a small town of just under seven-hundred people. For years, it was only a stop for travelers who were on their way to somewhere else. That was, until the Clothier family decided to invest in a little property and establish some roots.  When the Clothiers arrived in the early 1990s (doesn’t’ that seem like very recent history?) the largest employer as well as the main reason for visiting Tirau was the corrugated steel works. In fact, that single business made Tirau the corrugated iron capital of New Zealand.  It was an impressive title, but a very unimpressive spot on the map. The town, according to Steven Clothier, seemed drab and unhappy in its circumstances. Did I mention that Steven is an artist and is known for creating works of art out less than typical materials?

Steven Clothiers bright idea was to take advantage of the endless supply of scrap corrugated steel that resulted from the iron works. In others eras, especially in Europe, a tradesman would advertise his goods by hanging over the door of his shop a larger-than-life replica of what he was selling. In that manner, one was able to see from a distance just what that particular shop was tendering. You may recall seeing sepia photographs of huge spectacles handing over an optomotrists establishment, or  some sort of food item swinging from chains over a restaurant or diner. Those creations have given way to a host of neon and garishly lighted facades, but Steven decided to turn back the clock and revive the lost art of advertising by use of eye-catching displays. It was a brilliant idea and in the rendering of that idea, the artist has created a booming tourist Mecca. It is creativity at its whimsical best and guaranteed to leave one smiling. It is perfection in corrugated steel. So rather than go into more raptourous declarations, I would simply like to invite you along on one of my strolls through my new favorite guilty pleasure. In a world where there is often too little to smile about, I would like to welcome you to Tirau, New Zealand! Please feel free to linger when and where ever you like. Soak up the ambiance and no fair keeping a straight face!

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We are grateful for the opportunities in life that leave us smiling and acknowledge that often those smiles come as a direct result of having been in contact with you. Thank you for sharing your creativity with us over the years and in the coming days, if there is something that tickles your funny bone, think of us.

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

Welcome to the information center where they might tell you that the town is going to the dogs!

 

The Big Sheep Wool Company where the prices aren't Baaad. (sorry about that one!)

 

The name of this store is of course,"Poppys"

 

This shop gave me "goose bumps"

 

And take a gander at this one!

 

 

I wonder if they have those shoes is a size 8?

 

This wall "leaves" me very impressed

 

New Zealanders actually eat more ice cream per capita than do we in Utah. Hard to believe but true. This is the Kiwi version of the revolving double scoop at Snelgroves!

 

Mr. Licorice outside the candy store looks good enough to eat!

 

This lends a new meaning to the term compact car. I'll bet the gas mileage is cut in half!

 

Bargain hunters can turn into such animals! But the prices were right in this op-shop.

 

 

This is literally a pie-in-the-sky

 

My friends know that I have always said that I will never eat at any place where there is an animal on the roof. I may have to make an exception in this case!

 

 

I hope you loved your visit to Tirau as much as I loved showing you!

Ka kite, and see you next week!

 

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #27

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on appreciating the sacrifices of others. This is the blog that I had designs on posting last week, but we were very busy and rather than quickly tossing off my weekly message, I decided to wait until I could give this subject the attention and respect that I believe it deserves. As I have been pondering on how best to relate the events of two weeks ago, my father and his wartime sacrifices has been in the forefront of my thoughts. Perhaps someone you know may elicit the same response. For our adopted country it has been a month of memories centering on courage, loss and lessons learned.

April 25 marks the commemoration of Anzak day. This year was the one- hundredth anniversary of the battle of Gallipoli. Combined Australian and New Zealand forces (hence the acronym Anzac) suffered greatly as they fought against the Ottoman Empire during the first- world war. Originally this day was intended to honor those gallant men who, beginning on April 25^th, 1915, while heavily outnumbered, continued to behave heroically in the face of staggering losses. In later years, this day of remembrance was expanded to include all Australians and New Zealanders who served and died in all wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations. The focus is to remember and appreciate the contributions and suffering of all those who have served.

While I am aware that we in the United States, have opportunities to remember and reverence our service members, I will admit to being totally in awe of the scope and breadth of the Anzak ceremonies. In almost every community in New Zealand, plans were laid for day-long observances. We were aware that Australia’s plans were moving along in the same direction, while in Gallipoli, the town was bracing for a surge of visitors and dignitaries that would most probably double its population. Many veterans and their families booked passage on cruise ships which would sit off the coast so that those on board could view the services from the decks. Under the circumstances, it would be difficult not to become caught up in the emotions that were permeating the atmosphere. For days before the actual date, it seemed that the entire population of Gisborne was wearing the red poppy that stands as a symbol for all war dead. It was a powerful visual reminder of the ultimate sacrifice made by so many in the face of oppression.

In an interesting side note, the war memorial honoring the soldiers who lost their lives at Gallipoli, was severely damaged by the earthquake of 2007.  The nine-foot statue of a soldier standing at rest which had stood on top of the cenotaph, rotated during the tremors and when the ground stopped moving, citizens were amazed to see that the soldier was no longer facing the river. He was now gazing across the harbor at Kaiti Hill! Because of the concern that he might actually topple from his perch, the serviceman was removed during repairs and was only returned to his original position a few days before Anzak day.

In the days and weeks before the commemoration, we learned much more than most of us wanted to know about the hell that is war. Newspapers were filled with interviews and old clippings from men and women who had seen first-hand what it was like to live in muddy trenches and fox holes. On TV, there was endless jumpy footage of actual conditions during the siege. The lack of sanitation, disgusting food, and sickness that ran rampant was displayed in horrifying detail. For the first time, I realized that being shot while in combat was often considered a blessing when compared to the spectre of living in inhumane conditions for days and weeks at a time. The specifics of the conditions that these heroes endured is beyond description, and now , I have gained insight into what my father, serving in the Pacific Theater in World War Two, must have suffered through as well. I had a clearer sense of why so many have said so little about their experiences in combat. I can now better understand why my father changed the subject when I would question him about his “adventures” during the war. As a young person, I thought that there was a tinge of romance associated with a handsome soldier in a crisp uniform going off to a war in a foreign land. I now know better.

April 25^{th  2015}  was a solemn day. There were no fireworks, no floats and no marching bands, although there were bagpipers. The predawn parade consisted of men in wheelchairs and other elderly participants who proudly wore their service uniforms. There were children and grandchildren of deceased soldiers who also proudly wore the medals that had often been awarded posthumously to family members. Many citizens were carrying framed photos of loved ones pictured in uniform and nurses from the local hospital marched in unison while wearing the traditional red cape of a service nurse. In the dark, the parade followed by the onlookers ,walked silently across the bridge towards the war memorial cenotaph where prayers, a flag-raising ceremony and a rededication of the momument took place. The Australian and New Zealand national anthems were sung and at the end, we all quietly and I believe, thoughtfully, strolled slowly back across the bridge to face a day of activities all centered around remembering.

I am grateful for the opportunity to have experienced Anzak day with our new friends in Gisborne. We were invited to participate in other observances during the day and we are so grateful for the opportunity to learn and gain greater understanding. The world becomes a much smaller place when you gain an appreciation for the sacrifices of others and when you begin to understand what that ultimate sacrifice meant to the loved ones left at home. I am truly grateful and humbled by what I have learned and experienced here and I won’t forget.

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We appreciate the many forms of sacrifice that we see from the people in our lives. We are grateful for the examples that you are to us and we will remember.

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

 

Hundreds  gathered in the predawn darkness to be part of the Anzak ceremony and rededication of the cenotaph at the marina. It was reverent and respectful.

 

 

Local artists created the ceramic poppies that adorned the lawn around the monument. No two were exactly alike, which referenced just how differently and individually people had suffered. 

 

After the ceremony, we all walked quietly back across the bridge as we anticipated what the rest of the day held in store for us.

 

A tribal community meeting place is called a Marae. The building on the right is considered sacred ground and one must be invited to enter by a member of the tribe. Special ceremonies as well as funerals are held here.  Notice that the carvings are very reminiscent of American Indian totem designs. This is the Muriwai Marae and we were honored to be invited to participate.

Veterans and family members of servicemen stand at attention before their march onto the Marae. The commander at left is giving last minute marching orders. As each of these participants entered the Marae grounds, they were given a wreath to lay at a special place inside the building.  

 

 

This distinguished group were the first to be invited onto the Marae. Inside the afternoon passed as touching stories and tributes were shared.

 

 

Eventually we were invited to enter as well and I would not have missed the experience for the world.

 

 

This is an Anzak cookie. It was not love at first taste for me until I was educated on the reason it was invented. Men were starving and missing home at the same time. Local women started baking a "biscuit" that was nutritious and almost indestructible and seemed to stay semi-fresh forever. These cookies have become a tradition in New Zealand and have been part of care packages sent to service personnel since the first-world war. The recipe includes oats, coconut, nuts and butter. Knowing how welcome this cookie would have been to an Australian or Kiwi who was hungry and missing home, I suddenly developed an appreciation for them and I now consider them quite delicious. 

 

The "Anzak" soldier is now standing at rest back where he belongs.

 

And once again he is facing the Gisborne harbor. Welcome home! 

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #26

Kia ora everyone! Our excellent adventure continues with some additional thoughts on the perfection of timing and the advantage of listening. It is also the story of a long-overdue birthday cake and a bag of apples.  Last week. you may recall that I shared a “moving” story with you. That story concerned the domino effect brought about when Ward and I acted collectively on a prompting that we had received individually. Last week, I apologized for the length of that particular blog, so rather than rehearsing it all over again, please feel free to refer to blog number 25 for further details. I will add, however that our roommates, Francis and Peter Burt, have now relocated to the MTC in Manila and are ready to begin their great adventure in the Philippines.

One of my life long philosophies concerns that fact that everyone should have a birthday cake on their special day every year. Presents are optional in my mind, but a birthday cake is essential. I have fond memories of growing up in a house where once a year on June 30, I would wake up extra early and bake my mother a cake. I would always try to be extra quiet so that my mother would be surprised and it was always such a relief when the cake was finished before my mother woke. Mom would emerge from her bedroom, yawning and stretching and she would always look totally surprised by the sight of my freshly-baked creation. It never occurred to me until years later, that when my mother finally presented herself in the kitchen, it was well past the time she would normally have awakened. I am grateful that my mother was thoughtful and patient enough to stay “asleep” until I had time to finish her cake. What timing!!  Now to my utter embarrassment, I am also grateful that she never mentioned the pile of dirty dishes, pans and counter tops that were lurking in the background. After presenting her with her cake, I usually realized that there was somewhere else I needed to be and dashing out of the house, I left the birthday girl to enjoy her cake while cleaning up the mess created by its invention.   My mother has been gone for fourteen years and still one of my biggest regrets is that I never told her how utterly sorry I was for leaving her in such a state year after year. Sorry Mom!

But I digress as this is actually the story of a much more recent cake. We went to visit a little family that we have grown to love. In the process of that visit, one of the little girls quietly showed me a package that she had obviously wrapped by herself. With her hand to my ear, she whispered that tomorrow was her mother’s birthday and she had wrapped up one of her favorite toys to present to her mommy when she woke up. Listening to that little voice, I was suddenly transported back to my own childhood and all of those surprise birthday cakes that I had presented my own mother. I asked Ashlyn if they were going to have a cake and she said no. That simple one-word answer came with a prompting that a birthday cake was, in this case, a necessity.

So, as I had done so many other mornings light years ago, I rose early and baked a chocolate cake. Ward went off in search of birthday candles and by midmorning, we had a chocolate cake with chocolate icing (another personal philosophy is that one can never have too much chocolate!) complete with sprinkles and thirty-two candles.  I found a lovely serving tray in my new kitchen and we excitedly hopped into the car, eager to make our delivery. While my mother’s reaction was always predicted in my imagination, Antazias reaction was totally unexpected. I did expect that she would be surprised, but I hadn’t factored in the tears that were shed. Antazia expressed her surprise and her gratitude then said something that I asked her to repeat because I thought that I hadn’t heard correctly. I thought that she was telling me that this was the only birthday cake that she was to receive this year and I was so glad that I had again listened. But that is not what she said. Her actual words were, “This is the only birthday cake that I have ever received.” Antazia had grown up as an abused child and as part of that abuse, she was not allowed to celebrate her birthday. And as a young mother with limited means, a cake was considered a frivolity. Again, as I stood in her kitchen, holding her youngest little girl, I was struck by the fact that Antazia needed that birthday cake. And again, just like our experiences of the preceding week, that need was being relayed to us and all we had to do was act.

We are being tutored and we are learning to listen and to follow through. It should then have come as no surprise to us when the very next day, after having harvested some Granny Smith apples off of our tree and delivering them to our blind friend, Samantha, her husband expressed his gratitude by simply telling us that his wife had been craving apples all day!

As always, we are happy and working hard. We are grateful for the lessons that we are learning and for the touching and tender moments that we are experiencing. Although we don’t always know why we are prompted to do something, it is always a tender mercy when we are given the gift of knowing . We also don’t understand how the stars aligned so perfectly that we find all of you in our lives, but we are glad that they did! Please think of us whenever you enjoy a piece of chocolate cake or bite into a crisp Granny Smith!

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

 

 

Antazia and her first ever birthday cake

I think that "Halo" is the perfect name for this little angel.

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #25

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on timing. At the moment, we are experiencing a serious case of having been in the right place at the right time. and we have once again been reminded of how important it is to act on the promptings that we receive. It is the story of new homes, helping others and appreciating how far reaching one simple act can be.

A little over a month ago, Ward and I were on our way to Hamilton to attend a conference. We were traveling down a by now, very familiar country road, when we both had the impression that we needed to turn off and visit a couple who had just been called to the Philippines.  The Burts had decided to sell their home in order to help fund their mission, and when we noticed the “For Sale” sign, we both felt the prompting to stop in and visit with them before they left the country. Having never been to their home before, we chose the first driveway that we found and luckily noticed their car  parked in front of a sprawling ranch house.

This home, viewed down a tree-lined drive was surrounded by paddocks, and orchards. Ward, who is a country boy at heart, was in awe of the open spaces and the lack of neighbors. He felt that eventually the Burts would be sorry to have sold this little piece of paradise, but knew that they were doing what they thought was most feasible under the circumstances. Time was also a huge factor, and the clock was ticking. Francis and Peter were given a total of six weeks to prepare and the strain of that undertaking was showing on their faces.

In addition to the dilemma over the sale of their home, Francis, especially, was concerned about what they would be facing in the Philippines. In truth, they had expected that their call would require them to serve much closer to home. They were anticipating a call to Australia, or even possibly somewhere in their own country. The Philippines was not even on their radar and they had no idea where or how to begin. To add to the anxiety, unlike Ward and I, who were each allowed two fifty-pound bags, the Burts had the extra challenge of packing eighteen months into one suitcase each. Francis off-handedly mentioned just how nice it would be if she could actually talk with someone in the Philippines so that she could know more what to expect. I mentioned that friends we had made in the MTC on our first mission, Brent and Janet Barlow, we currently serving in that country and that when we arrived in Hamilton that evening, we would try to contact them by e-mail.

We sent two e-mails that night from our hotel in Hamilton. The first was to the Barlows and it turns out that not only were they in the same mission, but the Burts were actually replacing them! By the next morning, the Barlows had contacted Francis Burt and she had the information she needed to move ahead, with her planning. In a moment of clarity, I realized that we were the only people in New Zealand, and perhaps the whole world, who knew both the Burts and the Barlows! What an amazing coincidence that proved to be! The second e-mail we sent that evening was on a whim. We were so concerned that the Burts would have to give up their home that Ward wrote and offered another alternative. If the house didn’t sell, we could move in and the church would pay rent on their home for the duration of our mission. Peter Burt thanked us for the idea and said that depending on the outcome of the auction, he would consider our suggestion as plan “B”. We heard nothing more about this and considered the matter closed until a little over a week ago.

Early on Thursday morning, the phone rang and the Burts informed us that the house had not sold and asked if  we  would still be interested in moving. In a fortuitous meeting the previous Sunday, Francis Burt literally bumped into the Elder in charge of missionary housing, who happened to be in Gisborne for the weekend. In discussing their plight, they had asked Elder Saunders if the church would possibly be willing to move us into their home. The brief discussion centered around the fact that time was of the essence and that the Burts were quickly running out of options. Our moving has had much less to do with our enjoying a pleasant home in the country than it has to do with the fact that two people who were trying diligently to be of service needed assistance. It was not about us.

The day before we were to move in, the Burts learned that their departure was to be delayed by two weeks, so the four of us have been roommates for the last few days! I have had a little window of insight into polygamy as I have shared a kitchen with another woman, and it’s HER kitchen! It seemed like a case of bad luck and terrible timing, until the Burts discovered that neither their new charge cards, or bank accesses were working. There was also a problem with insurance activation and had it been discovered after their arrival in the Philippines, it would have been disastrous.  The Burts now had an extra two weeks to work out their banking and insurance problems. An added blessing of the two-week delay was that there has been time for them to visit with the only son who was not able to visit them in Gisborne before their departure.

Last week three of our dear young sister missionaries were awakened at 4:30 am by someone trying to break into their flat. They were frightened and it served to confirm their unease about the location of their apartment. They stayed with us for three days (the Burts being out of town) as we were searching for a new, safer home for them. This morning, Elder Saunders (remember he is in charge of housing) called to ask us to stand ready on Friday to help the sisters move. You will never imagine where they are moving unless you have a sense of the supreme case of perfect timing involved in our saga. If you do have that sense, you may have already guessed that the sisters are moving into 159 Clifford. If that address sounds the least bit familiar, it might be because it is our old address! And the last amazing plus side to all of this is that the other set of sisters are moving into that home as well. All five young women now will be living in a home in a quiet village neighborhood! The house will also be filled with the same Salvation Army furniture that Ward and I enjoyed for the last six months!

After relating the tale of our adventures in moving, it may be worth remembering that all of this occurred due to the fact that Ward and I felt impressed a month ago to stop and say hello to new friends. We have been struck by the way that simple visit has turned into a blessing for so many and we are grateful. Often we act on those quiet “suggestions” and we never know why. This is one of those rare, but sweet occasions where we have been fortunate to see the end from the beginning and we are humbled by the experience. The added bonus here, is that in eighteen months, the Burts will have their beautiful country home waiting for them when they return to Gisborne. It will not belong to someone else. By the way, our bonus is that the sheep will arrive here next week and we are looking forward to welcoming their babies in the spring. We can hardly wait!

We are struck by the perfection of the timing of the events of the last month. We are so grateful to have felt the unmistakable influence and guidance of Someone who always knows best. I cannot imagine any way that we, personally, could have orchestrated the events of the last few weeks and had the outcome be so perfect for so many. I have counted several little miracles and I overwhelmed by the experience.

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We are also grateful for the perfect timing that has put all of you into our lives. You each in your own way are miracles and we are grateful. We are also grateful for the opportunity of living so far out in the country that we do not draw our bedroom curtains at night. Instead, we watch as the moon and clouds drift lazily across the starlit night sky and are awakened by brilliant sunrises every morning. All is well.

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

 

Peter and Francis Burt welcome us to our new home

 

The Burts are standing in front of their kitchen door. If you look to the right, you will see a sun-filled living room (in New Zealand it is called a lounge)

 

Our favorite young women who just moved into our old house. Please note the broad grins as they welcome us to our old/their new home.

 

 

Looking east out of our bedroom windows. The windows continue around the corner to the north 

 

This photo was taken from our bed this morning at 6:15. It is glorious!

 

Ward took a walk this morning and found this little pond and waterfall

 

Please disregard the couple in the foreground and focus on their backyard!

Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #24

Kia ora! Our Excellent adventure continues with some thoughts on an old saying. We have been learning here in Gisborne how important it is to “Keep Calm and Carry On.” Our beautiful little city of thirty-four thousand, is surrounded by rolling pasture lands which abruptly give way to the forests that I have mentioned in previous blogs. It is no exaggeration to say that in less than a five minute drive from our house in the heart of suburban Gisborne, we can observe deer grazing among cattle on grassy hillsides. Our new home is a charming combination of city and country. To describe the areas surrounding Gisborne as bucolic, would be an understatement.

 

With the combination of city and country comes an interesting view on travel in particular and going about the business of life in general. That combination demands an adjustment of personal timetables and often schools us in the idea that we must learn to slow down, accept patiently and go with the flow. One must plan ahead. But planning ahead for the unexpected also involves learning to accept and often embrace the challenges associated with acceptance. Such was a journey we undertook last weekend as we traveled up the coast to Ruatoria to fulfill a speaking assignment.

Ruatoria is a small village about 130 kilometers away from Gisborne. That one hundred thirty kilometers translates to about  eighty miles. and at home, we would calculate that traveling early on a Sunday morning, our journey would take roughly about an hour and a half. Having factored in the narrow winding roads we allowed for two and a half hours, which turned out to be an excellent idea as we ran into an unexpected “traffic” jam halfway to our destination. No amount of muttering under one’s breath, honking (not really a good idea here) or revving of the engine was going to make those cows move any faster. So, we stayed calm, enjoyed the view and eventually, carried on. Staying calm provided a peaceful moment and delightful photos.

 

 

As we pulled up to the tiny chapel, we again remarked on the beauty that is evident almost everywhere one looks in New Zealand. The building looked as if it were just dropped into the middle of a paddock, and in fact, that country setting became the reason for our second challenge of the day. As we watched, we noticed that the branch president was pulling into the parking lot with several large water containers loaded onto the bed of his truck.  Alighting from the truck and hoisting one of the jugs out of the bed, he shook our hands and noticing the perplexed looks on our faces, he laughingly explained the reason for the extra water. Sometime during the night a thirsty horse tried to help himself to the water in the tank behind the church. In doing so, that critter broke the tap on the tank and drained it dry. The church had no water, so one of the jugs was placed in each bathrooms. I had never had the experience of having to flush a toilet by hoisting fifteen gallons of water, but yes, I stayed calm and carried on, as did everyone else at church that day!

 

The branch always feeds the missionaries and any guests directly after the services, so we were invited to stay for kai (lunch). Knowing that preparation without running water would be a problem, the president’s wife laid out a beautiful, but very simple meal for us. We were touched by her inventivness, her creativity and her thoughtfulness. We enjoyed a delightful and delicious meal with our new friends and no one even noticed the absence of water. Conversation was lively, often referencing the nameless horse who had made that late night raid on an innocent water tank. While enjoying the afternoon, I did have the thought that a lack of such a resource at home might have thrown me into worrisome fits, but here again, I was being tutored on gracious acceptance of what was and we enjoyed a sweet repast as we stayed calm and carried on.

 Our lunch consisted of mandarins, melon, grapes, nuts, homemade fruit bread and hard-boiled eggs

Ward and I spoke that day, in a branch numbering about twenty people and we were so happy that at the end of our time in Ruatoria, we had twenty new friends. Such is the nature of small congregations. Everyone seems to be related and you find yourself being adopted into the family as well. We had one person who didn’t know any better, suggest that it might be a waste of our time to travel so far to speak to so few. I am certain that you might be able to appreciate our response to that comment. It was calm, we all carried on and by so doing, that Sunday will become one of the memories that we will cherish the most. We would not have changed a thing. It was intimate, unexpected and left us with new stories to tell about people who are teaching us daily how to accept graciously the myriad of  “opportunities” to stay calm and carry on each day. We are grateful for the lessons that we are learning.

We are grateful also, for the examples that you have been to us as we watch you carry on in less than ideal times. Much like our friends here, we have witnessed so many of you behave with calmness and dignity when it was not always easy to do so. We aspire to be the same kind of examples to you. Thank you and carry on.

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