We're Booked!!

After a few restless hours of sleep, Brandon and I woke at 4 o'clock this morning to email our Immigration Officer during her work hours in London. We were curious about a comment she'd made in a previous email which suggested that if we had booked flights, we might get our Visas sooner than the two-week maximum.
Until now, we've been wary of making any concrete travel plans, as so far, anything and everything has gone wrong. After all, what if the plane carrying our Visas crashes into the Atlantic on its short voyage from London? What if the FedEx delivery man is hijacked and is forced to hand over all his cargo to some deranged criminal? Stranger things have happened.
But we did it, we visited numerous travel websites before settling on an Air New Zealand flight. The flight we booked doesn't leave until 10 January at 8:00am, but we wanted to give our friends in London ample time to paste our passport photos into our Visas, and type our addresses correctly.
After emailing our itinerary to our I.O., she informed us that the Visas should leave London on Friday, then arrive in Edmonton on Monday, as we paid the premium for next-business-day service. So, what I'm getting at is, there is a possibility for leaving on the 7th after paying a small re-scheduling fee with the airline.
Anyway, after all this early-morning planning, we stumbled back to bed exhausted. And I couldn't sleep. Instead, my mind ran in all sorts of directions despite my attempts at slow breathing, counting backwards, and a little warm milk. Where will be put all my bookshelves if we only rent a one-bedroom? Where will I take my first shower after our long flight? Should we buy an Auckland map at the airport or try to find a cheap one somewhere else? I'll definitely need some large pieces of paper and felt pens for the first day of school. Will the landlord let me plant some herbs in the yard? What should I wear on the first day of school? What will we sleep on until our shipment arrives? Are the sheep really as hostile as Aunt Carolyn says?
The last time I checked the time it was 6:40am, and then I woke up at 10. What a night/morning!

So there we have it!

Dare We Say "Finally" - II

We received an email today from our Immigration Officer stating that our Application for Residency has been approved.
Good news.
She also informed us that our application is in the Visa issuing queue which may take up to two weeks to process.
Bad news.

Consider this a prayer request because...
If the processing takes two weeks, that will bring us to the 13th of January, a mere 16 days away from my job start date. In that time, we will need to: activate a bank account, buy a car, get health coverage, find somewhere to live, process our shipment, live without our shipment, learn to drive on the wrong side of the road, figure out where to buy groceries, not to mention prepare to teach a brad-new curriculum to brand-new students in a country 13,048km from home.
Needless to say, we are stressed out already.

Please pray that the processing time is speedy. Pray also that we can feel peace. Pray for our emotions and the emotions of our family members, as this has been a rollercoaster like none other.

Thanks.

Kiwi-Canucks

This last week, we received an email from Cheryl, a Canadian woman living in NZ with her family. She and her husband are pastoring an International church in Auckland. Our names and email addresses were passed on to her via Brandon's future employer's wife. Although perfect strangers, she and I have shared information. She has been very open and friendly, and she has even volunteered to meet us at the airport!

I have a feeling that it will be important for us to know people who are familiar with our homeland and it's exciting to know that these people are out there and are hospitable and welcoming. Besides, Cheryl and her family have gone through the settling process over the last two years and can share our frustration/anxiety over the immigration process.

We look forward to meeting Cheryl and her family, as well as Brandon's future employer, Clyde, as these people have gone above and beyond for us - and we haven't even met!

One More Christmas in the Snow

Although our immigration process is drawing to a close - thankfully - we will be celebrating Christmas in Canada. Our emotions are mixed. Though we are excited to spend more time, special time, with family and friends, we are eager to move on to what we've been planning for so long.
In the meantime, we're trying to cope with the colder winter weather without our usual staples: jackets, wool socks, toques - as these are all packed and travelling across the Pacific.

Cheap Flight

For anyone interested in a trip to NZ in the nearer future, check out this amazing deal - round trip to Auckland for $1179!
http://www.airnewzealand.ca/bookings/airfares-deals/special-offer-discount-flights-economy-canada-to-new-zealand-gnz12c.htm

Dare We Say "Finally"

There has been quite a gap between my last post and this, and that is due to the incredible amount of disappointment we've faced.
Immigration New Zealand (INZ) has dealt us every possible wildcard, each one setting us back two, three steps at a time.
Now, two months past our originally projected departure date, the sun is starting to shine (figuratively, of course - this is November in Alberta).
On Wednesday, I (Kristen) interviewed for a teaching position in a NZ school and they offered me the job. So, I'll be teaching a classroom of 24 students, no tests, no textbooks, just learning, in a school where the discipline problems consist of lazy students who sometimes don't wear their uniforms properly. I can honestly say - and I never thought I'd say this - I'm excited to teach in this school. You can check it out at www.pasadena.school.nz
Friday evening, we sorted out the last of our shipping details, only to hear that if we wanted our earthly goods to reach NZ before February, we needed to load it the next day. So, we madly packed and Saturday morning, we bid farewell as 4000lbs of our lives headed for Vancouver with Auckland, NZ, its destination.
Now, we wait for our Visas which should arrive within the next two weeks if there are no more surprise hang-ups. (Prayer could be useful in this area!)
So there it is, we're that much closer to being gone and we truly can't wait.

Giving Thanks

At 12:03 am on Thanksgiving day, we received an email. An offer of employment. So, we're nearly off. In about three weeks from now (if we can trust the latest time schedule sent to us by Immigration New Zealand), we should be booking our flights, shipping our belongings, and saying our goodbyes.
We'll keep you posted.

Walking in the Park

Amidst the rustle of autumn leaves and a coyote's cry, fingers interlaced, we listen to our breath, the wind.  Both linger in the space between us, sifting through a tiresome cloud of flies.

As we walk along the river, I tell about my day.

I remember I saw a man waving and smiling at the traffic from a street-corner on my morning commute.  I wanted to cry, the way his smile was so wide, and how people weren't waving back.  It made me think of God.  I could see him doing that sort of thing were he here and shaped like a person--wanting to make people smile on their way to work on a frosty September morning.

I say I miss my students--the ones I used to teach, but don't teach anymore because we're moving away.  If only I could be there, leaning over their shoulders during class, whispering, and reminding them to love the words.  To love reading them, writing them, bouncing them around in their heads.

When a boy walks by us with a long stick, I remember playing softball as a child.  Short-stop.  I loved my spot between second and third, a territory all my own.  Leaning forward with my gloved hand raised, I would shift my weight from left foot to right foot and back, waiting to crush someone's homerun dream.  It seems like a long time ago, now.

When I finish talking, and decide to be quiet, it's dusk.  My toes are tingling and the light is such that the earth blends into the sky.  So, after stopping to watch a man run to the top of a big hill, we smile at each other and drive back home.

Image "Autumn Evening" by Richard Wade (www.richardwade-art.com)

The Farewell - Dad's Message

Hi friends,
Of course I am sorry I couldn't be there tonight, but I've come to the sure and profound realization that Alberta's tar sands will not get built without my very highly developed insulator skills.
But I did want to say something to those of you who could make it to say "Bon Voyage" to Kristen and Brandon. As I thought about this time together I thought it was very significant that as you look around the room most of the people are old enough to be Kristen and Brandon's parents, and some of you could be her grandparents, well maybe not quite, Lloyd! And Kristen in particular, did not invite you out of some sense of duty or obligation, she genuinely wanted to be with you all, enjoy your company and conversation and laughter. Some people say that young people don't respect the older ones. Well tonight we put that myth to rest. There is also no way to calculate the impact you have had on these young people and as a result there is no way for Eunice and I to say thanks for the gift you have given us as a result. But we do say thanks and praise be to God for each of you.
Well enjoy yourselves and have a Coke on me.
Thanks friends,
Dennis

The Farewell

Tonight was our farewell party. I waited for seven 0'clock and the first chime of the doorbell with the anticipation of a ten year-old at her birthday party. And when it was all over, I collapsed on the couch with the same exhaustion and exhilaration felt by that ten year-old when she stays up past her bedtime with her bestest of friends.
But before any of this was possible, my dad made the invitations, my mother prepared the food, and I made the guest list which, once complete, struck me as slightly odd. Forty-five would be the average age of the attendees. Including myself and Brandon, there were only four people under forty. Odd though it may be, the group gathered in my mother's kitchen made perfect sense to me.
This isn't to say that the people I shared with tonight are people I phone on the weekends or send Christmas cards to. We don't meet during the holidays or know each other's middle names. Others might assume we are mere acquaintances, but when faced with the prospect of saying Goodbye, these were the people I wanted to say Goodbye to in person.
They are the people whose faces appear before me when I think of my childhood, the years when the person I am today began to take shape. They are people whose doors have been open to me at one time or another, who have blessed my life with their loving acceptance. Some have been consistent coffee-mates. Some are unlikely kindred spirits. Some I consider an auntie, an uncle, a sister.
Together, they were the village that raised this child, and I honor them.

Fare thee well.

Immigration Lesson #74: Plan For Plans Not To Go As Planned

Well, you may notice that our countdown widget has disappeared.  That's because we are currently unaware of our departure date.

Finally, on August 29th, after six months of collecting, filling out, sending, receiving, and re-sending paperwork, I submitted our completed visa application pack.  This was the second step after being pre-approved for residency in New Zealand.  The weight that was lifted from my shoulders was almost tangible as I watched the friendly FedEx agent seal the envelope destined for London.  Then, not seventy-two hours later, we received an email from Immigration informing us that current processing times range from three weeks (for offer-of-employment applications) to six months (for non-offer-of-employment applications), and that we are somewhere in between.

So, after nearly two years of planning and Internet searching, we have been delayed by the hand of bureaucracy once again.  Needless to say, we aren't pleased.  Especially since we've already sold our condo and are technically homeless.  Of course we have loving family members and caring friends who have offered to put a roof over our heads, but that isn't the crux.

Imagine (as many of you can) living in a flat land stretching as far as the eye can see which is covered by ghost-white snow for eight months of the year.  Squeezed in a grip of death, trees become skeletal and most mammals must hide to survive.  Humans trudge through the dark depths of this cursed season, clenching their fists and muttering through frozen lips, "I hate this place."

Now, imagine a place where the white snow sparkles in the distance, capping the mountains, adding to their beauty, not the misery of the inhabitants.  Waves lap the shores year-round and green, all shades of it, dominate each and every season.  A place where soccer is only ever played outdoor, and where people do not tote a window scraper in the trunk of their car.

Imagine you are leaving the first place for the second, and you've said a triumphant "Good riddance!" to la saison de la mort.  You begin to feel the heat of the southern-hemisphere sunshine as the chill of winter is becoming but a memory.

Then, before you can fully immerse yourself in the closest thing to Paradise, Winter gives one last shriek, spins you around and prepares to blast you full force, one     last    time.

This is why we are most disappointed.  Also, because we know we will be asked once, twice, a dozen times by the same loving family and caring friends: "What happened?"  And each time we explain--the technical and not-so-technical aspects of the ordeal--we will have to brace ourselves against the prospect of another violent winter spent in this god-forsaken country.  For this, we are sad.

So, although our immigration is not an "if" but a "when," the not knowing exactly when is our greatest challenge.  Which brings us to Immigration Lesson #74 (yes, there have been that many): Plan For Plans Not To Go As Planned.

Memories Already Made

I've begun to realize that there is little time remaining here, in Canada. The collage of emotions that come with this knowledge carries a strong theme of something like sadness. Our approaching departure creates in me a sense of urgency to commit to memory all the loved and familiar landscapes, smells, and impressions of my "home."
The lush and vibrant soul of Edmonton, it's River Valley, alight with sunshine and bold autumn leaves, its wind carrying the paradoxically sweet scent of decay.
The three-acre plot of undeveloped land behind our first home together, where a hawk often circles and descends upon its prey amid the clovers and indigenous Alberta blossoms--we imagine it extends around us and beyond, our own piece of prairie.
"My" swimming hole just inside Jasper National Park where a mound of bleached white rock makes the perfect sun-bathing spot, surrounded by clear mountain water. Far enough from the woods to escape shade, yet close enough to the highway to escape the hungry bear I know is just around the corner.
The little city that seems to strain and swell into a larger city every year. The city where I rode my pink bike--hockey cards clipped to the spokes--to the gas station where candy still sold for a penny, to Bower Ponds where minnows waited to be caught, to the Rec Centre where the 5-metre board dared me to jump.
Today, I try to look to a time before urban condos dotted the south-east side, before the down-town had a flashy bus terminal, before a Starbucks had ever sold a coffee in this town. And I'm somewhat surprised to find it's not too hard to erase everything that's come about since my memories were made. I realize that everything important is already committed to memory and won't likely fade too soon. After all, Alberta will always be home.

Take Five

Immigrating is an overwhelming undertaking. I honestly can't imagine how someone from a third-world country ever accomplishes to find their home in a foreign land. Besides the mountains of paperwork that seem to reach new heights each day with each question, there's the sheer cost of laboratory tests, x-rays, the services of a notary public, qualifications assessment, professional association registration, police record checks, a visa application--we've spent $200 on passport photos alone! If I wasn't sure about this little country of warriors far in the southern hemisphere, I would've backed out long ago. I hate paperwork. I hate having to keep a constant, running, growing, MUTATING "to-do" list. And writing it all down doesn't help. When I lay in bed at night trying to sleep, when I'm sweltering in the summer traffic, when I'm hauling canvas bags from the grocery store, I can't help but obsess over all that still remains to be done... But when I see an airplane in the sky and imagine myself behind the hublot, looking down at my mother country, I can breathe. It'll all be over soon.

First Goodbyes

I think of myself as the type who would prefer to dissolve into the background rather than suffer the desperation of a farewell that borders on a goodbye. Still, after having said a few of those goodbyes already and choking back tears, I've begun to understand that fading into the mist is a thing of Hollywood. Instead, the words that prevail are M. Scott Peck's, highlighted in his book on my shelf, reminding me that an act of love is always an act of work or courage or both - with no exceptions. Goodbyes take the courage to endure the pain of severing the invisible umbilical cord that ties one to another; the courage to look ahead, not behind. Besides, without the wrenching, the tearing, what evidence is there that one loves and is loved? And so, I will say goodbye now and many more times, and I will cherish the ache for the proof it provides.

Sir Edmund Hillary Collegiate

It looks like Sir Edmund Hillary Collegiate in Otara will be my first teaching experience in New Zealand. Visit the school's website at: http://www.hillarycollegiate.school.nz/ .

Expectation

I did not recognize the number that flashed across my call-display. As is my habit, I prepared to ignore the call, but something about the never-ending number caught my attention. Giving in to my curiosity I answered with a "Hello?" And from the other end of the line - the other side of the world - came a crisp New Zealand accent. The oral form of communication, so essential to Maori culture, was now having its effect on me. Along with basic information, it carried a wave of excitement and a chill of trepidation.
It's real.
They're real.
They know we/I exist and are reaching out.
And we are now expected.