Loneliness is consistently listed as one of the top fears in the world. Such a fear has roots in reality. Being alone leaves you vulnerable, isolated, and stagnant. Ironically, the path to faith often requires one go it alone…or at least start that way. The question is not whether or not to brave the loneliness, but what do you do once you have? In just as crazy of a paradox, when an ivri goes alone, it does not take long to realize we are anything but alone. Not only do we walk with Him, but we are part of a family that extends to every corner of the earth. This is the story of how I got connected to my New Zealand family.
And he answered them, saying, Who is my mother, or my brethren? And he looked round about on them which sat about him, and said, Behold my mother and my brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of God, the same is my brother, and my sister, and mother. – Mark 3:33-35 KJV
Overwhelmed
How could I find housing without locking into a big commitment? Yet, how could I commit with no job? My mind raced as the reality of showing up in Auckland without a plan hit me. With no connections, no money, and no history in this country, Auckland was a very expensive place to live. Not to mention the safety issue. Cheap housing is great till the mold grows across the ceiling or your roommate starts dealing drugs. I was not planning on experiencing any such situation personally.
My mind was flooded with countless options. When faced with overwhelming choices, the human mind will often make no decision. No decision was not an option. So, I turned once again to the one who did know. I hit my knees. Quickly I was made aware of my own foolishness. He was the answer; more specifically, His church. Not the building or the steeple, but the people. One body, once you are a part of it you have family in every corner of the earth.
Thus, the research began. I stalked the resident missionary through the pages of the internet till I found his contact information. Taking a deep breath, I mustered the courage to call a complete stranger. In only a few minutes he had connected me with an older couple who happened to live in Auckland.
That Sunday, I was picked up by two strangers. Sliding into the back seat of their compact car I met Byron and Lila.
“Kiwi?” I questioned.
“Yes, Kiwi.” Byron responded proudly.
“Isn’t that a fruit?” I asked.
“The fruit was named after us.” Byron, a professor, instructed. “The original Kiwi is a rare flightless bird that only exists in New Zealand. The Chinese came up with Chinese Gooseberries. With their reputation, they were having trouble marketing them. So, they renamed them after us – Kiwis.”
“Now Nicole, the church we are going to is a Māori church.” Byron continued. “We’ll be almost the only Pākehā (Pa-key-ha) there.”
“What’s a pa…key…ta?” I questioned.
“Pākehā is the Māori word for a white person.” Byron instructed.
“But honey, you probably don’t want to use that word. People might take it the wrong way.” Lila chimed in with a southern accent. I inquired. “I’m from Louisiana. I moved here when I met Byron.”
Meeting a king
The church was in Papakura, a 30-minute drive from the Central Business District (CBD) and my hostel. We pulled into a community hall that seemed last renovated in the 70’s. One room with a kitchenette, max capacity about 50. Pictures of paramedics and children’s drawings covered the walls. With beautiful weather, we entered though a sunbeam filled entrance left-wide-open for the service.
We entered slightly late to find roughly 20 adults and nearly as many scruffy, squirming, smiling children. Deep brown skin, tight curly black hair, and broad shaped noses confirmed we were, in fact, the only Pākehā in the room, except for a tall, lean, man with silver hair playing passionately and a woman with thick-rimmed glasses worshiping with simple joy.
Music and worship commenced beautifully. Such a presence of the Spirit, that half way around the world the same God reigned king and that together we worship as on family across the Earth. As the music came to an end, a round little Māori man walked up to the front. Half a podium sat on the table comprising what would be a pulpit, though it was clear he stood everywhere but behind it.
“Good mornin’ mates.” He opened with in the strongest Kiwi accent I had heard yet. “I see we have some guests to our whānau (f-aw-na) this mornin’. So for those of you who don’t know I’m Pastor Sam King, but you can call me Pastor Sam.” I laughed inside at the irony that his name was King.
One family
“And then we have another young lady here.” The entire room’s attention turned to me. “Sis. Nicole is visiting us here all the way from the United States. Hey sis, would you mind telling us about yourself and how we can help you?”
His offer caught me completely off-guard, but I felt it would be rude to decline. I walked to the front and looked at the beautiful people who welcomed me so dearly. Some people melt in the presence of great and might men, others covet the lives of the famous, but for me there is no greater honor then the welcome of such a sincere and loving group of people. Nervous, I cannot remember all that I said, but I do remember Pastor King’s stopped me before I would return to my seat.
“Hey Sis, what can we do for you, eh?
“Well, right now I am in the process of looking for a place to stay as I look for work.” I responded.
“Well, we’ll see what we can do. But first, I would like the congregation to pray for Sister Nicole.” The entire group got up, many placing their hands on my shoulders and began praying intensely for me, my job, and my direction.
“We just want you to know that you are now part of our whānau. Just let us know if there is anything you need.” Though I sat in a room full of strangers, I really did feel like family.
Pastor King invited me to lunch. Soon I found myself at a circular table in a small Asian restaurant with Flint and Joy, the other Pākehā from the service. We discussed leadership, New Zealand politics, and America. I was surprised by how much they opened up and the level of respect they gave me. I was feeling less like a homeless traveler and more like an honored dignitary.
The conversation peaked when Joy blurted out, “What are you….18 going on 40!?!?”
Before I could respond, Flint carried on in the deepest Kiwi accent. “Eh, mate you mentioned you needed a place to stay. Joy and I were talking it over. We have an extra bed in our home you can flat in.”
“What’s flatting?” I inquired.
“In New Zealand flatting is when you share a house and the rent. We have a spare bedroom. We know you ain’t workin’ so would extend you what I call a visitor’s permit till you find a job.”
I thought about how strange taking up a complete stranger’s offer was. Then I thought about all I did in the last week. Somehow, it didn’t seem all that dangerous.
Daily bread
With that it was settled. The next day after repacking my bags once again Joy picked me up in an old silver station wagon, hopping out of her car barefoot to help with my bags.
“Joy where are your shoes?”
“Awe honey, who needs shoes? Especially in New Zealand.” I knew I loved New Zealand for a reason.
Joy’s home was a humble abode; a simple one-story house with a small patch of grass for a backyard complete with a grapefruit tree. Much to my surprise, I had an entire 2-bed bedroom to myself. Joy gave me the grand tour and time to adjust my oversized luggage before joining her in the kitchen.
“Honey, you don’t have any plans this evening do you?” Joy asked.
“No, why?” I responded.
A few hours later I found myself with Flint holding several large, black, garbage bags in a bakery. Turns out, not only were Joy and Flint generous enough to welcome a stranger into their home, but every Monday they collected unsold baked goods and distributed them to needy families. I was privileged to join this ritual, holding bags as Flint dumped in cookie sheets of incredible bakery items.
There were crazy breads, passion fruit scones, fruity pastries, even pizza bread. As we returned home with a few pieces, I snapped a picture with one loaf, one thought going through my head – Give us this day our daily bread. That day, God had supplied in more ways than one.
As days wore on, the nagging question resurfaced – direction. Do I pursue work or travel? I really needed a job, but I didn’t come to this country to view it from a cubicle. However, my savings was tiny and dwindling with every day of indecision.
Then I heard of a 30% discount on a “hop on, hop off” bus with Stray NZ (link in case you’d like to do the same) for the South Island. Still at nearly $700, it was a big financial risk. I would be traveling for a little over a month. By doing so, I would need to find a job in a matter of weeks. If not, I would be forced to return to the basement in the United States. But then again, when you are on the other side of the world by faith, what was one more crazy step?
Skivvies and a fishing pole
Flint found me struggling to pack. “What you worried about mate. If you’re goin’ tramping all you need is an extra pair of skivvies and fishin’ pole. No need for these.” He looked at my tent and sleeping bag. “If you get tired, you can find soft place and crash in the bush.”
“Are there any poisonous things I need to be concerned about?” I insisted.
“Eh mate, you don’t need any of that. There isn’t a single poisonous thing in New Zealand. The only possible things are two spiders the Aussies brought over. But their so rare that if you get bit by one ov theem you need to buy a lottery ticket. Go to Australia, they have every nesty creature. But you’re un New Zealand. Just pack skivvies and deodorant and you’re all good, ay.”
Joy overheard the conversation and jumped in, “Hey girl, Flint would wear the same thing every day if I’d let em.” Joy proceeded to help identify the things I didn’t need. After an entire education on New Zealand and debate over the use of Fahrenheit, I paused.
“So let me get this straight, you have mountains, ocean, rainforest, no poisonous creatures, no poisonous plants, and the coldest this country gets in the winter is 50 degrees Fahrenheit?”
“That’s right.” Flint confirmed. “See girl, you’re just makin’ this thing too complicated.” At that moment this Midwest girl who just came from a Wisconsin winter was convinced she was in paradise. Even if I had to return right after my travels, I felt this was going to be a really good trip…and how thankful I was to have Flint and Joy.
Until next time, the adventure continues…
Note: Featured image is a New Zealand penny I received from Flint and Joy as part of a Maori Hongi ceremony to recognize us as whanau,
