May 26, 2012 | South Africa, Stories
I tried to tuck my hair into the back of my dress to keep it from blowing in the wind. The baby was sitting on my lap, dressed in a baby blue shirt, khaki pants and brown sandals. Wedding-white pacifier clenched between his tiny teeth. His brother beside him, in very similar attire.
We cruised along in an open-top landy, kept our game-spotting eyes on just in case. Pointing out a friendly giraffe to the boys, pausing for a moment to stare at the magnificent creature, then heading on again so as not to be late. It was a beautiful afternoon in the bushveld.
We weren’t the first to arrive: several guests were admiring the scenery, looking out over the cliff to a river below, hills in the distance, a Land Cruiser leaving behind a cloud of red dust as it sped across a well-worn trail, cutting through the game reserve.
The scene was minimalist, and perfect. White ribbons draped from a tree, holding clear glass bottles that each held a single protea. A cascade of flower petals formed a makeshift aisle, leading to a small carpet, nicely framed with a tall bush on either side.
Under the flower-tree a table laid with canapés and champagne — all ready for the arrival, the event, and the celebration to follow.
The arrival was simple, and elegant. The bride in a Land Cruiser, escorted by her father, and of course the ranger who drove the vehicle. The bouquet, a single protea — beautiful and large and surrounded with bright green leaves. Her dress, vintage — the one her mother wore on her wedding day years before.
The moment, too, was simple and elegant — without the fanfare of bridesmaids and groomsmen or flower girls and ring bearers. Blushing and sturdy declarations of love and intention, laced with words of grace and hope.
This kiss captured by the camera — one of my favourite shots from the event.
The quiet elegance that surrounded the affair was interrupted in a most glorious fashion by a number of ladies who worked at the reserve — dressed traditionally from head to toe, arriving to sing, to dance, to serenade the newlyweds with overwhelming joy and good cheer.
Guests gathered to enjoy the entertainment, and one eager photographer grabbed the opportunity to capture the moment while everyone else soaked it in.
There were drinks and laughs and smiles in every direction.
As the sun set, a super moon rose, and we gathered ourselves back into the Landys for a reception at one of the lodges on the reserve.
What a beautiful way to create an unforgettable moment – the understatement of the manmade surroundings unwilling to detract from the glorious beauty of creation surrounding us on every side. A perfect setting for saying “I do” and “I will” — I was joyful to be a witness to it.
Congrats to Penny — you looked stunning and the wedding was amazing.
Congrats to Vaughan — I’ve never seen you smile so big before! It was magical.
xCC
If you would like to see more of the Hub’s fabulous photos from the wedding, please click here to head over to the Quiver Tree Photography site.
May 25, 2012 | The Parenthood
Among the multitude of privileges I’m enjoying, this parenthood gig is consistently giving me food for thought at the Faith table. Pull up a chair and dig in to the latest musing, if you like. It all started with this unusual, unexpected fork in the road that I like to call Being the Parent of More than One Kid. Now in my mind, and yours if you’re anything like me, Parenthood Part Two is the round where you get kind of excited about being a parent, and a little less afraid, because hey, you’ve already got one kid and he’s almost made it to his fourth birthday so maybe you’ve got some things right, right?
And you figure — no worries, kid #2, we’ll just do with you the same stuff we did with kid #1. It worked the first time around, so it’ll definitely work again, right?
Here’s the invitation to those of you who find occasional hand pops and bottom pops an offensive method of discipline for parenting to leave before you get mad at me and never want to come back. First enjoy this happy picture and then you can head out…
{One little shot from the wedding in the bush…more to come!}
Are you still here?
Think it through. I’m not trying to hurt anyone’s feelings.
Okay. If you’re sticking with me, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
In my personal experience, I found that with child number one, also affectionately referred to ’round these parts as the Bear, a little pop on the hand went a very long way. Once I could clearly tell that the Bear understood the difference between yes and no, and understood my intentions or HH’s intentions when we said No, we thoughtfully and purposefully decided that hand pops were about to be part of the equation.
Basically, in our experience, we found that a child who is too young to be reasoned with can still understand cause and effect. Bear, don’t touch that stove it’s hot and it could burn you and that would hurt availeth little, whereas, Bear, no, do not touch that stove. Do not touch that stove. Bear touches the stove even though he is clearly aware that he has been instructed not to, and gets a hand pop. Bear learns to listen, that there are consequences for not listening and not to touch the stove. (Obviously we aren’t letting our kids touch hot stoves to learn lessons, this is just an example.)
Fast forward a couple of years and another pregnancy and a nine minute delivery, it’s Tiger Tank’s turn to learn that No means No. {Which sure is hard for this Mama who just thinks her boys are the best thing since bacon-covered cherries and doesn’t really want to admit that they ever even need to hear the word No.} One little Mr. Double T has taken a special interest in the keyboard that sits in front of the desktop computer in our family room.
That keyboard cannot be moved far enough away from Double T’s hands. If it is too far away, {or too far late, as the Bear would reference a place or thing at some distance} #2 will find some sort of object — toothbrush, pencil, hammer — with which to reach those inviting little keys, so that he can gently tap? — oh no, amigo, violently bang on them.
I have observed this precious little creature, repeatedly listen and obey the word No on numerous occasions, but this blooming keyboard is just too blooming intriguing. He can’t stay away. And we use this keyboard throughout the day, every day, so moving it is not a viable option.
Some folks baby proof their house, but to a certain extent, we lean towards house-proofing our baby.
We have observed that the word No becomes of little consequence when it is not backed by some consequences. But Double T thinks hand pops are funny about half the time, so they are of little consequence.
And all this indirection is finally leading to direction: On Jet-Lag Saturday, while bless his heart, the Hubs was shooting a wedding on a hope, a prayer and a coffee, I was at home with the boys. And the more wee of the two kept finding a way to climb a stool, or seemingly thin air, to reach, and pound, on the keys of the keyboard. His precious chubby thigh got an unhappy tapping. He was removed from the situation.
He returned.
He banged.
His didn’t listen to the consistent No’s and warnings.
He precious chubby thigh got an unhappy tapping.
He was removed from the situation.
He returned.
He banged.
Twice more, this pattern continued. A none-the-wiser wee lad drawn like a moth to a flame, his brother just hoping he would chill out so he could enjoy Little Einsteins in peace, and me, immediately thinking — aren’t they all pre-programmed to respond to this stimulus with the same response?
Stimulus! Response! Stimulus, response! My ninth grade biology teacher reiterates between my ears.
Mayhaps this child is a different species entirely.
And that is where the lesson rang true.
Have you ever expected God to do the same thing for you that He has done for everybody else? Ever thought “Where are my rewards?” “Where are my well-done-good-and-faithful tokens of appreciation?”
If she has a husband, why don’t I?
If they have children, why don’t we?
If everything they ever wear comes from Banana Republic and White House Black Market, why must my budget limit me to Target and Old Navy?
Where’s my new house, sweet job, swish car, posh clothing, fill in the blank?
What if this difference is because we believers are children of the same Father — and He’s the One who knows us best?Â
I was certainly hoping our second son would sleep as nicely as the first did. Drink from a bottle without a hassle and be easy to wean. Respond quickly to discipline and learn No when it was time to learn it. But our second son is just that — our second son. Not our first. Not the Bear. Not cautious like the Bear at this age. Not calm and easily entertained like the Bear at this age. Basically, not easy like the Bear at this age.
Because the Tiger is not the Bear.
And trusting in grace to show me how, I will learn the ways of the Tiger. And instead of trying to make fair about doing things with the second the way I did them with the first, I see the glory in rather focusing on what is right for this child. I am allowed to let go of that pesky, unreasonable fairness expectation. I’m allowed to ask What is the best decision for Tiger Tank? — regardless of what the best decision was in a different country, with different circumstances, for a different kid, two and a half years ago.
Somehow I forgot this lesson, and I was thinking fair was about doing things the same way for each kid — and here is this blatantly obvious epiphany, an iridescent lightbulb, suddenly a ding and pop, just above my noggin — Oh yeah! Same isn’t necessarily best. Fair isn’t necessarily same. In this parenting gig, a path of individual decisions based on an understanding of the child, an understanding of the circumstances awaits me.
The Truth in the Word remains the same, and I trust God to guide us through this adventure. I see now — the Father who knows what’s best for each of us, even though it isn’t an equal distribution of resources, husbands, and clothing from Banana Republic. He is our Father, and in His infinite wisdom, He has chosen something other than what we might call fair.
Since the Saturday of the epiphany, Tiger Tank has begun responding to No again. It almost seems as if his digression from expected behavior was really an opportunity for me to learn a lesson. Our usual methods are bearing fruit, but I am now more watchful, more keen to observe, more willing to take hold of the reality that round 2 is very likely to look completely different from round 1, and that’s okay.
Will he give up the binker/pacifier/dummy at 18 months without a fuss?
Will he potty train at 2 and 1/2 with the simple incentive of smarties/M&Ms?
Does it really matter? If we can help this little one become the man he was created to become, everything else is secondary.
And could the Father also have that glorious goal in mind: each of us, doing all the good things He created us to do and planned ahead for us? {Eph. 2:10} Could the bumps and turns and twists and dips in our individual road maps actually be a part of His progress? His way of helping us grasp His goodness, grab hold of the Jesus who gave His life for us, gain access to the life that is hidden in Him? {Col. 3:3}
Each of my children, are different, like me, and I’m convinced that you can’t love anybody without really loving them the way they are, meeting them where they are. And the God-who-sees knows better than anyone else where each of us is.
 xCC
May 21, 2012 | A Repat, The Parenthood
We survived the journey and thank heavens we’re home. {And what do you think about the look around here by the way? Do you “get” what the red and blue stripes are supposed to be about? Please don’t say a barber shop. There are still some more tweaks for me to sort out but I didn’t want to go too wild and have you show up and think you’d lost me and someone else had taken over.}
Jet lag isn’t helping me focus on talking about one thing at the time. Sorry. The journey. Thursday night was the worst night of travel we have probably ever experienced. And honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Although the Hubs referred to it as a night from the bad place. British Airways kind of let me down. I’ve always loved them and been impressed with their service and happy when it works out for us to fly with them. But this time around, tweren’t so. Nuh-uh, it just tweren’t.
{Saturday’s instagram of the mega-tired, jet-lagged, teary-eyed, temporarily-happy-with-an-animal-cracker baby}
Would you believe that all the lighting on the place was functioning properly except for a broken sidelight directly above our seats on the plane? Now please note I’m not talking about a teency lil’ reading light. I’m talking about those bright mamajamas they turn on when it’s time for you to wake up at an unnatural hour for breakfast, because it’s really dark and 3 am but you’re headed for a new time zone and they won’t be ready to land on time if they don’t serve you your breakfast now.
So everybody’s lights were doing just fine until dinner had been served and duty free had been hollered about, and the lights were finally dimmed for sleep, and we discovered this tragic matter of disrepair while poor Blakey who had managed to sleep in the bassinet and survive all the flight attendants who just weren’t interested in using a quiet voice when they came to speak to us even though they could see his tiny little self sleeping. right. there… poor Blakey stirred at some point for some {noisy cart getting slammed into place in the galley} reason, and he woke to a nice bright light shining down on him, and we took turns trying to settle him down and I think the Hubs managed like three hours later.
But he never slept in that little bassinet again for the rest of the flight, because, ya know, a glorious luminescent sunshine was beaming in his wee face. And mine too since I was seated by the window. And the Hubs, too because even though he was on the aisle, that thing was bright.
{And in case you’re wondering, yes, we were the only family with two kids on the whole plane, seated there beneath a broken light trying to settle a wide-eyed sleepy baby while everyone else slept soundly. Ya jerks! Yes, we did think about breaking the light. I may have punched the plastic surrounding it with my fist. Twice. No, we weren’t allowed to cover it up somehow (fire hazard.) Yes, the Bear who can hibernate at any time did sleep through the whole night anyway (thank heavens.) And no, they could {would?} not change our seats. And yes, we do think a flight attendant fibbed to us about whether this had been a problem before. And. to top it off, the food was lousy. That never happens with BA!}
We had a shorter layover in London than we thought, so we just took our time collecting our lion-tired selves and changing terminals. When we told the Bear we were in London again, he said, “No we’re not! This is Gordon’s Bay!” I suppose he was confused.
The next flight just seemed really long, even though it was shorter, because it was a day time flight and there wasn’t much napping happening (although the Hubs has a magic touch for getting babies to sleep on airplanes — reason #684, why the Hubs is a Hero, and Blakey slept beside him for a while.) Another little girl who was on the flight played with the boys for a while and the Bear called some friends we made who were seated behind us and moving from the UK to the Carolinas his new pals. Very sweet.
After a taxi ride to get our car and a two hour drive, my Dad and Claudia came to the rescue, meeting us with food at our house. After the boys went to bed, we pretty much collapsed. And (#685) the Hubs got up Saturday morning to drive to New Bern and shoot a wedding. And he didn’t get home till after half past one. Meanwhile, it was all I could do to unpack the dishwasher and keep the boys from causing themselves bodily harm for a day.
I am dizzy a lot.
Off to the first of his last three days of preschool (summer break) went the Bear this morning. The Tank is taking morning naps like his life depends on it right now. And I am washing Mama Africa’s red dirt and rough sand out of the boys’ clothing, and rejoicing when it doesn’t quite come out of their socks, because I want it to still be there, be with us.
A visit to the gallery I need to tell you more about is ahead of us today. I am planning to get our house in order, one room and one day at a time. {Close your eyes if you come over.} And the Hubs is doing what he does best — juggling a task list a mile long, spinning thirty-seven plates in the air, and still managing to love the boys and me like a champ.
I’m starting to feel settled, and hopeful, and it’s good, very good, to be lowercase-h home.
xCC
May 15, 2012 | A Repat, An Expat, South Africa, The Good Word
If this was a month, it was a month that flew by. I regret not being able to tell you about more of it, but perhaps the fact that we haven’t had much good sleep means I may not have had much worth saying anyway. I trust these things work out as they should.
Tomorrow we fly up to Joburg. The following day, it’s Joburg to London, and after a nine hour layover (and maybe a chance to see the newlyweds!) we’ll be heading from London to RDU and with a two hour drive, we’ll be home.
It seems like the visit back to South Africa has been different from what I expected, but giving it a bit of thought, I am not really sure what I expected. This country is so full of contrasts – unimaginable beauty, jaw-dropping luxury, heart-breaking poverty, frustrating corruption. I see it.
As we drove from Bloemfontein to the game reserve, I saw a man on the side of the road carrying two big red bags. I felt that familiar, sore tug on my heartstrings as we sped past in our rental car, baby sleeping in the car seat behind me, his brother munching a cookie with a smile.
The familiar sights of the N1 passed by outside my window: straw-coloured grasslands stretching on for miles, dotted with green shrubs, brown cows, dusty white sheep. A flock of pied crows flutter into the air, resettling on the road to peck at some long-gone creature once we’ve passed them by. Oddly shaped hills, with bushes scattered about so that they look like the stubble of a man who has missed a couple days’ shave, are in distant view in every direction.
I feel far away, but I also feel home. I find myself instructing the Bear to use words that would only be the right choice in the U.S., then I find myself trying to backtrack to explain “say this here, say that there.”
HH lowered the music to whisper the story of a farmer in Zimbabwe, who was having the land he’d farmed all his days ‘reappropriated’ to someone with the right skin colour. The farmer was gentle and hospitable to the men who came to tell him his farm was being taken away. He instructed the new farmer on everything he needed to know, not knowing what was ahead of him, since he was about to lose everything.
He concluded his letter to the paper by saying he felt it was more important for the men who came to take his land to know the saving grace of Jesus Christ than for him to be angry that his land was being taken away. I started to cry and stared out the window.
This beautiful land. This controversial land. All of creation is groaning together for the revelation of the sons of God, but I feel it here.
I am ready, expectant for what’s ahead of us in North Carolina, but a piece of my heart is and ever shall be right here. Whether I’m in South Africa or back in North Carolina, I carry a constant awareness that all the days of my life I will always be on the way Home.
xCC
May 13, 2012 | South Africa
It was a long night. I wake up to the sound of the ocean and the feel of two tiny feet pushed into my back. The culprit is sleeping at a right angle between his Dad and I, his little head sweaty from being smushed into his Dad’s back for who knows how long.
{From our last stay in Wilderness – the Bear was four months old!}
We’ve been away from home for three weeks, and this has been the routine for most of it. The little one going to sleep in his travel cot at seven, ending up in our bed some time during the night.
I stir again with big brother at my side. He crawls across me, knees and elbows, to play with his brother in the middle of the bed while the Hubs and I hope we can keep our eyes closed for just five more minutes.As if to not be left out of the action, the third tiny person who is still on the way decides I’ve waited too long for breakfast. I rush to the bathroom, sick, for only the second time this whole pregnancy. As unpleasant as it is, I smile afterwards, thinking he or maybe even she didn’t have many options for wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day.
These days the Bear is consistently surprising us with new vocabulary, clever interpretations, sweet good humour. Tiger Tank is waddling with skill, arms akimbo, occasionally closing his eyes as if he thinks he’s going too fast.
A few hours later I’m back upstairs, helping the little one settle down for his nap. He snuggles down and is soon fast asleep in my arms, and I pause for a moment, listening to the waves and praying for the Lord to help me savour these moments. Even when it’s hard and I’m tired I know I’ll look back and miss these moments.
We’re looking forward to brunch and some beach time, and savouring more and more moments with the grandparents and the aunt who live in our beloved South Africa so far away. It’s funny that in a place called Wilderness, this kind of feels like home.
Happy Mother’s Day, to you Moms who are, to you who are hoping, you who are expecting, you who are standing in the gap. May you find what you need to keep going, keep loving, keep smiling, eyes-open, thankful.
xCC
P.S. A special Happy Mother’s Day to my wonderful Mom – I miss you and look forward to celebrating when we get back! And to my sister, another congrats on being a mother of two! Love you both!
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