Ende[e]ring

I've told the story before of how Naomi Deering came into my life, but I find that I have neglected to mention the ways in which the Deering family has filled up my life.

It was the original kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Deering that led myself and Kyle Schmidt to their home in Carrickfergus for an afternoon of tea, dogtime, a hike by the lighthouse, and my first experience with poor bear (honeycomb) ice cream from Maud's.

It was then and there that I met Naomi and she herself who reconnected with me last summer.

From there, it was Naomi who consistently instigated conversation with me all through the summer and following semester, taking me away from home and into hers for tea and New Girl. I gave her little to work with, but she kept pursuing me. I really needed that. Knowing she would be here gave me that extra boost of courage I needed to come back here at the end of January.

In that time period, I again received hospitality from her aunt, uncle, and cousins who let me into their home for tea (of course) on one of my first outings (innings) with Naomi.

Before October was even over, she had asked and had received permission to invite me for Christmas with her family in Spain, then Belfast when they decided to come over instead.

If I hadn't come home so early, I would have been removed to their home for a couple weeks.

This semester, I again had Naomi (on a much more equal and balanced level of friendship, thank goodness) and, in April, had the great pleasure of being driven out to the countryside to the family farm where I was taken care of by her delightful grandparents (and met a whole slew of family members).

Finally, I spent this past weekend in the highlands of Scotland with Naomi's brother and driven home from our final ferry by her cousin.

Ten months.

Ten months and more than ten family members.

The Deering family has demonstrated to me what hospitality and love looks like lived out in the day-to-day. I will forever be thankful to them.

Small Miracles, Big Difference

It was yet another cheery day in Belfast (can you believe it?!) two evenings ago (and today, but we're not chatting about today, are we?), and I was aboard bus 8A headed home.

When we arrived at my home sweet Trossachs Avenue, I dismounted the bus, began my dander toward the Manor, and stuck my hand into my trench pocket to retrieve my Vera, on which I have caribeenered my housekeys and in which is my life, basically, thumb drives and all.

But.

No Vera.

What.

Wait...what.

No.

Nonononononononononononono.

Gotta be in the backpack.

Search through the backpack.

Bus driving off.

Jamie running.

Throwing backpack into bushes as she runs faster.

Cursing her ugly and ineffective running and getting honked at from behind.

Seeing my struggle, some kind school girls informed me that the bus would come back round if I'd wait on the other side of the road. Or, it would be there at the turning at Erinvale if I ran quickly.

It was then that Jim pulled up beside me (source of honking. No, I did not know Jim).

"Miss! You dropped your bag back there!"
"Didn't drop it. Threw it. Chasing bus."
*insert explanation.
Jim then insisted I let him help me on my quest, showing me proof of identification by way of work badge and a prescription with his name on it.
Now, looking back, I don't know why knowing his name would have possibly made him any more credible a person to me, but he sure thought it did, so I followed suit and after a, "yah...don't take this wrong, I really appreciate your stopping, but I don't know you..." I eventually got in and let him drive me down the road.

The bus was indeed sitting at the turn, I hopped aboard, retrieved my lost item (praise God from whom all blessings flow) and prepared myself for the walk back up, but Jim was there, drove me, saw that I got my bag back, and left me there, "good deed for the day accomplished."

Now, I see where that could have gone horribly awry, and I have no intention of jumping into every strange man's car I see (though this would be the third time...please don't panic, ma), the Irish are indeed a people who help me restore my faith in humanity.

Truly, I would never ever ever have done the same thing in The States (wouldna been in a bus in the states either), but things are just different here. That probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense and explaining it would be a big to-do, but you're just going to have to trust me.

The Irish may be a house divided and occasionally violent, but they are people of great hospitality and a pretty shockingly genuine care for their fellow people.