The Tale of the Passe-partout

Passe-partout: something that passes everywhere or provides universal passage, OR a simple picture frame. 

We had hoped, after our troubles from the middle of our trip in Denver when we discovered Shirley’s passport missing, that we could get things solved in California. The red tape in Arkansas tangled us up in that case and we had to have our marriage certificate sent to New York. We had been able to make the last appointment available on the day before we were to fly back to Belgium. We had no idea if we would be able to get a new passport for Shirley in one day or not, but the adventure had begun and we had to carry on. 

As we said goodbye to Scott’s mom, we looked forward to our last day together with Sean and Jill in New York. We had an appointment at the passport agency, but had no idea how long it would take. Pictures of the DMV rose in our minds, especially since they specifically warn those with an appointment to come “at least” 30 minutes prior to the appointment to make sure that you get in on time. 

Arriving at the address we saw a line already posted outside the building, snaking its way to the entrance where guards helped the line to enter in an orderly manner. When we approached, they asked if we had an appointment and then waved us in in front of those who were standing in line. We passed through security (remove belt and all metal, place everything in a basket, walk through the metal detector) and went on to the elevator which took us to the 10th floor. 

Upstairs we joined a room full of people sitting patiently and a line of people crawling around the room until they came to the windows at the front behind which someone was telling them something. We got in line and crawled. When it was our turn we were given a paper to fill in (even though I had filled this paper in online) and told to return with the paper filled in completey and correctly. 

The form said it could only be filled in in black ink. My pen was blue. I didn’t know if I should wait in line again in order to ask if I could use blue or not. I skipped in line and asked quickly at the window and was informed that blue was fine. When we finally returned to the window with our filled-in form, we were given a number for another room and told that it might be a few hours. 

We did not want to leave and run the chance of not getting back in, so we found a place to sit and wait. This was easier said than done. Both rooms were filled to the brim, as was the hall and all the available wall space to lean onself against. Thankfully, a younger woman and her mother saw us and squinched together to create space for one to sit. Later, someone was called up, leaving space for me to sit as well. 

These rooms were filled with all sorts of people and I longed to know some of the stories. Some were there with their children, others with what must be a new spouse. Some spoke foreign languages to one another. Most simply stared ahead and waited to hear their name called off. The mother and daughter next to us were Spanish-speaking. A later group of ladies spoke Creole and I recognized the bit of French in it. There was an Asian couple with their young son. A young anglo man waited. Perhaps a student or getting a passport for the first time. Everyone had a story. 

As the people exited the room to our right, the room we waited to enter when they would call our name, they mostly left with smiles on their faces. They each had a blue piece of paper and most were clutching their new, dark blue passport. Some were met by those who were waiting for them in the hall or adjoining room. Some were simply in a hurry and left quickly with concern and stress grimacing their features. And then we heard Shirley’s name. 

This meant that we could now join the line crawling to the front of the second room where people behind glass were talking to those approaching and handing out a blue piece of paper and a passport. As we got closer to the window, a man approached with his daughter. He simply walked up to the window and stated that he had to catch a flight in 90 minutes – could he skip the line? The person behind the window informed him that many people were waiting and also had urgent appointments. Several in the line informed him of the same. Still, he was able to get someone to allow him in front. I wonder if he made his flight. The passport was for his daughter. 

We arrived at the window and received the blue paper (it held our important papers, including our marriage certificate) and the passport for Shirley. It was done! We had made it. We understood completely the looks on the faces of all those who had preceded us out of the room. An involuntary smile was the least that would happen, simply because the stress was over. We smiled at those we passed as we went to the elevator and exited the building. 

The sun was shining outside, we were joining Sean and Jill for dinner and we were finally, formally at peace with the world of administration and bureaucracy – for now, in this country. We enjoyed the New York City sunset in a picture-perfect evening, thankful for how we had been blessed, not only with the outcome of this adventure, but with the experience of being carried along the whole time.

The Tale of the Big Apple

New York, New York. New York State of Mind. Feelin’ Groovy. Yes, we made it to the Big Apple, New York City. All sorts of preconceptions and expectations which are met by reality and true experience. Our arrival was no let down, in any case. As befits a city of this size, this tale will trail on longer than most. But we did not have to rush anywhere, so we could simply sit back and experience things as they came. 

Our first Lyft ride ever went surprisingly well, considering we only had wifi (and therefore contact with the service) until we stepped outside the airport to wait for our car. Thankfully, the info on the car was loaded before we stepped outside. The drive to our AirBnB was a journey of sights and sounds of city, highway and neighborhood. Our temporary home was a 10-15 minute walk from Sean and Jill’s place in a row of brownstones in a mostly Puerto Rican neighborhood (or so it seemed). Lots of sounds and smells and life. 

After meeting our hosts and getting installed, we were able to hug on Sean who had come to take us to his place – a sort of warehouse where they live together with some others in a sort of communal arrangement. This means that they have an amazing home atmosphere with a private space for a reasonable price in the city. It even includes a garden area where Jill was already growing cucumber, zucchini, eggplant and more. We enjoyed a meal together, catching up on the time we had missed. Simply being able to sit together, to touch, to laugh or be concerned as parents will be, thrilled our hearts. The dinner in the garden with fairy lights shining in the late New York city evening seemed the perfect atmosphere for another song. 

Plans were made and adapted. Scott’s mom was to arrive from upstate New York that evening, but things went a bit awry. Still, all worked out for a couple of days exploring in the concrete tourist-teeming jungle of The City. It worked out extremely well in the end that Scott’s mom (Patty) had her hotel right downtown on Times Square. This turned out to be our Headquarters, watering hole, rest place and cooling-off spot. Sean and Jill met us at the metro near our place and we headed out to Manhattan, meeting up at Patty’s in Time Square. 

What is it like to see your son after years? How do you first react to meeting your granddaughter-in-love for the first time and seeing your grandson? How good is it to hold on tight and take the time to share thoughts. Suffice it to say that we spent plenty of time before heading out into the city, but it was a wonderful homecoming. We talked excitedly about our plans for the day – a bus tour to all the sites so that we could see plenty and still save some energy. You can see our pictures here. 

The Chrysler building, Macy’s, a bit of Chinatown and Little Italy, the UN and much more. The fun of the bus tour was being together, hearing some history and getting to see so much more than we would have if we were to have tried to walk. Scott was intrigued by the repetitive ‘zorro’ slash of the fire escapes on many of the buildings. Of course we were tourists, but we were also family together. 

Visits often revolve around food. We have to eat, after all. And eating together is a way of sharing. But Sean and Jill are vegans. Scott and Shirley eat gluten-free. And all of us want to eat something delicious. We were blessed by Jill considering and finding good compromises. So we stopped at Chipotle in the city for lunch and headed out for the cable-car to Roosevelt Island after taking a side trip to Trump Tower. It began to sprinkle a bit and Patty was reaching the end of her energy, so Jill sat with a monkey umbrella protecting grandma while the rest caught a glimpse of ‘Manhattanhenge’. 

After returning to Patty Headquarters, watering up and leaving mom/grandma to rest for the evening (but she has her own very intriguing story if you are interested), we visited Grand Central Station, picked up some food at a street vendor and ate it in the rain in a local park before heading back home for the day. Amazing how much can be packed into one day in an amazing place with people you love. 

The following day we met Sean and Jill and worshipped together with the church in Manhattan before searching again for a good place to share a meal. This time it was a place with more vegan options and gave us a good opportunity to discuss the morning’s content in depth. The sun continued shining as we walked through Central Park, enjoying climbing rocks, listening to a cappella shooby-wap and wondering at some strange bird habits. We picked up Patty at headquarters and marveled at her Warrior Grandma Shoes. She was ready for the day (and they truly helped). 

Adventure is around any corner, wherever you go. That always depends on your attitude, not the circumstances. So we met the adventure of the metro (and all the stairs that one needs to climb in order to participate in this activity) as we made our way to the Staten Island Ferry. Scott is his mother’s son – both spent much of the time either meeting new people or taking pictures – of Lady Liberty, Ellis Island, of the city in the background, sprouting from the water. And this could be repeated once we made it to the other side and returned. 

From the ferry we were just around the corner from Freedom Tower and the 9/11 monuments. The setting sun glowed solemnly as we considered the history of this spot. So many thoughts and considerations tumbling around in our brains as we watched the tears streaming down the monuments. It had only been two days, but our time was almost ending.

Back at headquarters in Time Square we decided on a place to eat and sat to table together for the last time – at this time. Jill had an appointment the next day, so Patty would say goodbye to her granddaughter-in-love. After returning to Patty headquarters one last time we got some pictures at Time Square and headed home for the evening. 

The third day was a day of tasks and trips. Scott, Shirley and Sean took Patty to Penn Station where she would catch her train back to Rochester (another exciting adventure, but that is not our story to tell). We then stopped at the food court for something to eat (this time from a very vegan restaurant) before we headed off to the conclusion of The Passed Port: picking up Shirley’s passport. But that is another story to be told next time. Our time after that episode – several hours later – was filled with pizza, people-talk, strolls along the river in the sunset and ice cream in the evening glow of the city. This was our goodbye to our daughter-in-love, since we would not see her the next morning before we left for our flight back to Belgium. 

After an amazing walk the next day over the Brooklyn Bridge and lunch in Chinatown, our visit to the Big Apple ended as it had begun, with a Lyft and the airport. The city had been all that we had heard. It had wooed us, intrigued us, wearied us and shooed us on our way, leaving us with the taste of more and a desire to come again. If our children remain there, struggling to fit in and make their mark on this behemoth which swallows grateful inhabitants, then we will return and enjoy once again the adventures that we encounter along the way. 

Tales of a marriage entangled in red tape

We have been married almost 35 years. We know that for sure. We have never really needed our marriage certificate in order to prove it, we remember the ceremony, the people who were present. Even on this trip we were able to reminisce with Daniel who sang that day, with Tonita who was maid-of-honor and with Bret who was best man. We don’t have a lot of pictures of the day (We left that very evening and took the film with us; it later died in our refirgerator before we got the chance to develop it), but we all remember the day. 

We remember looking into each other’s eyes. Saying our vows. Listening to Ron (Bret’s dad) pronounce us “man and wife”, and signing the cretificate. We were married on Friday, December 21, 1984. It was just before Christmas, which ended up playing a big part in this tale, although we did not know that until now. By Sunday we were in Abilene, Texas, beginning our life with the congregation of 11th and Willis (which you can read about in The Tale of the Old Friend). We still remember that afternoon in the church building of Cloverdale church of Christ in Searcy, Arkansas. We know we have been married for almost 35 years. 

Several years back, when we “moved” internally in our house here in Belgium, we somehow lost some of our important papers. We have been looking for them ever since, but thought it wise, since we would be in the US, to get copies. That is why we picked up a copy of Shirley’s birth certificate in Omaha and ordered a copy of our marriage certificate while in Minnesota. We ordered it online, since we would not be visiting Arkansas. No problem, everything is done digitally these days. As it turned out, it was good that we order this, since it was also the only piece of paper that could prove that Shirley was actually named “Raab” (see the Tale of the Pssed Port”). 

We had gotten news that all would be sent to Long Beach (which is where I knew we would be long enough to pick up mail). We even received news from the secretary at Long Beach that mail from Arkansas had arrived. Now all we had to do was pick it up. We had an appointment planned at the passport agency in Los Angeles for two days after we arrived in Long Beach. Then we would have everything solved. 

This, of course, did not account for red tape, Christmas, a story we have not yet heard (and may never hear). You see, what was waiting for us in Long Beach, the letter from Arkansas, was not our marriage certificate copy which would help us at the passport agency appointment early on a Wednesday morning in LA, it was a leter stating that they could not find any record of Scott Patrick Raab marrying Shirley Patrick Walker on December 21, 1984 in Searcy, Arkansas. I still have no idea how they gave Shirley my middle name. But I understood immediately that this meant that we would not be able to go to the passport agency on Wednesday morning. 

Rescheduling for the passport in Los Angeles was not possible. The only opening was in New York City on July 8 (the day before we would fly back to Belgium). More on that story later, what we were mostly wondering and needing was information about our marriage certificate. We still needed this piece of paper. How could they have gotten it wrong? And what were we to do now? 

We re-applied for a new certificate copy and made sure that all information was correct. We called to see how quickly this could be sent and found out that it could take up to two weeks (longer than we were in Long Beach). Within a few days we had notice that our new request had been processed – a letter arrived at the church building…. Stating that there was no record of a marriage between Shirley Patrick Walker and Scott Patrick Raab. Once again, the digital demon had done its work. Or at least that is what we thought. How could they keep getting the name wrong? 

We called Little Rock to get more information and that is when I met Tywanna. In the next few days Tywanna would come to know my phone number and name (“Well, hello mr. Scott”) quite well as we tried to get things worked out. In the end she stated, “I am glad it all worked out. Now I don’t want to hear from you again.” It was only because of her perseverance that we really are (officially, according to Arkansas) married. 

Through several days of telephone tag, calling to Searcy, back to Little Rock, and back to Searcy we weer able to find the correct record (which could not be found in Little Rock). It was Monday, July 1 at almost 4:30 pm. July 4th everything would be closed and we would leave Long Beach on July 5th. This was our last chance. Tywanna made sure it all got off on time. What arrived was incorrect. 

We found out that: 1) the person who filed our information at city hall in Searcy did a sloppy job. Our names were incorrect, our birthdates were all the same, even the date that it was filed was impossible (filed as January 1, 1984 – when the marriage date was clearly stated as December 21, 1984). That is a story we may never hear, but the filing was made on December 24 – Christmas eve and a Monday. What it meant was that we had to call Tywanna again. She was not happy, but she got right onto it. 

We called the clerk in Searcy again and she fixed everything while I waited on the phone and then faxed it to Tywanna. Tywanna had to go to another part of the office to find the person to Fed-Ex it to us, but by now it would not make it to us in Long Beach. It was already July 3rd. So we had to have it sent to Sean’s address in New York City. He lives in a warehouse. We prayed that all would go well and arrive on time. More importantly, that it would be correct. 

Before we arrived in New York on the 5th we received notice from Sean that all had arrived safely. We were finally officially married! Mind you, we had had a marriage certificate which was correct since the day we were married. Somehow, that offical piece of paper, which we still hope to find, never made it into the archives of Searcy or Little Rock, Arkansas. But it’s there now. We are so thankful for Tywanna (she went above and beyond) but we are more than thankful for the almost 35 years we have been together – with and without red tape. 

The Tale of the Long Beach

Where would you like to escape to on vacation? Many people think of sitting in the sun on a snady beach, enjoying the sun and sea, listening to gulls and the crashing of the waves. Others imagine climbing a mountain and tasting from crystal clear mountain streams while calling out echoes from the mountaintop or hearing the eagle cry in the distance. We have been blessed by how God has supported us in our efforts to serve Him through the years in that we get to travel all over the US, visiting our church homes who for so long have supported us and love not only us but those we work with as well. 

This means that we also have a home in Long Beach, California. The last time we were here in 2016 was the last time that Sean would travel with us, so we made a road trip (as we had done with Stephan’s last trip with us in 2010). In the begin years, our visits here (Long Beach has supported us from the beginning in 1990) included visits to Disneyland and all sorts of fun places for the boys (provided lovingly by members). But this year we were traveling from an empty nest to the city on the beach. 

Now we had time to spend with so many who have been family and have become the deepest of friends. And we also were blessed to make new friends, as often happens on our trips, since we are visiting a congregation that we have not seen for three years. New people arrive whom we have never met. In this case that included the new preacher and his wife and the other missionary family supported by the congregation. 

We knew the Brittons, who have worked in Uganda for 13 years; we simply had never met them. For years we and they would be back on furlough, visiting in Long Beach, but always at different times, often missing each other by a matter of a week or two. This was the first time we finally got to sit down together and share stories and get to know one another. Most of this was done around good potluck-style meals, of course. We even shared good fun at a church party around the 4th of July. 

Our home time here for the past 12 years has been the beuatiful home of Kerry and Marisol Jablonski. From their home just around the corner from the church building (by California standards) with swimming pool, putting course, precious cats and more, we have always been welcomed as family from the first moment. Stephan and Sean have helped prepare for and serve at a family wedding, and we have all been welcomed by all the members of the family. 

This year was no different. After spending an evening together watching the sun set behind the Queen Mary or visiting with other church family, we would come back to the house on the golf course, be welcomed by the cat and our family who has adopted us with whom we could sit comfortably on the couch and discuss the day or any other topic. Ice cream or some other snack in hand, feet tucked comfortably under our legs, we would share the day and plan the next. 

We shared our frustrations with red tape (another tale coming up), our joy in visiting our sister-in-love and nephew in San Diego, tears or worries about family concerns on both sides, and laughter at how we are getting old. Our time in California came to a close after a wonderful evening at a 4th of July party and fireworks, almost as if it were sending us off well on our way to our next stop – the Big Apple. From coast to coast, we are thankful for God’s good care through His wonderful family in so many places. 

Enjoy the pictures of some of the people in our lives in California. And enjoy the people God has brought into your life today, remembering that He has also brought YOU into other people’s lives to touch them with His love as well. 

The Tale of Son One

Indianapolis. It was in the Fall of 2012 that we first added this area of the country to our puzzled schedule on our Home Assignment. This had everything to do with Stephan having found Natalie and them deciding to spend the rest of their lives together. Natalie’s folks lived at the time in Ohio, where the wedding took place. The first years of Stephan and Natalie’s life together was in Dayton. But by the time we were ready for our next Home Assigment, four years later, they had moved on to other jobs and a life in the capitol of Indiana. 

Indianapolis is a sprawling village of a city, with quaint neighborhoods like Broad Ripple, a walking trail along a “canal” downtown and cutting through the city, older apartment buildings and houses from the 1930’s and sprawling suburbs radiating out from the center. Or at least that is how we experienced it. This was the second time we had visited. Although we come because we get to see Stephan and Natalie as well as Scott’s brother Mike and his family, we have come to enjoy the scenic spots and the midwestern taste of the city. 

This visit was of course different from the last. This time we were traveling alone (last time we were with Sean, his best friend and his best friend’s father). We had been waiting since Minnesota for summer weather and had only seen short glimpses in Texas. In Indiana we were met with the clash of the weather systems, which of course brings amazing summer storms. So after visiting the Ikea (a bit of ‘home’ and good time walking and visiting with Stephan and Natalie) we were met by torrential rain. 

But just as dashing between the raindrops makes for an exciting moment, so too the quiet weather moments in the following days meant nice, exciting moments. We went to a concert of local talent thanks to our nephew, Nate. Afterwards, between some rain showers, we walked around the trendy neighborhood that we had seen while watching a show on tv about renovating homes. Another day we suffered the weight of the humidity on a day to celebrate Natalie’s sister and husband in their soon to be growing family (it will be a girl). 

In between we enjoyed walking the dog with Jay and Pauline, shopping at Goodwill with Stephan and Natalie and getting to see Scott’s family. This included some more walking in the rain, drinking some good coffee and sharing a good home-made meal. As mentioned before in our travels, we were at home - again. What a blessing God has given us in having family of all different kinds in so many places. Our time here was far too short, but we are thankful we have been able to add it to our travels.

Check out our pictures from this stop. 

The Tale of Daughters-in-love

In Dutch they are called beautiful – both sons and daughters. I must admit I do not know the exact etymology, but I like the thought. I was a beautiful son to my beautiful mother before she passed away. My sons are beautiful sons to their beuatiful fathers and mothers. And we have two beautiful daughters. In English we are much more formal: daughters-in-law, sons-in-law, mothers-in-law, fathers-in-law. The law was needed to add them to the family and the law can remove them as well. 

My (Scott) mom has long used a different term for her daughters-in-law (she having 5 sons) which I have understood she heard first by someone else. She was the first one I heard use it and I love it: daughters-in-love. Yes, the law has made them officially part of the family, and we are very greatful for that. But it is the love our sons have for them that brought them into the family, the love that we have for them that ties us to them. And even if the law should officially change things, they can remain “in-love”. 

So as we left Texas, we headed to Indiana where we were able to be treated by our daughter-in-love, Natalie. We had already experienced her love for us when Stephan and Natalie came to Europe to visit and she planned a trip to Oxford. Natalie understands how much we want to be able to spend time with Stephan and she allows for that. At the same time, she does not shy away from our desire to be with her as well. So we had time together at the Ikea, at their home and walking with the rest of the in-loves who live in Indianapolis. 

In New York we met up with our other daughter-in-love, Jill, and were treated to her love for us and for Scott’s mom for the few days we had together. As with Natalie, Jill understands mothers wanting time with their sons (and made time for Shirley with Sean and Scott with Patricia). Making sure that we found somewhere everyone could eat (even if that meant adapting her restaurant desires), looking for metro stations with an elevator, going places that everyone wanted to go. Yes, these are things that a kind person would do. And that is my point exactly. Our daughters are loving people, in love with our sons. We are so thankful for our daughters-in-love. 

In addition, we had opportunity in Colorado, Indiana and California to visit with all of our sisters-in-love and even a brother-in-love (from whom we heard all kinds of fun stories about traveling). And although law may have adapted the status of some in this group, we were very thankful for our visit in San Diego with our sister-in-love and nephew. 

Shirley and I both learned long ago what Jesus meant when he pointed out that family is different than blood. Peter mentioned to Jesus that they had left all behind to follow Jesus and Jesus replied: “No one who has left home or wife or brothers or sisters or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God will fail to receive many times as much in this age, and in the age to come eternal life.” (Luke 18:29-30) 

We have experienced this in the church everywhere. God has given us a family everywhere. And in addition – we can enjoy our daughters-in-love. What does your family look like? Take the time to enjoy them all. 

In the meantime

As we headed out of Texas, we headed into more family time and our main supporting congregation. In addition, we were still dealing with passport issues and work that needed to be done nay the time we got back to Belgium.
In the meantime, we of course have returned and are already past one of the three weeks of Bible Camp. What a wonderful week it was! But that is for the coming tales. For now I can point you to the pictures I have finally been able to put up from Indiana, California and New York City. Later this week I may be able to continue the tales and get caught up to where we are now going - Teen Camp and Family Camp.
Thanks for taking the time to stop by and for keeping us in your prayers!

The Tale of the Old Friend

Daniel and Tonita

Friendships begin in the strangest ways. Some begin in school, where you discover new books at the same time or you realize that you love the same kind of music or tv shows. Sometimes these friendships are even with a brother or sister – if you can believe that that is possible. And it is. But old friends – not a friend who is old, although that is certainly possible and will of course happen in time, but friends who begin of old and remain friends – old friends are able to pick up where they left off the last time they met. 

As we have traveled from midwest state to mountains to Texas to California, we have been able to touch on all of our old friendships and revel in them. Shirley and her sister, Mary, are able to share stories of going to school (or not) and share their hearts with one another. Scott picks up his story with his best friend, Bret, and makes new ones along the way. Sometimes we even meet people who in an evening seem to have become friends as of old. 

Years ago on the last trip we made with both boys – we call it ‘The Road Trip’ and can date all our other trips by that trip – we stopped in to spend the night with a family in Grand Junction, Colorado. They had offered to put us up for the night, having heard of us from Scott’s best friend, Bret. An evening of singing, playing guitar and meeting a loving great big family of kids resulted in a continued encouragement throughout the years. And then suddenly, at a meeting in Greeley, Colorado, you run across one of the kids grown and are able to share this friendship again. 

Or in Texas at the house that has become our away-from-home home. Shirley walked down the aisle in Arkansas to marry Scott on the day that her classmates walked down an aisle to receive their diploma (she received hers in the mail). That evening they left as Mr. and Mrs. Scott Raab and drove out of Searcy, Arkansas. They stopped that first evening in Hot Springs, Arkansas, but drove on the next day. The car they drove was a cobbled together piece of iron riding on tires bought by Scott’s mother. They found out later that second night as they arrived at their destination (two old friends from Canada where they would spend the next two weeks) that the car had gassed them all the way across Texas. 

E.B. and Jean

So the car never drove again, but we went the very next day to services at 11th & Willis church of Christ and were touched by the mission-mindedness and love of the congregation. The next week on Sunday we returned and met E.B. and Jean Dotson with whom we became old friends and whose home became our home whenever we stop in to Texas. Popcorn and m&m’s with a movie is a standard time together, along with long conversations about how God is working in the world and how we all can serve Him better. 

While in Texas this time we also drove down to meet with Tonita and Daniel Stovall – two more old friends. Tonita was Shirley’s roommate, Daniel sang at our wedding and both of them connected us to our supporting congregation in Minnesota. We have shared our lives from afar througout the years and are thankful to be able to meet – if only for a few hours at a cafe in Comanche, Texas. 

We don’t always choose the people we meet. Sometimes it simply happens. But we do choose with whom we will continue these friendships. We are so very thankful for the old friends we get to see again on our travels. Care well for these friendships (I am sure you have them too) and be thankful. Enjoy each moment, even as it is a simple moment for a short time. 

The Tale of the New Song

“It thrills my soul to hear the songs of praise we mortals sing below. And though it takes the parting of the ways, yet I must onward go...” I want to hear this song – is what we sing. The song of Mozes and the Lamb – a new song, different than all the rest, because the time is different. Time will have passed and we will be Home. That is the new song (see Revelation 5:9 and 14:3). But this is not the only new song. 

As we have moved from supporting congregation to supporting congregation, thrilled at the encouragement that we enjoy and the faithfulness that we see, we have also taken time to work on some singing. We offered a singing workshop in Muscatine and in Denver. The workshop in Denver especially was focused on writing new songs. And then we think of Psalm 96 or 40 or 98. God is our song and makes our heart sing!

Written by John Raab
and Karsten and Sandi Rog

It has been exciting to see what can be done when normal members allow the word of God to touch their hearts. This is one of the things we have been doing in the Netherlands and Belgium with members there. Years ago one the members in Maastricht put the words from Psalm 96 to tune. We still sing it regularly in worship on a Sunday morning or at Bible camp. At the workshop in Denver, two couples worked together to put the words to another tune and learned that God can use them as well. 

This looking for new tunes and putting the words of God to tune has been a real blessing to the church in Belgium and the Netherlands. There are plenty of English-language songs which can be translated (and these have also blessed the church there), but these new tunes come from the members themselves and are in Dutch, not needing translation. 

This is something we would love to see happening all over the world. It is great to recognize a song being sung in a video of a foreign congregation because it is a translation, but how amazing would it be if we were learning and translating songs from other countries and cultures? And what a blessing to be able to sing in your own language and method and harmonies, putting the word of God into your heart? 

Last week we even talked with others about how the deaf brothers and sisters have completely other needs in singing. Yes, they sing. And if we say that it is our hearts that sing to the Lord – and that the most important – than those who are deaf or unable to sing, sing just as much as any other. The deaf Christians emphasize the words and look for signs that are more expressive and clear, since they do not really work with rhyme. However it may be, it is exciting to look to the word of God and allow His Spirit to guide in helping to put these words in our hearts through song.

Are you interested in the four new songs written in Denver? Let us know and we will send you the links when all is ready. 

Interested in some of the songs written in Dutch by members? Check out www.geestelijkeliederen.nl

The Tale of the Passed Port

A “port” can be a “port of call”, a place where you arrive and depart. We have had many of these already on our travels during this journey, as well as all the many times we have traveled in the past. Each port brings its own special moments, memories and adventures to enter into. 

In Dutch a port is a gate, very much the same idea as a sea port. A gate allows entry into your yard, a barn or even a city wall. It is at the same time a barrier (think of a gate to keep the baby away from dangerous areas in the house) and an entrance. Each time we move to a different location on our travels, we pass through some of these ports, but what do you do when the port threatens to stay closed?

As we readied ourselves to leave Colorado and move on to Texas, we were thankful for Scott’s brother accompanying us to the airport in Denver. He not only works here, but he is calm and business-like when it is needed – and it was needed. Our flight was to leave just before 11am, so we had to leave the house at 7am in order to return the rental car and be at check-in in time to get through all the gates of check-in, baggage and customs before reaching our gate in our terminal. 

To start all of this process requires scanning your tickets at a ‘kiosk’ (some of you can picture this, having done it before), paying for our baggage (that’s another tale for another time) and then getting our boarding passes. At this point the kiosk asks to scan your passports. And it was at this point that we realized, frantically, that Shirley did not have her passport. 

Somewhere (we are still not sure where) her little blue book with stamps from friendly customs officials around the world had gone missing. Andsuddenly we did not know if we would be able to pass through this port to get to their gate. To make things even more complicated, Shirley only has identification from Belgium. Not a problem, really. It is a formal identity card – except that it is according to Belgian standards, which means that it is in her maiden name. 

“Do you have any other forms of identification?” my brother asks. “Credit card, driver’s licence?” No – and if she does, it is in her maiden name. You see, the Belgians want their women to be able to keep their name and inherit. So Shirley, in Belgium, has always been known by and must sign her maiden name. But our tickets to fly are in her married name, because that is what is on her US passport: her married name. 

By now we have called Scott’s other brother and asked him to ransack his house, looking everywhere for the passport. Scott’s older brother suggests simply asking the ticketing agent if she can change the ticket, using the Belgian ID card. With trepidation, we stand in the line waiting for the agent, wondering how this will be resolved. We figured that, if need be, we could purchase another ticket, but wondered how our other flights would go. And we hadn’t yet gotten to either of our boys. When we finally approached Loretta (that was her name) Shirley was thoroughly miserable and Scott tried to explain what we needed. 

Loretta calmly took the creditcard-sized ID card and examined it in silence. She glanced at Shirley, looked again at the card and announced, “Well, the date of birth fits. So, okay, we’ll change that ticket for you to Walker-Raab. That should work.” And relief flooded through our limbs as we started breathing again. But we were not yet there. 

Scott’s brother walked with us (he works for TSA) and explained that they would probably flag her ID as alternate and that she would need to go through a pat-down. We went to a different security check where he was sure that they would have a female agent. Otherwise we would need to wait until they found one. But at this checkpoint, the TSA official simply looked at her ticket, glanced at her card and passed her through. We had passed this port and were on our way to the gate.

We said our farewells to Scott’s brother at the gate, thanking him profusely for his calm and his suggestion to just try what we could. We should have known. The Dutch have a saying: “You already have ‘no’. You can only get ‘yes’ if you ask.” We had passed all the way through this gauntlet and took our flight to Texas where we would need to set in motion the wheels needed to get a new passport in time to make our international travels. But we will still need to repeat this process of passing these gates three more times before we see our boys and head back to Belgium. 

Knowing that you are welcome, that you belong, is essential to our life and our life in Christ. We are so thankful that Jesus the Christ not only knew what we needed in order to pass through the gate of death but to enter into the gate of eternal life, but also took care of it. Have you considered this? What is keeping you back if you haven’t made a choice to join Him? You already have “no”. God is waiting with “YES”! 

The Tale of the Colorado Kid

Years ago, in a kitchen in Berlin, Germany, a family listened to John Denver sing about Rocky Mountain High and discussed where they should move to when dad retired. Colorado sounded like a paradise land, full of mountains and gold rush, science fiction space dangers (NORAD was where we would move), new possibilities and friends. We (Scott and his family) grew up in an Air Force family, moving every three years or sooner to a new place. Now, things would change. We would stay put. Scott was in sixth grade and excited about what was to come. 

They drove out to Colorado Springs and I remember the first sight of the mountains – after realizing that the other siting of the mountains were just clouds on the horizon. “No, really. Those are mountains!” We stopped the car, got out and had a small snowball fight (it was Fall). Our new house had a backyard where we could throw the football. We were quickly out of breath and somehow it just seemed cool that this came from the elevation (more than a mile high!). 

A lot of the most important influences in my life came here. I became a Bronco’s fan (we were, after all, now in Colorado), started singing in all different ways, learned about and experienced Bible camp and met my best friend who helped me to meet Jesus Christ. I was born in Colorado Springs (even though I first saw the world’s light in San Antonio, Texas). It is hard to believe that those beginnings were all so long ago – so sometimes I just don’t do the math. I just enjoy the memories. 

While we are here in Colorado, we are spending some time in Colorado Springs visiting with Scott’s two brothers and their families before going up to Denver to visit with his older brother and sister. We met up with the brothers in Fargo’s Pizza Parlor, which is a memory in itself for Scott. The next day we drove around visiting Scott’s old haunts: his elementary school junior high and high school. We also dropped by his old house and talked to the current owner and took a picture of Scott’s “climbing tree”. 

A night of bowling at the old bowling alley down the street, a dinner full of conversation about current travels, laughing about past hilarities and discussing jobs and kids and grandkids have filled the few days here. It has been good to see everyone again.There is a brother missing, but that will come in a different tale. 

For now, we have continued on the Colorado trail. On Saturday Scott offered a singing workshop at the congregation where his best friend preaches. It is amazing to see how God can help people who think they cannot write music write 4 new songs that will encourage fellow Christians. Sunday evening Scott met with others to talk about how Christian camps help develop the members of the church. It was good to share stories, meet old friends and make new friends. It has been good to see the Colorado kids. 

Do we ever know where we are going to arrive when we depart? We think we do. We were on our way to Colorado. But that was a journey that so far has led us to Belgium and the Netherlands. We still don’t know where all of this is taking us, but we know that the journey is a good one, because we are walking with Him wherever we go. Where are you going? Or… with whom are you going? 

Here are the pictures of this leg of the journey (I will still be adding to these in the coming days). Next we will be heading down to Texas – but that is another tale. 

The Tale of Stepping in St. Paul

'Twin Cities' is a very apt description for Minneapolis-St. Paul. These two major cities mirror each other across the river. While we were visiting our supporting congregation of Woodbury church of Christ, we stayed for the first time in St. Paul which is the capitol of the state of Minnesota. In the past we spent most of the time in the suburbs of Woodbury, or across the border in Hudson, Wisconsin. This was the first time for us to stay in St. Paul and get to know this area. 

After the graudation parties from The Tale of Home and meeting with the church on Sunday, we had a bit of free time on Memorial Day. Many people think about cooking out, visiting with family and celebrating those who have died for the country. We were staying with a young couple in St. Paul who work from home – a newly purchased house which they were willing to share with us for a few days. But it literally rained on all the parades that day. 

By the evening, however, we just needed to get out of the house for a bit and walk around. So we borrowed two pink and purple umbrellas from our hosts and walked downtown. We were that close that it was only about a 30 minute walk. We didn’t know what we would find, but have never been adverse to an adventure. And this was not the only adventure. The rest of our time in Minnesota was spent enjoying stepping out in St. Paul (and a few other areas). 

That first evening downtown brought us to "The St. Paul". That is what this luxurious hotel is called. We just knew that we wanted to see what we expected to be a beautiful lobby. But the exuberently friendly desk clerk directed us to all the exciting areas in the hotel, invited us to eat in the hotel restaurant and told us all sorts of interesting tidbits about the city and the hotel. Presidents stayed here (and paid a whopping $2 a night at the time). 

Later that evening we walked with our hosts, Corbin and Mandy, to a local brewery turned indoor market. Many things are indoor in Minnesota as a result of what the winters can be like. That is why one of the biggest malls is found here, the Mall of America. We of course could not skip spending an afternoon looking around this mall and being amazed at how much is offered in one location. Stores upon stores, and even a theme park inside the mall! 

Later in the week, we were welcomed by our second host, Jimmy, to his midcentury-modern home not far from the old St. Paul airport (Holden Field) where we got a cup of coffee one afternoon. We also walked along the Indian Burial Mounds park looking down on the airfield. A perfect view of the city, with the cathedral and capitol building, welcomed us from atop this bluff. Those two monuments were our next destination. 

Summit Avenue is a broad street lined with monumental mansions of days gone by which tell of the vast wealth that came to this city at and around the beginning of the 20th century. Views over the river, sprawling, beautiful homes of various styles and sunshine to enjoy it all. We walked along the mansions and back to the cathedral perched atop the point of the hill. This cathedral, built according to the St. Peter’s cathedral in Rome, rose in the place of one of the mansions and took about 20 years to complete. 

After strolling through the stone interior, we jumped in the car and rode the short distance to the capitol building we could see not far away (but too far to walk to). The clouds added to the early evening ambience and we finished another day of wonder-walking in St. Paul, enjoying the homes and neighborhoods as we returned to our host’s home. (check out the pictures from this tale here)

In our last few days we enjoyed walking around the neighborhood to a rental house our host was working on, visiting a brass quintet concert at one of the many, many universities these cities are graced with, walking around a small lake where we listened to birdsong and shared conversations about the song of life in Jesus Christ, and visiting Minnehaha Falls. All of these walks were spent with old friends and new contacts. Walking together is always a good way to spend the time and get to know one another. 

Could it be that is why Jesus invites us to walk with Him in the light? It is exciting that no matter where we go – whether in St Paul, Minnesota or Colorado (our next stop), we can walk with Jesus, the King and get to know him. The world is a different place when we take that walk. 

But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin.1 John 1:7

The Tale of Home

Whoever has traveled and lived in various locations understands that “home” is hard to define. This is even harder as your family – brothers and sisters – begin starting their own lives and moving on. Sometimes just being together means “home”. Sometimes it is a place. Sometimes it is a sound, smell or taste that brings you immediately to a different time and “homey” feeling. 

The first day we arrived in Minnesota, we experienced what some told us is a unique Minnesota (and perhaps Twin Cities) experience: a graduation party for high school graduates. But these parties could rival any wedding reception we have seen. We have understood that parents get together and help one another in these efforts. We were honored to be invited to several of these and pleased to be able to attend two. 

What really hit home at these parties was the feeling of “home”. These graduates get together with fellow classmates and families and look back at the year and ahead to their future. We were able to meet with several members of the congregation in an informal atmosphere. It always helps to get names in your head again before seeing people that we know, but haven’t seen in quite a while. 

Even funner was how we were unexpectedly made to feel at home at both of these parties. At the first, a man was making “Authentic Dutch mini-pancakes”. We of course recognized them immediately as “poffertjes”, so we asked him if he knew Dutch and what his story was. He had the recipe from his grandmother (who they indeed called “Oma”) and had all the necessary pans and accoutrements. We thoroughy enjoyed a few, even though we don’t usually eat pancakes, and felt at “home” – as if we were in Holland. 

The very next evening, we were at another graduation party (see all of Minnesota pictures here) and enjoyed conversations with other members of the church and seeing the graduates revel and imagine. And what did we run into here but a candy bar (literally – a bar with all sorts of candy) with York Peppermint Patties. For Scott, this hearkens to “home” again. This is a candy he loved when growing up but which is unavailable where we live. So he was “home” again. 

The beautiful thing on all of our travels is that we often feel at home and away at the same time. This is often bittersweet, but beautiful. And it consistently reminds us that “this world is not my home, I’m just a-passin through.” We know we will never feel completely at home here, but when we are together as Christians, we can be at home anywhere.

This was made clear again as we met with the congregation on Sunday. Scott presented the class on the first Sunday to the teens and the next Sunday to the adult class. On the first Sunday afternoon, we also met with the urban ministry group, which is mostly Hmong families who have come to Christ. Whereve we are, wherever we go, we belong to Christ and want to share the love and grace we have received in Him. With Him we are always Home.