Mike and Linda Christmas 2018

2018 brought major changes for us. Where to start? Oh, right. Theo.

Theo at about two weeks of age.  (You can click on all images to enlarge them)

Theodore David Muse arrived March 19, juussst a bit outside his due date. Though premature he has thriven. He smiles and flirts with one and all. Mama Laura and Papa Sam have continued their well-lived lives, teaching and advising clients, volunteering and faithfully participating in their church. Grandma Linda loves her Thursdays, when she gets to watch Theo. Tell you what, this grandparenting gig is worth the wait.

Thanksgiving, Theo at eight months

 Son Dan became Doctor Dan in May, then started his residency in pediatrics at his dream placement, Riley Children's Hospital in Indianapolis. In his slivers of free time he does really nice things like escort his Grandmother Dotti to England for cousin Molly's wedding, takes hikes with us and our dogs and explores his new community. 

Dr. Riggins and his incredibly proud parents following graduation at the Lincoln Center, NYC

 After twenty-one years in Traverse City we moved to Terre Haute. The gravitational pull of having all other generations in both our families living in Central Indiana became too great to resist. Mike still pinches himself a little, wondering how God could have given him a pastorate at the healthy, active, welcoming Central Presbyterian Church. Life has become considerably busier, more formal, more urban—and those who know us well understand these might not have been what we thought we preferred. Yet we are happy!

Central Presbyterian with plaque for Three-Fingered Mordecai Brown, baseball Hall of Famer and Terre Haute native

Linda spends that one day a week caring for Theo and his house. She also directs a children's mentoring program for our church in a part-time capacity and volunteers at a food pantry. She enjoys volunteering at the same elementary school where she mentors a child, filling backpacks with good food needy children take home over the weekends. 

Dan and Dotti at the second most important wedding to take place on British soil in 2018

When not hanging out with our church and families, our time gets absorbed by the huge project of getting our new (old) house knocked into shape. Truly, life is good. God is good. We have landed on our feet in a different place. We are filled with thanksgiving and praise. 

210 Circle Dr.  If we ever get it renovated you'll have to stop in for a visit

 Here's hoping you feel blessed this year—and this time of year. Merry Christmas! 
 

A happy momma and a happier Mr. T

With love, Mike and Linda Riggins 

Picante Sans Frontieres

Every so often I receive an email from Medecines Sans Frontieres, the French branch of Doctors Without Borders. I suppose I should be flattered they think I can read French, but I cannot even figure out which link at the end would unsubscribe me.

This makes me consider how often I fake it. I hate having to admit when I do not know something.

Years ago a wonderful aroma lured me into a church kitchen. We had taken a youth group to Mexico, and our hosts were preparing lunch. The women cooking the meal asked me something in Spanish. I can usually get the sense of simple things written in Spanish, but the spoken language defeats me, mostly with its rapid pace. Still, their smiles and gestures seemed to communicate they were offering me a taste. I nodded. One of them handed me a big spoon. I headed for the nearest pot. “No! No! No!” they all said, looks of horror crossing their faces. They followed this word, fortunately the same in both our languages, with a torrent of explanation. One of them kept saying “Picante! Muy muy picante!” I had no idea what that meant, but assuming my customary air of confident knowing, I gulped down a spoonful.

And nearly died. The sheer spicy heat of that stew. It literally burned the roof of my mouth and made my nose run. My heart rate accelerated to Sprinting Up Stairs level. I sped-walked to a sink and started to drink cold water straight from the tap. “No no no no!” they all said again. One of them handed me a soft tortilla and indicated I needed to eat it immediately. This would have been the smartest thing I could have done. But, again with the arrogance of needing-to-appear-to-know, I turned her down and tried drowning my taste buds. It took days for me to recover any sense of taste or smell and, frankly, the desire to eat anything anyway.

This morning I sat with a man burdened almost beyond bearing by a thing I have never experienced. As I listened to him haltingly share his feelings I caught myself wanting to appear to understand him perfectly well, to appear to have the wisdom already to know all about him and his situation.

Then I got smarter...marginally. I asked a couple of questions, one of which was so naive it made him give me a funny look. But I didn't care. Because his explanation of a follow-up to that question suddenly opened his truth to me in a way I not only had not understood, but had not suspected was possible.

Thanks God, for beating me upside the head enough to make me finally admit my ignorance.