The view south, from my kitchen window, though I don't always get to see so many turkeys at once.
29 June, 2006
June's Beautiful Picture from Tennessee
The view south, from my kitchen window, though I don't always get to see so many turkeys at once.
14 June, 2006
Language Issues in Middle Tennessee
It was very common in Luxembourg to hear voice mail messages in more than one language. For example, if you made a mistake while making a telephone call, a voice would say in French that the number you tried to call hadn't been assigned, then the voice would say it again in German, and then again in English. Some recorded messages had Portuguese in the mix also.
Some places in the States give you a choice between English and Spanish, like at the ATM or the credit card machines at Wal-Mart. I really don't think much about that anymore because it always defaults to English.
But I ran across something different here. A couple of weeks ago, I called our phone company because I was having some trouble with my DSL box. A message plays in perfect English --- "Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line for the next available support person. Your call may be monitored for training and quality purposes." Then another message plays, recorded by a man with a much lower voice than the first man, and he says the **exact** same words, but with a Middle Tennessee accent. Most of the time when I have to call tech support, I'm not in the best of moods, but hearing them translate the opening message into both Yankee and Middle Tennessee always makes me smile.
I haven't been talking to strangers much lately, which is very unusual for me, and I think I finally figured it out---I don't know what language to use. I was at one time quite fluent in East Tennessee, and I think if I just slowed it down some, then it would be pretty close to what they speak in Middle Tennessee. But I'm a bit out of practice since I've been using mostly my Yankee accent at work and around Darin. (Though close friends know that my East Tennessee starts creeping back in when I get tired.)
So if I meet someone new and I'm with Darin, do I speak Yankee so he'll understand, or do I try to speak Tennessee so the stranger will understand me better? I just never know what to do.
When I switch between the two in a short space of time, I risk being made fun of by my husband. I feel like I need to pick a language and just stick with it.
The side effect of my indecision is that Darin has turned into the outgoing type of person lately. I suppose I had been enabling him to be shy all these years, and now that I've stopped talking, he has to talk. My mother loves to tell the story that when I was four and my brother was two, my parents were starting to worry about him because he didn't talk. Then my parents sent me to my grandparents, and my brother started talking in complete sentences immediately. He just couldn't get a word in edgewise before. I suppose I was doing the same thing to Darin. I did always think that Darin and my brother had a lot in common.
I s'pose this typin' is right good nuff for now. I'd best be gettin' on to bed.
Some places in the States give you a choice between English and Spanish, like at the ATM or the credit card machines at Wal-Mart. I really don't think much about that anymore because it always defaults to English.
But I ran across something different here. A couple of weeks ago, I called our phone company because I was having some trouble with my DSL box. A message plays in perfect English --- "Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line for the next available support person. Your call may be monitored for training and quality purposes." Then another message plays, recorded by a man with a much lower voice than the first man, and he says the **exact** same words, but with a Middle Tennessee accent. Most of the time when I have to call tech support, I'm not in the best of moods, but hearing them translate the opening message into both Yankee and Middle Tennessee always makes me smile.
I haven't been talking to strangers much lately, which is very unusual for me, and I think I finally figured it out---I don't know what language to use. I was at one time quite fluent in East Tennessee, and I think if I just slowed it down some, then it would be pretty close to what they speak in Middle Tennessee. But I'm a bit out of practice since I've been using mostly my Yankee accent at work and around Darin. (Though close friends know that my East Tennessee starts creeping back in when I get tired.)
So if I meet someone new and I'm with Darin, do I speak Yankee so he'll understand, or do I try to speak Tennessee so the stranger will understand me better? I just never know what to do.
When I switch between the two in a short space of time, I risk being made fun of by my husband. I feel like I need to pick a language and just stick with it.
The side effect of my indecision is that Darin has turned into the outgoing type of person lately. I suppose I had been enabling him to be shy all these years, and now that I've stopped talking, he has to talk. My mother loves to tell the story that when I was four and my brother was two, my parents were starting to worry about him because he didn't talk. Then my parents sent me to my grandparents, and my brother started talking in complete sentences immediately. He just couldn't get a word in edgewise before. I suppose I was doing the same thing to Darin. I did always think that Darin and my brother had a lot in common.
I s'pose this typin' is right good nuff for now. I'd best be gettin' on to bed.
10 June, 2006
Things We Did Right, a.k.a., the Anglican Church
Right now I can't think of very many things we did right in our move to Luxembourg. I should have stayed in the States until the work permit was in hand. We should have gotten everything in writing from my boss, including more information on moving expenses and taxes, and maybe we should have even lived in Belgium so that the kids could go to public school or be homeschooled with less hassle. And it would have been nice to know then what I know now about moving companies.
But the one thing we did do correctly was hook up with the Anglican Church.
My first Sunday in Luxembourg was Palm Sunday. I went to another English-speaking church in town. There was a guest speaker because the pastor was gone, so maybe my first impression was the wrong impression, but they made a bad first impression on me.
I was 15 minutes early for the service. I came in and sat down. No one spoke to me. The service started, and we sang for 30 minutes straight, but only 3 songs. The songs were boring, both from a musical and a lyrical standpoint, and not at all related to Palm Sunday or Holy Week.
The speaker, at one point in his really long sermon, said that things now aren't like in Jesus' time. OK, hard to disagree with that. He said that now we're in the church age, so needs are met and miracles happen through the church. He asked us all to look around the room. He said that if we were in jail or in the hospital, these people we see would be the ones to help us out. For me, my first Sunday in a new country, not knowing anyone in the room, and no one even bothering to speak to me the entire service, it was a very depressing thought. As I was leaving the church, I was in tears, so it's no wonder that no one spoke to me on the way out. I was thankful that I knew the truth, that I didn't have to depend on those people, that I needed to depend only on God.
For Maundy Thursday services, I went to the Anglican church. A couple of ladies introduced themselves to me, and one lady brought me a hymnal. And then a few more people came, mostly for the choir, and they all came and welcomed me. I think everyone spoke to me, except the organist, who was playing. It turns out that choir practice is on Thursday nights, so the choir came to sing for the service, and then practice afterwards. There were 10 people in the choir (I guess some were out of town), and there were six of us in the congregation. And two priests, Chris and Joan, a married couple.
The service was nice. The hymns were unfamiliar to me, but that let me really focus on the words, and the words and the music were beautiful. Pastor Joan gave the sermon, talking about what it means to be a servant, and encouraging us to focus on the kind of attitude it took for Jesus to make it through on Friday---encouraging us to live like Jesus.
For communion, since we were "only a little more than the 13 at the Last Supper," Pastor Chris invited us all up to the front. So we stood around the table on the altar in a half-circle. It was nice. And then we went back to our seats, and the choir sang a special in Latin. I heard five parts, three from the ladies and two from the men, and only 10 people. It was beautiful, and I like the Latin.
After the service, Pastor Chris was asking everyone if they had eaten yet. There were four of us (out of eight) who were up for going out. He didn't ask the choir because they had started practicing.
It was nice evening. I had some pizza and some water. And the conversation was great. And they picked a restaurant in the Limpertsburg neighborhood so I would be close to my flat and wouldn't have to walk home in the dark.
I talked to Chris some also about my experiences of the previous Sunday, without going into details, mostly that I had a very bad first impression. I told him the pastor was gone. He said that I really should go back sometime so I could meet the pastor. But he thought I should come mostly to the Anglican church and sing in their choir.
After that, a family in the church invited me over for dinner, and then lent us dishes until our furniture arrived. Chris and Joan lent us some chairs, and when they came by to deliver them, Joan insisted on gathering up all our dirty clothes and washing them for us because the washing machine we ordered had been delayed. When a family in church went on holiday to England during the summer, they lent us their second car for two weeks, probably the best two weeks we spent in Luxembourg.
We tried that other church again, but I never felt comfortable there. We were the only Americans there, and when church was over, everyone broke into groups and started speaking their native language, and we were left out.
At the Anglican church, we were not the only Americans, but it really didn't matter where we were from. The British at the Anglican church honestly don't seem to notice that we're not British. I really felt like part of the family there.
Then we decided to leave and return to the States, and I broke my leg. Joan arranged for people to bring in food for Darin and the kids. She arranged for some men to help Darin load the shipping container. She and Chris had the kids over for dinner and then brought them by the hospital to visit me. Besides Joan, several other ladies from the church came by the hospital also, bringing small gifts like Sudoku puzzles and hand lotion.
One night I was lying in my hospital bed thinking about how much the hospital felt like prison, and it dawned on me---the guy at the other church had been right. When we were really in trouble, it was the people at the church that really came through for us. But not that church, it was the Anglican church!
Pastor Chris once spoke of being in a church service and singing a hymn about the majesty of God, and as the pipe organ went into the last verse, having a vision of God that was very powerful. Something very similar happened to me in a service at the Anglican church.
In October, there was a service for Joan to ordain her officially as the assistant chaplain for the Anglican church in Luxembourg. We went to the licensing ceremony on that Thursday night. It was a beautiful service, and they incorporated into the service and the vows the fact that Joan and Chris were already united in calling and in holy matrimony. I thought that part was really nice.
After the vows, there was a time of greeting, and Joan came around to everyone in the church and thanked them for coming. The hymn Joan had chosen for the greeting time was completely new to me, and really beautiful. The line that struck me the most, at the time, was "We strain to glimpse Your mercy seat and find You kneeling at our feet." After everything we had been through, it was just such a beautiful picture of Jesus, and I had this vision of Him there with us, and I felt completely overwhelmed. Then when Joan came by to shake my hand, and I thought of Joan gathering up our dirty clothes to take to her house, I realized that it was a beautiful picture of Joan also.
After the service, I read through the words again. They were even more beautiful than I had remembered.
If you do move to Luxembourg, I fully recommend being a part of the Anglican church in Luxembourg. It's the best decision you will make.
But the one thing we did do correctly was hook up with the Anglican Church.
My first Sunday in Luxembourg was Palm Sunday. I went to another English-speaking church in town. There was a guest speaker because the pastor was gone, so maybe my first impression was the wrong impression, but they made a bad first impression on me.
I was 15 minutes early for the service. I came in and sat down. No one spoke to me. The service started, and we sang for 30 minutes straight, but only 3 songs. The songs were boring, both from a musical and a lyrical standpoint, and not at all related to Palm Sunday or Holy Week.
The speaker, at one point in his really long sermon, said that things now aren't like in Jesus' time. OK, hard to disagree with that. He said that now we're in the church age, so needs are met and miracles happen through the church. He asked us all to look around the room. He said that if we were in jail or in the hospital, these people we see would be the ones to help us out. For me, my first Sunday in a new country, not knowing anyone in the room, and no one even bothering to speak to me the entire service, it was a very depressing thought. As I was leaving the church, I was in tears, so it's no wonder that no one spoke to me on the way out. I was thankful that I knew the truth, that I didn't have to depend on those people, that I needed to depend only on God.
For Maundy Thursday services, I went to the Anglican church. A couple of ladies introduced themselves to me, and one lady brought me a hymnal. And then a few more people came, mostly for the choir, and they all came and welcomed me. I think everyone spoke to me, except the organist, who was playing. It turns out that choir practice is on Thursday nights, so the choir came to sing for the service, and then practice afterwards. There were 10 people in the choir (I guess some were out of town), and there were six of us in the congregation. And two priests, Chris and Joan, a married couple.
The service was nice. The hymns were unfamiliar to me, but that let me really focus on the words, and the words and the music were beautiful. Pastor Joan gave the sermon, talking about what it means to be a servant, and encouraging us to focus on the kind of attitude it took for Jesus to make it through on Friday---encouraging us to live like Jesus.
For communion, since we were "only a little more than the 13 at the Last Supper," Pastor Chris invited us all up to the front. So we stood around the table on the altar in a half-circle. It was nice. And then we went back to our seats, and the choir sang a special in Latin. I heard five parts, three from the ladies and two from the men, and only 10 people. It was beautiful, and I like the Latin.
After the service, Pastor Chris was asking everyone if they had eaten yet. There were four of us (out of eight) who were up for going out. He didn't ask the choir because they had started practicing.
It was nice evening. I had some pizza and some water. And the conversation was great. And they picked a restaurant in the Limpertsburg neighborhood so I would be close to my flat and wouldn't have to walk home in the dark.
I talked to Chris some also about my experiences of the previous Sunday, without going into details, mostly that I had a very bad first impression. I told him the pastor was gone. He said that I really should go back sometime so I could meet the pastor. But he thought I should come mostly to the Anglican church and sing in their choir.
After that, a family in the church invited me over for dinner, and then lent us dishes until our furniture arrived. Chris and Joan lent us some chairs, and when they came by to deliver them, Joan insisted on gathering up all our dirty clothes and washing them for us because the washing machine we ordered had been delayed. When a family in church went on holiday to England during the summer, they lent us their second car for two weeks, probably the best two weeks we spent in Luxembourg.
We tried that other church again, but I never felt comfortable there. We were the only Americans there, and when church was over, everyone broke into groups and started speaking their native language, and we were left out.
At the Anglican church, we were not the only Americans, but it really didn't matter where we were from. The British at the Anglican church honestly don't seem to notice that we're not British. I really felt like part of the family there.
Then we decided to leave and return to the States, and I broke my leg. Joan arranged for people to bring in food for Darin and the kids. She arranged for some men to help Darin load the shipping container. She and Chris had the kids over for dinner and then brought them by the hospital to visit me. Besides Joan, several other ladies from the church came by the hospital also, bringing small gifts like Sudoku puzzles and hand lotion.
One night I was lying in my hospital bed thinking about how much the hospital felt like prison, and it dawned on me---the guy at the other church had been right. When we were really in trouble, it was the people at the church that really came through for us. But not that church, it was the Anglican church!
Pastor Chris once spoke of being in a church service and singing a hymn about the majesty of God, and as the pipe organ went into the last verse, having a vision of God that was very powerful. Something very similar happened to me in a service at the Anglican church.
In October, there was a service for Joan to ordain her officially as the assistant chaplain for the Anglican church in Luxembourg. We went to the licensing ceremony on that Thursday night. It was a beautiful service, and they incorporated into the service and the vows the fact that Joan and Chris were already united in calling and in holy matrimony. I thought that part was really nice.
After the vows, there was a time of greeting, and Joan came around to everyone in the church and thanked them for coming. The hymn Joan had chosen for the greeting time was completely new to me, and really beautiful. The line that struck me the most, at the time, was "We strain to glimpse Your mercy seat and find You kneeling at our feet." After everything we had been through, it was just such a beautiful picture of Jesus, and I had this vision of Him there with us, and I felt completely overwhelmed. Then when Joan came by to shake my hand, and I thought of Joan gathering up our dirty clothes to take to her house, I realized that it was a beautiful picture of Joan also.
After the service, I read through the words again. They were even more beautiful than I had remembered.
Great God, Your Love
by Brian Wren
Great God, Your love has called us here
As we, by love, for love were made.
Your living likeness still we bear,
Though marred, dishonoured, disobeyed.
We come, with all our heart and mind
Your call to hear, Your love to find.
Great God, in Christ, You call our name
And then receive us as Your own.
Not through some merit, right or claim
But by Your gracious love alone.
We strain to glimpse Your mercy seat
And find You kneeling at our feet.
Great God, in Christ, You set us free
Your life to live, Your joy to share.
Give us your Spirit's liberty
To turn from guilt and dull despair
And offer all that faith can do
While love is making all things new.
If you do move to Luxembourg, I fully recommend being a part of the Anglican church in Luxembourg. It's the best decision you will make.
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