Addendum to "My Birthday in Tasmania"

It wasn't until Darlene asked me if kept in touch with anyone from Australia that I realized I totally forgot to add to the ending of my story that my friend Ruth , who was the youth director of the church at Sheffield, called me last night to wish me a Happy Birthday. The connection wasn't the best we've had (I kept hearing strange beeping noises after I would say something), but hearing that sweet Aussie accent immediately made my birthday that much happier.

We chatted about the boys and the husbands and homeschooling (she homeschools her two boys there in Tasmania). I told her about my bloggy friend, Rachel , who lives in South Australia. If I'm not mistaken, I believe she said her mom has relatives in Adelaide. I wonder if Rachel knows them? Yeah, that's like Kimba saying she has relatives in Memphis, and wonders if I know them.

Every time I talk to Ruth I miss her more. I so wish we could pack up and head over there for a couple of weeks. And then have them pack up and come here for a couple of weeks. I know our boys would have a ball together. That is, if they can understand each other. Last time my Kiddo talked to her oldest son he spent more time saying, "What? I didn't understand you!" than he did actually talking. Which just made me laugh. Getting used to the Aussie accent over the phone takes a little practice.

Thank you, Ruth, for your call. It was such a very special gift to me!

My Birthday in Tasmania

What a weekend. I'm spoiled rotten, I tell you. I'll tell about my birthday weekend later this week. With the busyness of the weekend behind me (and more of me that's behind me with all the eating that's been going on, hee hee), let me start the week talking about the most memorable birthday I've ever had.

Everyone knows when people turn 21 they are said to have "come of age." It's when you're legal to drink alcohol and smoke. Not that I've ever done either of those. Seriously. Okay, not that I've ever knowingly done either of those. That's another post aaaallll by itself. Anyway, turning 21 is a big, big deal. Being in Australia when I turned 21 was a big, big, BIG deal.

It had already been such an upside down, topsy turvey summer for me, being away from home for longer than I had ever been, throwing snowballs the last week of July, dancing at a Baptist youth function. It was surreal, this summer of no summer. But I knew the weirdest part was yet to come. My birthday was less than a week before we were to return home to the States and resume our normal lives.

We were at a retreat center the weekend of my birthday, and I was in one of the cabins cleaning up when I realized I was by myself. I was wondering where everyone else had gotten to, when one of the girls came and told me I was needed in the gym. We walked in and everyone there shouted "Surprise!" and ushered me to a table laden with streamers and birthday cake and all sorts of other Australian goodies. See the cake? It was covered with kiwi fruit and orange slices. Not what we Americans consider birthday cake, is it? Much healthier than buttercream frosting, to be sure. But it was yummy, nonetheless. And see the jar with the yellow top just to the right of the cake? That would be Vegemite. It defies description. It's definitely an acquired taste. I never acquired it.

Back to the par-tay. They showered me with gifts that night. A handcrafted wooden bowl made from native Tasmanian wood, earrings made from another Tasmanian wood, a mug with different Australian animals on it (you can see it in front of the Vegemite jar). I was definitely feelin' the Tassie love that night.

But that wasn't the only celebration they gave me. The next night after church we all had a big party that was sort of a "farewell to Keith and Heather/birthday party." I had yet another cake to cut and one more gift to receive from the people of Sheffield. It was a koala made with kangaroo fur, handmade by Dianne's sister. I had admired it the night we went to the Baptist youth dance. (That still cracks me up when I think about it - saying "Baptist" and "dance" in the same sentence...I'll post about that later.) Anyway, we had stopped at Dianne's sister's house to freshen up before the dance (at least I think it was her sister...it was some relation, anyway) and she had one of those koala's. I couldn't stop petting it. Evidently, Dianne noticed how much I loved it and commissioned her sister to make one for my birthday. I was thrilled. This is me (bad grammar!) holding my koala with my friends Janelle and Alicia. Janelle gave me the cutest little wombat that I named after her. You can't tell in this picture, but I'd been crying. I do that a lot, you know. When I'm happy, when I'm sad, etc, etc. I was both happy and sad that evening. I was happy that they loved me so much, but was so sad knowing I'd be leaving soon.

There was one more gift I received, but it wasn't from any of my Australia buddies, it was from Keith. I think I'll save that for another post, because I need to explain my relationship with him in more detail, I think. Nothing inappropriate, mind you. Just very different personalities.

So that was how I spent my 21st birthday. It was amazing. Most people don't forget their 21st birthdays, I'd imagine, but few people get to say that they spent theirs in a foreign country doing amazing things and surrounded by new friends. I'm so grateful to the One who made that the best gift of all.

Another look...

This picture bears repeating. I don't know why I said that, but I like that phrase. Whatever. Anyway, I wanted to take a deeper look at this picture, second only to my koala picture in my favorite pics list.

What do you notice first in this picture? Mount Roland in the background? The grin on my face? The way the lamb is begging to be let go? I notice my hat. It's an official Akubra .

Never heard of Akubra Hats? Well, you have seen them before, I'm sure. Remember this movie?

The Man From Snowy River is one of my favorite movies. It was a favorite even before I even had the teeniest thought I might someday travel to Australia. While out shopping in Devonport, the closest city to Sheffield, I stepped into a shop that had the same kind of hats and jackets worn in the movie, and I had to have a hat. How appropriate, then, when I found my favorite its style was none other than "Snowy River." The same style worn in the movie.

I don't get to wear my hat often. As a matter of fact, I never get to wear it. The times I want to wear it (Missions week at our church, for example) my husband thinks I look too, um, non-Australian to pull it of. He's right, of course, but that doesn't diminish my desire to wear it. So, it hangs on the wall of the playroom, next to my collection of all things Australian, like my stuffed animals Taz and Janelle (a Tasmanian devil and wombat, respectively). And various post cards of scenes from around Tasmania. And maps of Tasmania. And a stuffed koala made from kangaroo fur. Oh yeah. That's another post.

Sigh...I guess I'll have to be content knowing that it's there, if I do decide to wear it one day, no matter how un-Australian I may be.

The Beauty of Tasmania

There is so much beauty to behold in Tasmania. I cannot begin to convey with words or even pictures the wonder I felt every day for two months. Almost every day God gave me a rainbow to remember that He keeps His promises, even showing me one made from snow. Yes, a snow-reflected rainbow. I'd never seen one before and haven't since. Which brings me to a point I've wanted to make, just have not had the chance. When we in the Northern Hemisphere are having summer, those in the Southern Hemisphere are having winter. Hence, the jackets and sweaters. Some days were colder than others, like the week before my birthday that I played in the snow at Cradle Mountain (where the wallaby got a little too personal).

When I first arrived they told me I had missed the Southern Lights (Aurora Australis), the Southern Hemisphere's version of our Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis), by about a week. Determined to see them, I kept my eye on the night skies. I was never privileged to see the Southern Lights, but I remember the night we drove to a couple's house out in a very rural area. It was an extremely clear night, and when I emerged from the car, I gasped in wonder at the magnificence above me. The stars were simply breathtaking. They seemed so close that I almost thought I could reach out and touch them. How can I convey to you the wonder that I felt? My words simply fail me. I had never before beheld something that made me feel the Creator's presence more than I did that night.

Since my words are so inadequate, I thought I'd let some pictures tell their own tales for a change. I'll tell you where they're from, but that's about it. I'm sure if you want to know more about them you'll let me know.

Lake Barrington

Mount Roland, sunset

The Nut at Stanley

Rain forest waterfall

One of my almost daily rainbows

Southeastern coast, close to Port Arthur

Southeastern coast, close to Port Arthur


Church at Port Arthur, Historic Site


Cradle Mountain

Pastoral scene, Mount Roland

One of thousands of joyful faces made over the course of the summer, Mount Roland as backdrop, little wooly friend as companion

The Flora and Fauna of Tasmania

I said that to my small group last night and my husband said, "The who and the what?" Flora means the plants of an area or region, and fauna means the animals of an area or region. As in, the flora and fauna of Mississippi include kudzu and possums.

Spending two months in one place, more or less, gave me the awesome opportunity to see the wildlife as well as the plant life in Tasmania. Of course, on the car trip from Launceston to Sheffield I expected to see kangaroos hopping all over the place. Uh, yeah. They don't do that. Well, I'm sure they could, given the right circumstances. But as I looked out my window I wondered if I would get to see the animals made so famous by the Land Down Under. It wouldn't take me long before I was introduced to some of them.

One morning not long after I arrived in Sheffield I awoke to a cacophony of noise very close to Heather's home. I found Heather and asked her what in the world that was, and she informed me that it was a kookaburra, and they did that most every morning. As much as I tried, I never got a good picture of a kookaburra. I either was too far away or didn't have my camera. One day I was visiting someone and suddenly a plump bird plopped down in the tree just outside the glass door of the living room. It was the elusive kookaburra, and I hadn't brought my camera for some unknown reason. The nice lady I was visiting offered to take a picture with her camera and send me the photo, but I never received it. Oh, well, that's what the 'net is for. Make sure you listen to the sound it makes, too.

On to pictures I do have. I called this post the "Flora" yada, yada, yada, but I really only have one picture of actual "flora." But it's a good one. The flora, not the picture. This is a Wattle Tree. It is widespread in Australia and one type of Wattle is the floral emblem of Australia.

Now to the "fauna." One of the major highlights of the summer was the trip to Trowunna Wildlife Park at Mole Creek. They pride themselves on Tasmanian Devil conservation, even more now than when I was there. There is a contagious cancer the Devils are contracting and it is killing thousands of Devils. It hurts my heart to think these little unique creatures may go the way of the Tasmanian Tiger.

Okay, off that depressing thought. I know what you're thinking. Or at least what you did think when I mentioned Tasmanian Devils. This is what you thought...

Go ahead, admit it. It's okay. Not many people know what a real Tasmanian Devil looks like, much less sounds like. And believe me, you don't forget what it really sounds like when you hear it.

It's amazing to think that such an awful sound can come from such a cute animal. Okay, maybe not so cute, but still. It is considered the "cleanup crew" of the Tasmanian bush. It eats roadkill, and how. I watched it eat every bit of pieces of meat...fur, bones, everything. I hope you're not eating as you're reading this. But they really are very needed animals in Tasmania.

Okay, on to "cuter" animals. These little dudes that Stephanie and I are holding are wombats. They are so cute, but I had never even heard of wombats before my trip.

We then moved on to the Kangaroo area. These are Gray Kangaroos, and some even had little joeys peeping out from their pouches. Too, too cute.

Here are some wallabies. These were not at the wildlife park, but this was a good spot to put them in. Notice the brown mud on my knees. That's because I fell halfway down the hill trying to feed the wallabies at Cradle Mountain. Sigh...it never ends.

Do you see how close that wallaby is to my face? He was seriously wanting my carrot sticks, and he was scaring me! He kept getting closer and closer until I had to throw the whole bag away to get him off of me.

Okay, back to the wildlife park. This is the one I had been waiting for. My entire life. No, really! Now, koalas are no longer living in Tasmania, having been hunted to extinction on the island in the 19th century, so this is one non-Tasmanian-native. If you look closely you can see the baby attached to the momma koala. I was about to die from the cuteness.

I don't even know how to introduce this next picture. My face is lit up with so much joy, I'm sure my face hurt after this day was over. I had always, always wanted to hold a real, live, koala. I got my wish.

I've had people ask me if this is a real koala. Uh, yes. Why would I hold a fake one? Oh, wait, I do later on. But that's another post.

If I had to choose one picture to capture my summer, this would be it. Pretty fitting, if I do say so myself.

Aussie Language Survival Guide

As I was rummaging around my stash of Australian memorabilia, I found a little yellow pamphlet with the above title. As I've mentioned before, some words and phrases that mean one thing in the States mean something totally different in Australia. I thought you'd like to see some of the different meanings.

American = Australian

or, We say = They say

Food:
biscuit = scone

cookie = biscuit (or bickie)

food = tucker

french fries = hot chips

chicken = chook

kool-aid = cordial

breakfast = breckie (they say breakfast, but they abbreviate as many words as they can)

supper = tea

late night snack = supper

cup of coffee, tea, etc. = cuppa

bell pepper = capsicum

ketchup = tomato sauce

tomato sauce = tomato puree

jello = jelly

jelly = conserve

candy = lolly

spaghetti = bolognese

shrimp = prawn

carry out (like fast food) = take away ( I remember in Hobart, the capital of Tasmania, we went to McDonald's - the first time I'd eaten fast food in WEEKS...this college girl was having withdrawals! - and the girl taking my order said "Dine in or take away?" and it caught me off guard...I just stood there looking like the clueless American tourist that I was, until I finally answered her)

and finally,

vegemite = it defies definition...it's a spread, and it looks, smells, and tastes N.A.S.T.Y. Of course, I don't like raw tomatoes either.

Clothes:

sweater = jumper

ladies undies = knickers

swimsuit = bathers

undershirt = singlet

tennis shoes = sand shoes

Various other non-related but very interesting at least to me words:

apartment = flat

friend = cobber, digger, mate

napkin = serviette

diaper = nappy

elevator = lift

flashlight = torch

American football = gridiron

Australian football = footy (and heaven help you if you get in the way of them watching it! Of course, I wouldn't know this from experience)

gasoline = petrol

t.v. = telly

hood of a car = bonnet

trunk of a car = boot

drunk = feeling under the weather

extremely tired = knocked up (remember the phrase Elizabeth teased me with?)

way to go! = good on ya!

how are you? = how ya goin'?

don't worry = no worries

truly, really = fair dinkum

are you all right? = are you right?

check out the possibilities = sus it out

Australia(n) = Oz, Aussie

Tasmania = Tassie

busy = flat out

really busy = flat out like a lizard drinking (my personal favorite)

Now, there were a couple of times that I either messed up or nearly messed up. The times I nearly messed up were times I might have almost said "blood" with a "y" attached to it, as in: I screamed b----y murder when I saw that huge spider! Or even, "He has a b----y nose." That word is EXTREMELY rude, which is why I'm not spelling it out. I'm hoping Ruth and her family will read this one of these days! And I scream b----y murder all the time. Or at least when I see a huge spider.

Then there was the time that I did mess up. What do you say when you really haven't done anything all day long, just sort of this or that? Well, I say piddled. As in, I piddled around the house. In fact, when posed the question of "Heather, what did you do all day by yourself?" answer: "Oh, just piddled around the house."

You know where this is going. "Piddle" in Australia does NOT mean "doing nothing of interest." It means peeing. Yes, I told them I peed all over the house. Of course, they (meaning Stephen M, and probably Grant M and Ruth M, as well as Keith) thought that was the funniest thing they had ever heard and laughed all the way into town, with me in the back seat wishing a hole would open up in the floor board and put me out of my misery. I quickly apologized and said that I was tired and wasn't paying attention to my vocabulary, blah, blah, blah. They still laughed at me.

I can't say that word now without thinking about that faux pas and smile just a little. Of course, when I'm thinking about Tassie I can't help but smile, even if it's a memory I'd just as soon forget.

My favorite family

I stayed with so many wonderful families while I was in Tasmania, but my favorite family was one that I never stayed with more than a night or two. Because I want to keep some degree of anonymity with the people I talk about, I won't divulge their complete last name, but I will call them the M family.

The M's consisted of Alan and Rhonda, the parents (Rhonda has been mentioned a couple of times); John, the oldest; Ruth; Stephen; Grant; Elizabeth, the baby. They were a hard working family that made Keith and me feel so at home that for me it made the separation from my family at home so much easier. Here is my favorite picture of all of them together, sent to me by Ruth after I had returned home.

From left: Grant, Stephen, Alan, Rhonda, John, Ruth, Elizabeth

Alan, who has since gone to live with Jesus, was a typical Tasmanian. He was rugged and spoke his mind. But as rough as his exterior was, he had a soft heart...to a point. He relished persecuting me to no end. Rhonda was as complementary to him as Gae was to Ken. She was soft spoken and very sweet and always took up for me when one of the men would start their teasing.

John, the oldest, loved to torture me as well. One night we had a "Slave Auction" to raise money for the youth group, and John "bought" me...the reason he wanted me as a slave was so that I could carry something...dead possums.

There is a practice in the "bush" (our term would be woods) of Tasmania of hunting treed possums. Now, our possums (okay, okay, for you purists out there, Opossums), look absolutely nothing like Australian possums. While ours are ugly gray with nasty looking tails and crossed eyes, Australian possums are actually quite cute. That's sort of beside the point...anyway, John knew that I was squeamish and did NOT want to carry a bunch of dead animals, so he was "kind" enough to let me just tag along with him, Grant, Stephen, and Keith on a hunt, and he carried the dead ones in a canvas bag. Ugh. Gross doesn't even begin to describe the evening. *shudders* He only treated me like that because I was an honorary sister. Whatever.

Ruth was the youth director at the church and one of the first people I met. She and I clicked immediately, and we are still friends, calling each other at Christmas and occasional birthdays (however, she does most of the calling...I'm a horrible friend). She came to visit me a few years after I came home, and we had the best time, going to Graceland (my first time, too) and downtown Memphis. She and Rod got married several years ago and now have two sons who she home schools...how neat is that? Her oldest son and my son are a couple years apart, and have become pen pals of sorts. My kiddo is as bad at sending letters as his mother is at phone calls! I treasure the friendship we have, however long distance it may be. Email is a wonderful thing.

Stephen was the farmer of the family. He loved his family's animals and as far as I know, is still working the same land that was his family's land while I was there. The first time I saw Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, he reminded me so much of Stephen. Stephen also had a great sense of humor, too. I think that if you were a child of Alan, you pretty much had to have one!

Grant and I connected more than any other person in Tasmania, girl or guy. He was (and still is) an artist, with an artist's deep soul. Grant was such a deep thinker sometimes I wondered if he was really an old, wise man in a young man's body. He and his friend Rod (now Ruth's husband) came to visit me after Ruth returned home. We had a great time touring Memphis, once again travelling to Graceland (against my better judgement...once was enough for me) and downtown, even taking them on a riverboat cruise on the Mississippi. He just recently got married and is now living in England.

Elizabeth, the baby of the family, was so sweet. She would cuddle in my lap (quite a feat since she was as tall as I was, and at only 13! She enjoyed teasing me as much as John did, but maybe not quite as harshly. Even though Australians speak the same language as we do, some of our words and phrases do NOT match. She found out about one phrase that here in the States is extremely rude, but one that, for Aussies, innocently means "very tired." She would always take a dig at me from that point on by repeating that phrase every time she saw me.

As much time as I spent with them, I felt as if I had become their American family member. I miss them still today, 17 years later. My hope is to be able to visit them again one day. The precious thing about them, though, is that even if I don't get to see them again on this earth, I will see them again in heaven. That makes the separation okay...for now.

My Host Families

Although Ken and Gae were my pastoral family while I was in Tasmania, I was never privileged to stay with them, as Keith was. I did, however, get to stay with some unforgettable people over the course of the summer, each for two or so weeks at a time.

My first hostess was Heather. Not easy to forget her name. She was a widow whose daughter had just gotten married. I think I filled a void for her...she enjoyed "doing" for me as much as I enjoyed staying with her. She made the best pumpkin soup. Yes, pumpkin soup. More about the plethora of pumpkin later. Heather was the sweetest, most hospitable lady I met while I was in Tasmania. She and I just really clicked. When my weeks with her were up, I begged Ken to let me stay with her the whole summer, because I knew she would get lonely. Ken said that he would if he could, but that other families wanted the "privilege" of keeping me. Whatever. So, to the next home I went, however begrudgingly.

I soon got over myself after I arrived at Dianne and Des's home. While Dianne may have been a bit overbearing, she would do anything for me. And Des was just as easygoing as Ken was. He tried his best to give me an Australian accent, starting with the word "Hi!" but it never happened. Their youngest, Stephen, was at home while I was there and we spent many evenings playing Nintendo. Just like leaving Heather's, I wasn't ready to leave Dianne and Des's place.

Paul and Maxine were next, along with their two kids, Nicole and Trent. Maxine and I were the closest in age of any of the families I stayed with, and we connected very quickly. Paul and I really never talked, because Maxine and I wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise! I will never forget staying with them. I loved playing with the kids and the various animals they had around the house.

One little abandoned lamb stole my heart. Maxine made a little hut for it outside with a crate and some hay. No bigger than a small dog, it scampered and played with the children, and I enjoyed every minute I got to spend with it. One morning as I came in for breakfast, Maxine informed me that the lamb had gotten too cold the night before and wasn't doing very well. She had brought it inside to stay by the wood burning stove. In my mind, I saw the sweet little lamb quietly standing by the fire, getting warm and enjoying the treat of being indoors. When I came into the living room I asked Maxine where he was and she pointed me to the side of the stove. In a basket, wrapped up in blankets to try to give it warmth, was the little lamb. It was as near death as I'd ever seen anything.

Maxine had to go out for the day and I kept the kids, offering to try to feed the lamb every once in a while. Maxine showed me what to do and after she left I got the bottle, picked up the sick lamb and tried to get it to eat. It refused to eat, choking on the milk and bleating pitifully. I tried not to panic, and a little while later tried to feed it again. Again, the poor little thing refused. At this point the kids were realizing the lamb was not getting better, and I was terrified that the lamb would die and I would have to explain it to them. One last time I wanted to try to get the lamb to eat, but when I reached for his little body, it was cold to the touch. He had died, and it took more restraint than I had ever had not to scream "NO!!!" and burst into tears. But for the kid's sake, I kept a brave face and played with the kids, keeping them away from the lamb's body until Maxine could get home. Later that night I wrote a letter to my friend Amy and poured my heart out, crying the whole time.

Even though my saddest memory was at Paul and Maxine's, I still loved them dearly, and, as was my pattern, did not want to leave. This was for the last time, and it tore at my heart to know that my summer would soon be over. I honestly don't remember very much about living at John and Elaine's, with their two daughters Jodie and Tammy. I think it was because I was getting very worked up about leaving. I will say that their home was where I learned the benefit of a hot water bottle at the foot of the bed on a cold winter night! But they were just as hospitable as any of the other families, and I'm sad to say I didn't get to spend more time with them.

From left, front row: Maxine, holding Nicole, Me, Stephen, Elaine; from left, back row: Paul, holding Trent, Heather, Dianne, Des, John.

I will never forget my time at each of these homes. God placed me in just the right spot in just the right time, both for me as well as the families I was privileged to share my summer with.

The People of Sheffield

The beauty of Tasmania is overwhelming. I had no idea a place could be so beautiful. But I quickly learned that the real beauty I would experience over the summer was in the people I met, starting with the pastor of Sheffield Baptist Church, Ken Preece, and his Wife, Gae. From the very beginning I knew I would love them.

Ken, Gae, me, Rhonda, and Dianne at Cradle Mountain...Rhonda and Dianne were also with Ken and Gae when they came to pick Keith and me up from Launceston.

Ken had a great sense of humor. He knew how to make anyone feel at ease around him, which I needed during the entire summer. Every new situation I found myself in, no matter how nervous I was, Ken made me laugh and not take myself too seriously.

One task that was NOT included in my job description was that of leading music. I about had three strokes and two heart attacks when Ken told me that was one of the things I’d be doing. I sang, sure, but I had never led before. The first time I was asked to lead was a Sunday afternoon in a very tiny church that Ken preached at once a month or so in the rural area around Sheffield. Ken had told me the piano player was a bit hard of hearing, so I might have to speak up. He neglected to explain the fact that she was stone cold deaf. DEAF. I was nervous enough, but when I turned to her and told her what hymn to turn to, she starts playing something totally different. Then, since she couldn’t hear me yelling, yes, YELLING at her that that wasn’t the right one, I had to wave like a maniac for her to stop so I could direct her to the correct song. This happened at least twice, and hoping for some kind of reprieve, I looked at Ken on the front pew. He had the biggest smile on his face, and he was not about to come to my rescue. After church was over with and we were back in his car, he told me he was enjoying it too much to save me. As I was plotting his demise he then said that I had handled the situation beautifully. Whatever. Okay, so I didn’t kill him.

Ken’s wife Gae was the exact opposite of him. Not that she didn’t make me feel welcome or at ease, because she did both, but she did it in a much more subdued way. She was such a gentle, sweet person, but if you messed with someone she loved, watch out. I remember having a really horrible day and crying my eyes out in their living room, and Gae just came over and held my hand while I cried and Ken prayed. So sweet. And she made the best soup I’ve ever tasted. MMMMmmmmm, my mouth waters just thinking about it.

This picture pretty much sums up their personalities. I’m not sure what the body of water is here, but it’s either Bass Strait or the Indian Ocean. Pretty cool, huh? Anyway, I told Ken I wanted a picture of us on the beach just talking. So Gae stands there, looking naturally like she is carrying on a conversation. What is Ken doing? I have no idea. So much for that photo op.

Ken and Gae were just two of the people I was so privileged to meet that summer. Over the next few days, I’ll introduce you to a few more. After that, I’ll show you what I got to see while I was there. Beauty…so much beauty!

On with the Story...

Let's start at the very beginning...a very good place to start... (in case you haven't started it yet...)

Having completed all the training the International (then called Foreign) Mission Board deemed necessary, my trip was all but upon me. The excitement was a bit shadowed by the realization that I would be away from home for two whole months. I had never been away from my Mom for that long, even during college. I wondered how I would manage the homesickness, not just from my family, but my friends, as well. I was extremely close to my friends, and was very nervous about going through this without any of them to share it with me.

June 9th arrived and I was sent off from Memphis International Airport amidst many tears and hugs. My mother kept telling me not to get eaten by a Tasmanian Devil, and my friends sent me off with sweet notes of encouragement to get me through the long flight.

Long Flight. Flights. My travel itinerary was two pages long there and back. Memphis to Chicago, Chicago to L.A, L.A. to Melbourne, Melbourne to Launceston. It makes me tired just typing it.
I reached L.A. for the "big" flight and waited as the rest of our team trailed in, one by one. We left L.A. at 10:00 p.m on the biggest honkin' airplane I had ever seen. A Boeing 747-400. I don't think they can even fit one of those in the airport at Memphis. Okay, well, maybe it wasn't that big, but I was definitely intimidated by its hugeness.

I am a good flier. My favorite part is takeoff. It's like a big roller coaster ride. And once we're in the air my brain doesn't really register that there is nothing between me and the ground but 30,000 feet of nothing. So it was on this 13-hour flight across the Pacific Ocean. Well, it was, until we reached the Equator. The passengers were pretty much all asleep, including myself. That is until we hit some major turbulence and I was jarred almost awake. I say almost because I was awake enough to hear the captain say over the intercom: "Flight attendants, please take your seats and fasten your seat belts; we are experiencing very rough turbulence..." I decided right then and there that waking up was not in the best interest of my mental health, and made myself go back to sleep. I figured someone would wake me up before I had to use my seat as a flotation device. I might as well save up my energy.

All was well and we did end up in the beautiful land of Australia. Of course, all we saw at first was the inside of the Melbourne Airport on our way through customs, which ended up being so much easier than I expected. I fully believed there would be tall, broad shouldered women named Helga and Brunhilde waiting to inspect my bags. Such was not the case. All of our luggage was put together and somehow we were able to breeze through.

Our last stop as a group was the beautiful town of Launceston, Tasmania. I tried not to think too hard about the puddle jumper's ability to get us across Bass Strait. Of course, having been on airplanes for a total of 24 hours, I didn't care if I had to go by hot-air balloon to get to my destination.

Launceston is one of the prettiest places I've ever been. Pictures just don't do it justice. By the way, if you go in the Southaven, MS Outback, they have a picture of Launceston in the ladies' bathroom (uh, sorry guys!). The picture below was taken at the hotel we stayed in for our first night in Australia.

The next day we all met at a church to meet each team's hosts. Before we split up team by team we had a group picture made for the Tasmanian Baptist newsletter. Don't you just love my stripes? And Marty and I had both cut our hair. I guess one major life experience wasn't enough for us.
We were divvied up with our hosts and as I sat there listening to Ken, Gae, Dianne, and Rhonda I realized that this was it: I would spend the next two months with these people...I wondered if they would like me, and if I would like them. I didn't have to wait long to find out as we travelled by car (thankfully!) to the tiny town of Sheffield. They fell in love with me, and I fell in love back at them. I had no idea the depth of love I would come to have for these people...

to be continued...

Getting Ready for Oz

If you need to catch up on the first part of the story, here's the beginning.

Now that the selection process was over and I knew I'd be going to Australia for the summer, reality hit and I knew I had some major preparations to make before boarding the plane.

I had never been on a long-term mission project before. I had gone on many one or two week trips, so I wasn't completely green. However, going to a foreign country, even one as American friendly as Australia, required that I have some major training. The Leadership Training Conference that the Mississippi Baptist Student Union holds every year is designed to jump start our learning process. It really helped me by getting me out of my comfort zone; the missionaries prepared for a few days to actually host the conference for the rest of the students who were not going on missions but were still in leadership positions at school.

The long weekend culminated with a commissioning service for all of us (there were a ton of missionaries, but only a handful were going international) that was really special, asking us to wash the feet of those we serve. Not literally, like Jesus washed His disciples' feet, but figuratively serving out of love for the people we would meet. Here's a picture of six of the seven missionaries heading to Australia:

Hugh, Jill, Marty, Rowland, Heathahlee, Keith (and I don't know where Scott is...probably galavanting around somewhere)

(Would you look how long my hair is?) There were seven placements/job descriptions for Mississippi students, with the eighth position being filled by a sweet girl from Canada. Each team consisted of a guy and a girl, and each team had different job descriptions. My partner and I were the team heading to Sheffield, Tasmania for the puppet, drama, etc. work. The guy in front of me in the picture? He was my missions partner. Meaning we would be spending the summer in close proximity. Don't worry. The thought of getting really close couldn't have been farther from either of our minds. We were as different as night and day. (Would you please look how long my hair is? And how non-gray? Oh, to have 20-year old hair again.)

After LTC, we then had to head to Richmond, Virginia to the Missionary Learning Center for another long weekend where we gathered with dozens of other missionaries bound all over the world. The MLC is where missionaries on their way to other countries (as in to live for two years) are trained. The weekend was not a walk in the park. It was very intense and to say that I was a bit intimidated would be a gross understatement. Here is where reality set in. I would be leaving my country. Now, granted, Australia isn't the depths of the Amazon jungle or anything, but still.

At one point we (the 19 of us heading to Australia) had to come up with a play that would portray some of the difficulties we might face. We chose to act out witnessing to someone who doesn't really think he needs God. Thankfully, Marty (the redhead in the picture below) and I were just "campers along the billabong" and didn't have to say anything; we just had to sing "Waltzing Matilda" (or is it Mathilda?) until the play started while sitting around a fake campfire with fake marshmallows (do they even do that in Australia?) on fake sticks made out of pipe cleaners. I still have my fake pipe cleaner marshmallow/stick. See the orange stuff sticking up? Yeah, that's our fire. Pretty dang realistic, don't you think?

After filling our minds with all they possibly could, the International Mission Board gave us their blessing to head out into the world. I knew that was when it would get really tough...

to be continued...

My Anniversary with the Land Down Under

I love Australia. I always have. Even when I was a young girl I would dream of going to that exotic land and camping in the Outback and having a koala as a pet. Okay, maybe not the camping part, but I definitely wanted a koala or kangaroo as a pet. My parents and grandparents pacified me by giving me stuffed versions of them. I was good with that.


Fast forward a lot of years. In September of my junior year of college I was attending (as any good BSUer did) our Mississippi Baptist Student Union Conference. All of us BSUers from colleges and universities from all over Mississippi would gather at the beginning of the year and sort of kick off the year of goals we wanted to achieve, including summer missions opportunities for the next summer. Sitting in the missions breakout session several of us read over some of these opportunities and gasped when we saw "Australia" as one of the countries to serve in. I remember the whole classroom buzzing with "Oh, I am going on that trip for sure!" And my heart sank as I read the description of the project. "Puppet ministry, drama, opportunities for singing and youth work." This position was hand made for me. I had been the director for the puppet ministry at school, was currently in the drama troupe, had sung as a soloist as well as in several ensembles, and had worked with youth on several occasions. It couldn't have been more perfect for me. Why did my heart sink? Because I had never been on a long-term mission project. Normal procedure was that if you hadn't been on summer missions before, you wouldn't go international, no matter how qualified you were. I knew that there were so many more people qualified for this job that had been on summer missions that I might as well get over it.


But my heart wouldn't get over it. There was a constant thought in the back of my mind all year long about that once in a lifetime opportunity. When the time came for summer missions applications to be filled out, I applied for the position. Trying not to get my hopes up, I went through the lengthy process, both with my school and with the state BSU mission board. My BSU director, Tracy, happened to be on the Missions Committee, which we both thought would work in my favor, but were careful not to put too much stock in one person's opinion. I went through the written application and was asked to come to the face to face interview with the entire Missions Committee. A very daunting interview, to say the least. The candidate had to sit surrounded by three tables, each table with committee members sitting at it. They then asked me all types of questions, none of which I remember because I was so nervous then I wanted to throw up and couldn't possibly remember anything!

After that interview we had to wait for the decisions. I couldn't wait to hear. The other position I was qualified for and was my second choice was Puerto Rico, but I really, REALLY wanted Australia. A few nights later a call came for me down the hall at the pay phone our hall shared (you can tell how long ago this was...no cell phones!). It was my director. She said, "Heather, I have your summer missions assignment." That was it. I stood there about to go into apoplexy when I finally screeched, "Well, WHERE IS IT?" She responded, "You are going to..." dramatic pause..."AUSTRALIA!"

My scream could be heard all over the dorm. I couldn't believe it. I had been chosen out of all those other students! I knew that it was a God thing, and I've never believed anything else. He was all over that decision.

My departure date was set for June 9, 1991, but to say I had a lot to do before then was the understatement of the year...

to be continued...