Coming To America

Yesterday was December 17th, a very important day for me. I came home for Christmas. I am here now, sitting on my bed. Everything is beautiful. It’s 7:15 in the morning, there’s snow on the ground and decorating the houses, there’s a fire in the stove of our living room, there’s a cat snuggled up next to me, and my entire family (Levi included) is asleep downstairs. We had a wonderful family reunion last night, staying up until it was Midnight and we could no longer keep our eyes open. However, in the course of coming to America I had a very dramatic and interesting thing occur to me, and to this thing I wish to commit this post.

Yesterday I got up at 5:30 in the morning, threw on some clothes, dragged a backpack downstairs (as quietly as possible), and was driven to the airport by my very wonderful host mom. We arrived at Schipol Airport at around 6:45, which was right on time according to flight regulations. I was to be flying out at 9:45 and they inform passengers that for security reasons we must be at the airport three hours before departure. So there I was, going to check in with my backpack and my two big bags full of clothes, gifts, and stuff. When I went to check in there was a nice young fellow there who helped me. He brought me over to a machine where I could automatically check in. All he needed was my passport. Easy. I pulled from my backpack the folder containing all of my important documents. I reached in…and the passport wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere in there. I began to panic, calmly said, “just one moment please”, and crouched down beside my pack. I looked in the part that the folder came out of. No passport. I began to pray out loud (I’m sure the fellow figured out at this point that I wasn’t exactly calm after all…I was on the verge of freaking out), “God please let it be in here. Pleeaaaaaaasssssssssseeee!!!! Let it be in here!!! I KNOW I brought it!!! I checked in my front pouch of my pack. Nothing. I opened up the last pouch of my pack and saw…my wallet. Suddenly, I remembered that I’d put my passport in my wallet because I knew it was a safe place where I was sure to not lose it and where I was also sure to remember to find it (what a joke!). I pulled it out, looked at the guy, said, “Oh yeah, I put it in a safe place.” He commented, “Too safe” (he was laughing at me at this point). We did the whole computer check in process (during which my pack fell over twice and I had to set it upright again). We finished, I said good-bye to Danielle, and my bag fell over again. The guy looked at me and said, “That’s three times now!” He laughed at me, I laughed at me…actually, we all laughed at me, and then went separate ways. I was now free to drop off my two large bags, go through the passport check, and wait for two hours before I could go through security check and board my plane.

I passed the two hours by playing Sudoku and watching people. I drank a coffee. I watched the snow fall outside (funny, we almost never get snow in Holland and it was snowing as I was waiting and anticipating my going home, where I’d see snow). Finally, the time came for the security check. I was checked, as was everyone else. We boarded the plane late and took off late. I was starting to worry a bit because I only had an hour layover in Dublin, Ireland, in which time I’d have to make it to a connecting flight. However, I realized that there was also a one-hour time difference between Amsterdam and Dublin and I decided that it’d all work out fine.

When we arrived in Dublin I stood up before I was allowed and started walking forward (I broke the rules, but I’ll explain why right now). As we taxied to the walkway I looked at my watch. It said it was 11:10. My boarding pass said that my connecting flight boarded at 11:00 and took off at 11:30. So when that plane was pulling up to the walkway I pulled out of my seat and jet as far as possible down the aisle. I got a little ways before I was entirely blocked. I felt my heart panicking. I had to get off of that plane!!! I tapped the shoulder of the man in front of me and asked if I could get in front of him, seeing as I was about to miss my next flight. He gave me a funny look and said, “Sure, but I don’t think you’ll get very far.” I looked beyond him, said, “Good point” and stayed in back of him. The aisle was constipated with passengers that wanted off the plane. So, I waited, not very patiently. The man was also kind enough to inform me that if I tell the Flight Attendant that she’d be able to phone ahead to my plane peoples and let them know that I was coming and that they needed to hold the plane for me. When I reached her I told her I was about to miss my plane and asked if she could call ahead to them and tell them I’m coming. She pointed up the gangway and said that there was a ground crew just above that could help me. I thanked her, threw my back pack on my back, and ran up the gangway. I ran and ran. I got to an escalator that was jam packed with people. I ran up the stairs because it was faster. I ran some more, through the hallways. I got to the passport desk. I asked the man there if he could call ahead to my plane somehow and let them know I was on my way. He looked at my ticket and told me, “Oh that’s a big plane. They never leave on time. You’ll make it. Just go…” and then he gave me a rapid succession of directions that I can’t remember anymore. I know that it involved the words “left”, “exit”, and “up”. Which order they went in, I’m not sure.

I ran! I ran as long as I could, until I could run no longer. When I went through the door that had “Exit” written on it I found myself in the arrivals hall. There were a few hundred people behind barriers looking at me. I turned around and looked at the door that said, “Do Not Enter”. I walked towards it…and said, “Excuse me sir!” There was a cop. I breathlessly and quickly explained the situation, commenting that I just came out those doors, believed I had gone the wrong direction, and asked if I could please go back in because I WAS ABOUT TO MISS MY FLIGHT! He pointed in the opposite direction and said, “Just go up those stairs. That’s where the departing flights are”. I thanked him very quickly and took off in that direction! There were very few people on the escalator, so I ran up it, weaving in and out of them. Some saw me coming and stepped aside, further increasing their own safety. I got to the top of the stairs…and there was the security check. OH NO!!!!! I ran through the queue line until there were people walking too slowly in front of me. I did what their son did and I cut under the barrier (broke another rule). While passing through the door into the next the room the guard noticed my heavy breathing. He commented, “Yeah, smoking, huh?” And I returned over my shoulder, “No! I gotta go!!!!” and I kept on my not so merry way. I reached the back of the line for security check. I stood there and sprung on my toes a few times, and decided there was no way that I was waiting for all of these people to go first. I said to the gentleman in front of me, “I’m about to miss my flight!!! May I please skip ahead of you?” He looked at me and said, “sure.” I repeated this process some four or five times, making it to the front in about 20 seconds. I ran to the next available metal detector and operator of it. I pulled my laptop from my bag (grr…lost five seconds with that one!). I threw my jacket onto the conveyor belt and basket. I turned to run through the metal detector and the man who was grabbing my stuff said, “No. I need more from you.” I turned, took my scarf off, and continued to go through the detector, all in one smooth and easy motion. He stopped me, “NO! I need your shoes, please.” “Oh, my shoes? Huff, puff. Ok.” They came off, went into the bin, I ran through the detector, grabbed my laptop, shoved it n my bag, threw on my shoes, coat and scarf, and took off full speed ahead.

I was able to learn which gate I was taking off from, at some point in time. I think it was around there somewhere. I ran to my right, through the pretty little store area that was FULL of people. I dogged around them, going left, right, left, and right. I went up ANOTHER escalator. I can’t remember where I ran after that, but I ended up in a hallway that led to my gate. I was still running. I arrived at my gate. There were about five people standing at the desk and there were absolutely NO passengers to be seen. I didn’t ask questions. When I ran up my hand was outstretched to one of the men, handing him my ticket and passport, no questions asked. He said thanks and they let me through (they must’ve seen the wild look in my eyes…they were very nice). I ran down the stairs (why do they do that anyway…make you run upstairs just so that you can run back downstairs?). I ran through the gangway (that makes a lot of noise). When I got through the door of the aircraft there were about six crew members standing there. They looked at me, I handed my ticket, they said, “you’re from out of Amsterdam, right? Ok, your seat is just that way.” I thanked them, walked to seat number 27A (I’m glad it wasn’t in the back of the plane, then the entire aircraft would have seen that I was the delay!), and sat down, heaving and gasping for air. I made it. I looked at my watch. It was 11:32.

That began a nice and easy 35 minute flight to Shannon, where we had a stop over. We had to do a U.S. Customs game, and then were finally on our way to Boston. Seven hours later we were landing on American soil. I was airsick, had a pounding headache, and just couldn’t wait to be in the arms of my mother and father. We got off of the plane and entered the baggage area, where I was able to wait for my baggage.

50 minutes later, all of the baggage was gone, and I didn’t have mine. I’d expected as much. I’d figured that if I’d run through the city of Dublin and just barely made my flight then there was no way that my luggage, which can’t run and didn’t know how to get to the aircraft, would make it. No way. But still, knowing that and kind of expecting and figuring on it, I was still disappointed. On the verge of tears, but holding them back splendidly, I asked a Flight Attendant what to do, and she pointed me to the Transfer desk. I went through customs, gave the man my little blue paper stating everything I took with me into America out of Holland, commented jokingly that the paper didn’t really apply because it was all still in Dublin, and went to the Transfer desk, no questions asked. I will briefly mention here that I was terribly tempted to break another rule and go out the exit into the greeting area to tell my parents that I was alive and would be right out, but I decided that it wasn’t worth the hassle of trying to get back in the wrong way. I’d probably get tackled and hand-cuffed or something, and that would’ve been the straw to break the camels back. So I wisely went straight to the transfer desk.

There at the transfer desk many questions were asked, but they were good questions. The lady, Mary, was very nice. She remembered my last name when she saw it, saying that she’d heard something about me but couldn’t remember what. She got all of my information, a description of the bags, I signed the paper and was free to go. It was 4:15. My flight had been scheduled to land at 3:15. I had to find my parents. I walked to the nearest exit, and went to where they would’ve been standing. I was so scared that they maybe went off trying to figure out what happened to me, or even worse, went home thinking I’d missed my flight. But they were there, and they gave me the big hug that I needed right then. I was still extremely sick and my head was pounding, but I was with mom, dad, and my Grammy Shirley. I was in America, and I was going home.

We bought water, Tylenol, and then brought Grammy Shirley home. After we left her house I felt entirely better. My headache was gone and my stomach had stopped churning (must have been that cheesecake I ate…yummmm). And we went home, where we were reunited with Levi, Laurel, and Julie. Levi was a surprise for the family. He wasn’t supposed to be home for Christmas, but was there when we got back from my adventure. What a splendid ending for an exceptionally odd day.

...I just didn't feel like it!

I was thinking about my blog and realizing I haven't written anything for quite awhile, which is boring if you are the reader. I have many excuses for writing nothing for a week...I was busy visiting people and working, I was trying to finish building a puzzle before today so that I could clean it up (didn't succed...I finished it this afternoon and now it's still on my floor, which will change in a few moments probably), I was tired and had to sleep so that I wouldn't strangle the children, and...I just didn't feel like writing anything. I do have a topic, or actually a story, that I want to write and post later on, but first I have to write out the story. It's a very good story...but I'll tell it another time.

So basically, today's post is about almost nothing, though I do believe I'll just rattle on about a few things. First I'll rattle on about this past weekend. I went a visited the Pluym's this weekend. I went on Saturday, stayed overnight, and didn't leave until after dinner Sunday evening. They put up with my presence quite well (ha ha). Saturday afternoon I spent playing a game called Rummikub with Jon Pluym, a 17 year-old guy that is not a typical teenager except for the fact that he hates to do his homework. That was fun. We listened to Josh Groban (a singer that is non-Christian and sings in four languages or so and has a very nice voice). We talked about languages and we argued about whether I ought to learn the longest word in Dutch or not. I didn't want to and he said I should, but I ended the discussion by telling him that the longest word in the Dutch language is a useless word that I'll never use, which means it's better for me to use my small reserve of brain power on something more usefull, such as verb conjugations (this was a discussion made in English, of course). A little bit later we all ate dinner together, with Ben's "fair cousin", Mathilde, joining. Afterwards, we (myself, Ben, Mathilde, Jon, and Jon's friend Laura) went to Mathilde's and watched the last 2/3 of Pride and Prejudice. Man, what a great story. It is so very romantic. I enjoy it ever time.

After the movie we all went home and went to bed. Sunday came, which was a relaxing and pleasant day. Mathilde's parents came over, with whom we visited for awhile until the conversation went in a direction that wasn't exactly mind employing to us young ones. So Ben, Jon, and I went upstairs and played Scrabble. I almost won. I should have won. The game was in my language. However, Benjamin, who was far behind in points and doubted his ability to catch up using the five letters on his board, managed to beat me by four points. It was very disappointing. We later ate a late lunch, I took a nap (wasn't feeling so well), then Ben and I sang for awhile. After that we ate supper.

Ben and I then went to a youth church that was nearby. We showed up late, just in time for the preaching. The preaching was soft and sugar coated. The preacher talked about becoming a Christian and how if you do then you'll have peace, joy, love...etc. He forgot to mention that there's the possiblity of experiencing persecution and that things still go wrong with your life. But anyway, it was alright, just too soft.

After that I went home and started my week, which I was expecting to be rather difficult due to circumstances. However, it's been a rather lovely week up to this point (with the exception of a difficult child this morning) and circumstances changed giving me a relaxed day off on Friday. AND THEN!!!!! I GO!!!! HOME FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!!!

Yes, Saturday is the big day! I leave for America, and I'm eager to see my family. I'm eager to see my house, which has changed so much that I'll not recognize it. It's going to be a wonderful two weeks because everyone is off from work that first week, and we'll be together. This will likely be my favorite Christmas ever. And I'm very excited, which is why you people get to read about it (notice, I don't often write about things happening in my personal life, so this is a very great exception that will likely not occur often). And that's it. Now you were able to read something. And I have to go to bed now. Good night and God bless.

The Christmas Story, as told by the Knol kids

On Monday my four kids were playing together with their playmobile, a wonderful type of toy that I would’ve enjoyed as a kid but never saw. They have a lot of playmobile and can play just about whatever they want with it, especially when they have such active imaginations.

This weekend they received a playmobile nativity set from Sinter Klaas. It’s a really cool set, including Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, an angel, a shepherd, sheep, goats, a cow, a donkey, a fire place and cooking pot, firewood, benches, a lantern, a manger, and an animal stall (plus other stuff). Seriously cool!

They were playing with the set and the Christmas Story that I heard was like none I’ve ever heard before. Here is what I heard…

Mary and Joseph, along with their daughter (the angel) and her little baby brother Jesus, were living in the animal stall. Suddenly, a man started singing a song announcing the arrival of…the steamboat that was carrying Sinter Klaas, his white horse, and the black Pete’s. The steamboat arrived outside the animal stall. The angel went and said hello to Sinter Klaas, the black Pete’s, and the white horse. After she greeted them Sinter Klaas gave her a gift, which she showed to her mother, Mary. The angel then asked Sinter Klaas if her baby brother, Jesus, could have a gift too. Sinter Klaas gave Jesus a manger that was covered in gold. After that, everybody went away with Sinter Klaas on his steamboat.

Beyond that I didn’t hear what happened. I believe that the story didn’t go much further because the creators had a disagreement and ended the entire game. But I ended up being highly amused by this rendition of the Christmas Story, where the children’s two biggest heroes, Jesus and Sinter Klaas, were able to meet.

Julie, my youngest sister

Having a little sister can be fun and frustrating, sometimes all at once. I actually have two younger sisters and one younger brother, though we are all getting older daily. My youngest sister is my topic of the evening. Her name is Julie.

Julie is 18 years old. She’s a sweet little thing (except when she’s not). Julie is one of my big mysteries in life, though I’m beginning to understand her more as she gets older. Two years ago I wasn’t at all able to understand her mode of thinking and why she was happy when she was or why she was upset when she was. I was wholly unable to comprehend any of it because it didn’t make sense to me. Sometimes it still doesn’t, but that’s fine because that’s a part of who Julie is.

Julie is the looks in our family. It is agreed between Laurel and I that Julie is quite beautiful, the most beautiful of the Riendeau daughters. She’s also the tiniest. She is the lightest little feather a person could pick up. Julie is funny, sarcastic, and well liked by all that she knows. Julie is fun. I haven’t always found her fun, but I see from those that she’s with that they have fun if Julie is there. As long as there’s a Julie around there are smiles on the faces. Her quick wit has everybody on their toes and often laughing. She’s almost always the life of her party.

There was a time recently, within the last two years, during which Julie was losing interest in what was around her, with the exception of her boyfriend. There was a time when she was living her life for him. All she did was based on whether he could or could not be there, on whether she would miss a phone call or not. Recently, within the last two weeks, that all changed. She’s been able to grow a lot. She’s been able to get more involved in the youth group at church. She’s involved acting in a drama with them. She’s been concentrating on her studies a bit, trying to decide what she’s going to do with herself when she graduates. She’s got all of the adult concerns in her life, and I’ve missed seeing her grow up while I played here in Holland. I see her in 14 days, and I’m eager to be with her again. She’s my little sis. And she’s extremely special. And even though in past years I’ve found her to be one of the most difficult people to understand the more I let myself get to know her, and the more I get to talk to her, the more I realize how very wonderful she is and how very much I love her.

Holiness

Last night a friend and I were looking up Bible verses for a Bible study that he’s leading tonight. His topic was “The Fear of God, and Holiness”. It was very fun to look up all these verses that show that a Christian is supposed to fear (revere) God and that the result of that reverence will be holiness.

Holy has been my favorite description of God for a few years now. Ever since Bible school I noticed that my heart is most worshipful when it realizes the holiness of God. Really, God is the only being in the universe that is 100% holy. Holiness is the essence of God, whether we realize it or not. Holiness is the nature of God, which means that He can’t be anything else. To be unholy is impossible for God. It took me a little while to really understand the extent of holiness being the nature of God. Finally, I found an illustration that was able to help me understand. I thought, “A bird breathes air. It’s in its nature to do so. It is against the nature of a bird to live underwater. It’s just not possible. No matter what, when, or where a bird will never be able to live under water.” It’s the same with God. He’ll never be unholy because it’s just not possible.

I’ve been reading a book called God’s Generals II. It’s the biographies of six of the great Reformers back in the 15th through 16th centuries (or something like that). This book tells about the lives of John Wycliffe, John Hus, Martin Luther, John Calvin, John Knox, and George Fox (that’s a lot of Johns…must be an important name). These men stood up against the Catholic Church and the heresies that were ruling the church at that time. The Catholic Church at that time were teaching that God is a judging and unloving God. They taught that the people had to work off or buy off their debt to God if they wanted to make it into Heaven. They were taught that if they wanted to get Jesus’ attention they had to get either Jesus’ mother or grandmother to talk to Him for them, hence praying to Mary and other saints. The church was in bondage to religion. The Great Reformation was the best thing that ever happened to the church. Now we can read the Bible freely (that was illegal in those days), we are free to study and interpret the Bible, and we are free to pray to God/Jesus directly. We know now that it’s either Heaven or Hell and that there’s no purgatory in between. We are FREE!

Yes, free. But are some people in the church perhaps TOO free? I’ve learned lately that we are so free that we don’t have to worry about repenting to God because we are always living under His grace…once saved always saved. I’ve learned that we are so free that we don’t have to be judged by other people for our actions (meaning that all accountability is removed)…after all, Romans 8:1 says “there is therefore now no condemnation…” I’ve learned that we have such a loving God that He couldn’t possibly throw us into Hell just because our opinion is different from what the Bible says…besides, the Bible was written for the people of those days…things are different now what with all of our great knowledge of science, medicine, and life. Because all of these things are different I am free…free to use whichever selection of words that I’d like to use in order to express my feelings (doesn’t matter if it’s constituted as dirty language). I’m free to go on vacation for two weeks with my boyfriend or girlfriend and share a hotel room with them because God knows that I really love that person with all of my heart. I’m free to interpret the Scripture to suit my fancy because it is after all God’s Word, and a gift to me from Him, and so I should be free to deeply interpret it, whether it’s accurate or not (see Romans 1:21-22). I am free to serve people and the church organization without showing love, because after all, I am still serving. And because I’m free, then so are you. And because you’re free to have your own opinion I will respect that opinion and won’t tell you that you’re wrong and teaching heresy, even if I know fully well that you are (see to Proverbs 14:12).

And so we, the church, freely go in so many directions that are wrong that the body of Christ is becoming quite dismembered. You do realize, of course, that a body can be stretched only so far before it falls apart or dies. So, my suggestion is that we use our freedom to be holy. That’s true freedom. True freedom is when we CHOOSE to do what’s right, teach what’s right, and to be holy simply because God is holy. What does it mean to be holy? To live my life they way God lives His. Why should I be holy? Because if I love God with all of my heart and truly have a deep relationship with Him then my soul purpose of life will be to please Him, which results in being holy.