“Mom…. I can’t sleep,” Mia pouted as she snuck into our bedroom.
“I know baby. I know,” were my words as I tried to comfort her unsuccessfully.
You expect it to be dark at night when you go to sleep, but darkness from a power outage has a completely different feel to it.
The darkness is not just an absence of light; it’s a stillness that almost takes your breath away.
At the grocery store yesterday, I saw a friend who asked me if I had heard about the upcoming power shortages?
“Uh, no. They’re turning off the power?”
“Yep,” she replied. Another friend had told her that we could begin to expect electricity 12 hours on followed by six hours off continually beginning April 1 through July.
“Woh…” was all I could say.
I did later learn that there was a sign posted on our bulletin board in our apartment building, but as we’re not yet able to read their script, it blended in with all the other signs that we can’t understand.
We’ve experienced a loss of power a few times since we’ve been here, but most were for just short periods, and they were unexpected from some kind of situation or accident – not planned in advance by the authorities to be turned off.
I hoped that my friend was wrong. Maybe she misunderstood. Maybe it didn’t mean OUR area. It’s the hot season after all! I rationalized a multitude of reasons why this maybe wouldn’t affect our home, and as I went throughout the rest of the day, I put the thought behind me.
Monday nights, CJ teaches English at a school downtown, so it’s just the girls and me for most of the evening.
We had made dinner – homemade pepperoni pizza – and we were still sitting at the table, stuffed from our delicious meal discussing which movie we wanted to watch when the lights went off.
“Well, no movie,” Mia said matter-of-factly. “What are we going to do now?”
I love the innocence of my children. She wasn’t worried about the food in the refrigerator. They didn’t know that our apartment was about to become very warm with no a/c or fans to even circulate the air.
Zoe was the first to grab a flashlight. “Let’s light some candles!” she said.
Have you ever tried to search for a lighter or some matches in the dark?
I knew we had brought one of those long gas-grill lighters, I just couldn’t remember where we had stored it.
Ultimately we decided to go take a walk outside. We needed some exercise anyway after that big dinner. We weren’t gone long though. Before we got too far down the road, Zoe spotted a big, black rat on the sidewalk ahead of us thanks to her handy flashlight, so we unanimously decided it would be best to go the other way. Quickly!
We walked a little in the other direction, but it was just too dark, so we called it a night and headed home. Thankfully, by the time we got there, CJ was walking in the door, and he knew just were the matches were.
Sleep was impossible that night – it was just soooo hot. Your skin is sticky from perspiration and the heavy, damp air clings to your body like a wet glove. The heat presses against you in such a way that makes it hard to breathe like you’re suffocating.
It’s almost painful to move, so you recline on the bed as still as possible. You lay there with your head against your sweat-soaked pillow wondering if you will ever see the light again.
I could hear Mia whining in her room. I knew my poor baby was miserable, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t even help myself. We drank lots of water and put ice-filled cloths on our foreheads and necks. I would’ve put the girls in a bathtub of cool water if we had one, but we don’t.
“Mommmmmmmyyyyyyyyy, I’m hot…” she said. The temperature had reached 103 degrees that afternoon, so I didn’t doubt her anguish.
“Just lay very still and don’t move. It’s almost 11:00. Try to get some sleep,” I called to her from my room, not wanting to get up or move around.
Eventually, the whining stopped.
But then that made me worry. At least when she was whining, I knew she was ok.
Those motherly concerns kicked in like they had when we had just brought our new baby home from the hospital. Back then, I would sneak into her room just to make sure she was still breathing.
And on this night, I did the same.
It took every ounce of energy I had in my body, but I rolled out of bed and crept to Mia’s room.
I knew Zoe was still awake… I could see the light from her flashlight making circles on the ceiling in her room.
I checked on Mia and she was fine. She was soaking wet, but she was sawing logs in her light sleep.
I crawled back to my own bed and positioned myself on top of the covers. Finally settled, I breathed out a deep sigh and closed my eyes when all of a sudden out of the blue, the power came back on.
“Thank you JESUS!” I shouted.
The first thing I did was grab the remote to the air con unit and set it to “COLD.”
Then CJ and I went about the place turning on the girls a/c units and checking the fridge.
We had survived our first real, serious power outage.
Ironically, this morning when our language teacher arrived she said, “I read you had your power out from 5:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. last night.”
“Huh? Where did you read that?” we replied.
“There’s a sign by the elevator that tells you when your power will be off. Didn’t you know?”
“Ha. NO! But can you teach us how to read those signs so we’ll know when to expect our power to be off everyday and can plan in advance?”
“Of course!” she said.
Wouldn’t that have been helpful?
Oh well, we’re still learning, but it’s all good.
There are so many things I’ve realized I didn’t appreciate back home. Like never having to worry about the power going out. Complaining about being hot as I sat in an air-conditioned room. I never valued the fact that clean water came out of the faucet. When I wanted to brush my teeth, I turned the water on and did so. If I wanted to wash my face, I turned on the water and did so.
I never considered going to get a bucket of clean water to do those things. I never thought about having to boil water before I could wash dishes or even just to have hot water.
But I have learned that for many in the world, this is everyday life.
And honestly, I’m grateful to learn these lessons, even if it is the hard way. I’m grateful that my children are learning these lessons too.
You should try it sometime. You know, just turn off the power one day or night. Try not using faucet water – only bottled water or boiled water – for a whole day. Try going one night in the summer without a/c, and when you do, be reminded to speak to Father on behalf of the millions in the world who go without these conveniences on a regular basis.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
He keeps me singing
Ever since I was a little girl, I always loved to sing.
It’s no surprise really since both my parents are singers and have been active in all types of choirs. I grew up listening to classical music and some of my favorite memories of my childhood include attending the concerts of the Nashville Symphony Orchestra which my parents were a part of.
Of course, voice lessons, piano lessons and other instrument lessons filled my younger days. I wish I had been more focused on learning to play the piano back then, but all I wanted to do was sing.
As an older teenager, I sang in a rock band. Yes, I admit it. A rock band. I sang lead and there was a guitar player, pianist, drummer and bass player. The five of us practiced every afternoon at the guitar player’s grandparents’ farm out in the middle of nowhere. We had all the instruments and equipment set up in an open barn that looked out to a field of grass and cows. I sang my heart out for those animals. Then my mom and I would scour the thrift shops on the weekends looking for unique outfits that I could wear when we performed. Those were great times!
As an adult, I loved singing in the choir. LOVED! There’s just something about many people coming together to raise their voices in different vocal parts and harmonies that just soothes the soul, ya know?
At our home gathering place, you could always find me every Sunday in my seat in the choir loft. It was a special joy that I got to sit next to my mom in the choir, and I loved the way our voices blended together.
It’s also one of the things I’ve missed most about the States… choir music and singing with the group. It’s one of those things that you just don’t appreciate until you don’t have it anymore.
Even in Canada, we were in small house groups every Sunday and the music was mostly accapela. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed leading the small group in praise style music. I just missed choir.
I still do.
But Father knows the desires of our hearts, and He continually blesses us in ways that we don’t even know to ask for.
A few months before arriving in this country, I received an email from one of our teammates saying that she had written a song about the 200 year anniversary of Adoniram Judson coming to this place which will be celebrated throughout 2012 and 2013.
“How cool!” I thought when I read the words.
When we finally arrived here, I noticed right away all the many ways my teammate, Carmen,* and I are alike. We both like chocolate and peanut butter ice cream, and we both prefer being out of doors rather than being inside. We have encountered many similar experiences throughout our lives, and we both just happen to be reading through the same book of the Good Book unintentionally. Our greatest similarity though, is our tremendous love of music.
Our very first full day in country, we went to our teammates’ house and before the day was over, Carmen sat down at the piano to play for me the song she wrote about Judson.
It was so beautiful and the words were so moving that I was in near tears before the song was halfway through. I found myself harmonizing in my usual habit to her melodious, soprano voice, and when we were done, we both were struck by how well our voices blended together. Even our spouses sitting nearby commented that we sounded as if we had been singing together all our lives. It was really almost uncanny.
Carmen has an amazing talent for composing music and lyrics, and it’s been such a joy to just listen to her play her songs. But the real fun comes when we sing together, and we do that as often as we can.
We’ve become accustomed to the fact that whenever you visit a Sunday gathering somewhere, they always ask you to speak or sing for the group. It was only our second Sunday in country when Carmen and I first performed a song together. Since then, we’ve been singing almost every weekend at different Sunday gatherings.
Then, because her special song about Judson is so amazing, she was asked to record the song for publication and distribution. When she told me we were going to a recording studio to lay the track, all I could think was, “There’s a recording studio in this city?!?”
Sure enough!
The experience was a once-in-a-lifetime event. I met some amazing musicians who all exhibit rare talent. I kept thinking, “If they lived in the States, they’d surely be very rich because of their gifted abilities.”
Whenever Carmen and I had performed the song before, we had been doing it with just piano, but the track we recorded included drums, guitars, bass, strings, horns and more. After a long day of practice, all the instruments were recorded individually and then Carmen sang her part. I was the last one of the day to be recorded, and even after nearly 10 hours of working and waiting, I was so excited to walk in the booth, put on the headphones and sing.
The whole time I was singing, the same thought kept running through my mind: Father blesses us with the desires of hearts before we even know what those desires are. Thank you Father for blessing me with an amazing teammate and for giving me the opportunity to sing.
I know I keep using that word ‘amazing’ but I can’t help it. I am amazed. My cup runneth over. I had almost given up on the idea that music would be a part of my life over here. I just figured my singing days were behind me.
Oh, how little faith I exhibit.
I’ve often heard that Father is not as concerned with our happiness as He is our holiness.
That may be true, but He sure has made this girl happy.
“He keeps me singing as I go…”
* Not actual name.
It’s no surprise really since both my parents are singers and have been active in all types of choirs. I grew up listening to classical music and some of my favorite memories of my childhood include attending the concerts of the Nashville Symphony Orchestra which my parents were a part of.
Of course, voice lessons, piano lessons and other instrument lessons filled my younger days. I wish I had been more focused on learning to play the piano back then, but all I wanted to do was sing.
As an older teenager, I sang in a rock band. Yes, I admit it. A rock band. I sang lead and there was a guitar player, pianist, drummer and bass player. The five of us practiced every afternoon at the guitar player’s grandparents’ farm out in the middle of nowhere. We had all the instruments and equipment set up in an open barn that looked out to a field of grass and cows. I sang my heart out for those animals. Then my mom and I would scour the thrift shops on the weekends looking for unique outfits that I could wear when we performed. Those were great times!
As an adult, I loved singing in the choir. LOVED! There’s just something about many people coming together to raise their voices in different vocal parts and harmonies that just soothes the soul, ya know?
At our home gathering place, you could always find me every Sunday in my seat in the choir loft. It was a special joy that I got to sit next to my mom in the choir, and I loved the way our voices blended together.
It’s also one of the things I’ve missed most about the States… choir music and singing with the group. It’s one of those things that you just don’t appreciate until you don’t have it anymore.
Even in Canada, we were in small house groups every Sunday and the music was mostly accapela. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed leading the small group in praise style music. I just missed choir.
I still do.
But Father knows the desires of our hearts, and He continually blesses us in ways that we don’t even know to ask for.
A few months before arriving in this country, I received an email from one of our teammates saying that she had written a song about the 200 year anniversary of Adoniram Judson coming to this place which will be celebrated throughout 2012 and 2013.
“How cool!” I thought when I read the words.
When we finally arrived here, I noticed right away all the many ways my teammate, Carmen,* and I are alike. We both like chocolate and peanut butter ice cream, and we both prefer being out of doors rather than being inside. We have encountered many similar experiences throughout our lives, and we both just happen to be reading through the same book of the Good Book unintentionally. Our greatest similarity though, is our tremendous love of music.
Our very first full day in country, we went to our teammates’ house and before the day was over, Carmen sat down at the piano to play for me the song she wrote about Judson.
It was so beautiful and the words were so moving that I was in near tears before the song was halfway through. I found myself harmonizing in my usual habit to her melodious, soprano voice, and when we were done, we both were struck by how well our voices blended together. Even our spouses sitting nearby commented that we sounded as if we had been singing together all our lives. It was really almost uncanny.
Carmen has an amazing talent for composing music and lyrics, and it’s been such a joy to just listen to her play her songs. But the real fun comes when we sing together, and we do that as often as we can.
We’ve become accustomed to the fact that whenever you visit a Sunday gathering somewhere, they always ask you to speak or sing for the group. It was only our second Sunday in country when Carmen and I first performed a song together. Since then, we’ve been singing almost every weekend at different Sunday gatherings.
Then, because her special song about Judson is so amazing, she was asked to record the song for publication and distribution. When she told me we were going to a recording studio to lay the track, all I could think was, “There’s a recording studio in this city?!?”
Sure enough!
The experience was a once-in-a-lifetime event. I met some amazing musicians who all exhibit rare talent. I kept thinking, “If they lived in the States, they’d surely be very rich because of their gifted abilities.”
Whenever Carmen and I had performed the song before, we had been doing it with just piano, but the track we recorded included drums, guitars, bass, strings, horns and more. After a long day of practice, all the instruments were recorded individually and then Carmen sang her part. I was the last one of the day to be recorded, and even after nearly 10 hours of working and waiting, I was so excited to walk in the booth, put on the headphones and sing.
The whole time I was singing, the same thought kept running through my mind: Father blesses us with the desires of hearts before we even know what those desires are. Thank you Father for blessing me with an amazing teammate and for giving me the opportunity to sing.
I know I keep using that word ‘amazing’ but I can’t help it. I am amazed. My cup runneth over. I had almost given up on the idea that music would be a part of my life over here. I just figured my singing days were behind me.
Oh, how little faith I exhibit.
I’ve often heard that Father is not as concerned with our happiness as He is our holiness.
That may be true, but He sure has made this girl happy.
“He keeps me singing as I go…”
* Not actual name.
Monday, March 5, 2012
A little laughter is the best medicine
Language learning has been fun, and one month in, we officially have just enough language to do some real damage.
In other words, we don’t really know enough to communicate accurately what we’re trying to say, but we do know just enough to be able to spout out a few words usually with the wrong tone which can drastically change the whole meaning of the word.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to say, “It’s nice to meet you.” When what I’ve actually said is, “I have diarrhea.” Of course it’s always said with a smile on my face which makes the people I’m talking to think I’m completely crazy.
When all else fails, we resort to a made-up form of sign language to attempt to communicate with the local people – especially when there’s something specific we need – which is just what happened last night…
Sunday night, CJ started not feeling good. Monday morning he was no better, but we had things to do so he trudged on. Monday night he went to work to teach his English class downtown, but by the time he got home he was really sick. He felt nauseous and was having stomach cramps. We couldn’t nail down anything specific that he had eaten that would’ve made him sick. We eat all our meals together these days, so if it had been food related, we would’ve likely all been sick. But the girls and I were fine. It was just him, poor baby.
Have you ever been sick and known exactly what the problem is and exactly what medication would fix your ailments? Of course, in the states, even if you know what medicine you need you have to first see a doctor to get a prescription, right? When you’re feeling bad and just want medicine, it can be a hassle, but not so here.
In this country, you don’t need a prescription for medication. Nope, you just walk up to the pharmacy and tell them what you want, and if they have it, you buy it. Simple as that.
I’ve seen everything from Amoxicillin to Viagra on the pharmacy shelves here, and you can actually buy medicine pretty cheaply. Pretty cool, eh?
So last night when CJ got home looking green in the face, he begged me, “Would you please go down to the store and get me some medicine?”
Now I have to confess, we brought with us a good amount of over-the-counter medicines from home, but we had nearly drained our complete supply of Pepto Bismal in the month that we’ve been here. Plus, he needed something a little stronger, not to mention maybe something to help him sleep. (He had been up sick all night on Sunday and was in dire need of some rest.)
“What’s that medicine that we used to get at home to ease stomach pain and get you to sleep?” he asked groggily.
“Dramamine?” I replied.
“No, stronger than that,” he muffled while laying face down in his pillow.
“Phenergan?” I asked. That had to be it cause he didn’t answer.
“I’ll try,” I said as I put on my shoes rushing to get downstairs before the store closed.
Little Mia decided to tag along with me to provide assistance should I need it.
We were greeted by two girls and one guy at the little pharmacy section of the “superstore” downstairs. They were all young, but eager to try to help us.
I scanned the glass case holding all the medicines. They appeared to be in alphabetical order, but I wasn’t sure of the spelling in English, not to mention that most of the medicine labels were written in their local script – which is completely undecipherable at this point in our language learning.
So I attempted to ask the workers, “Phenergran?”
Their smiles waned. They obviously had no idea what I was saying.
“You write,” the male asked nicely implying that maybe if I wrote down what I wanted he might understand and could find what I needed.
To no avail though, writing it down didn’t help.
So I tried the little bit of language that I knew.
“Amu tha ma goun boo:” which translates, “Husband sick.”
“Bite naw day:” – “Stomachache.”
“Ahhhh,” the workers replied in unison with their smiles returning.
The male reached beneath the counter and handed me a package of tablets that had no English whatsoever on the package.
“Uh….” I really didn’t want to buy medicine that I didn’t know what it was or how to take it or what it would do.
“What - is - this?” I spoke super slowly thinking that maybe that might help them suddenly understand MY language. It didn’t.
I handed the medicine back to the worker.
That’s when I decided to try sign language. I gave them the universal symbol for stomach sick. I stuck my finger in my mouth and said, “aaack.”
The workers looked at me confused.
I did the sign again trying a few other words this time.
“Throw up.”
“Nauseous.”
I rubbed my stomach and said, “Yucky!”
Nothing worked.
That’s when other people in the store who happened to be shopping near the commotion we were causing joined in to try to help Mia and I.
People were huddled all around us, and we looked like a roving band of Charades players all motioning and speaking different languages.
I looked at Mia in the midst of hubbub and started to laugh. It was just too funny.
Eventually one of the female workers behind the counter handed me a box of medicine with English words.
“Excessive gas, bloating and flatulence,” was what the box read.
As I read the words out loud, Mia started laughing even harder.
Pretty soon, everyone there was passing around the box and laughing.
“Amu tha?” they were all asking and pointing at the box. “Husband?” they laughed.
I realized that these people must picture my husband walking around our apartment tooting everywhere he went and my precious daughter and I were seeking some relief.
By this point, the laughter was outrageous. Have you ever been like really stressed out, and all you can do is laugh. First a little snicker sneaks out, then it grows until you’re just laughing uncontrollably at the insanity of the situation.
Eventually I realized that we were not going to be able to buy any medicine that night. CJ would just have to make due with what we had at home.
I thanked the workers who were still laughing heartily as Mia and I walked away empty handed.
It’s a shame that what should be such an easy process – procuring medicine without any prescription needed – was so completely problematic.
Mia and I were still giggling as we returned to our apartment and I prepared to give CJ the bad news.
Ironically, we discovered CJ completely sacked out in the bed, sleeping soundly.
Even if I had bought some medicine, I don’t think I could’ve roused him to make him take it.
CJ woke up this morning feeling a little better. I haven’t had the heart yet to tell him to expect some funny faces staring at him when he goes down to the store. I guess I’ll just let him figure that out on his own… :)
In other words, we don’t really know enough to communicate accurately what we’re trying to say, but we do know just enough to be able to spout out a few words usually with the wrong tone which can drastically change the whole meaning of the word.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to say, “It’s nice to meet you.” When what I’ve actually said is, “I have diarrhea.” Of course it’s always said with a smile on my face which makes the people I’m talking to think I’m completely crazy.
When all else fails, we resort to a made-up form of sign language to attempt to communicate with the local people – especially when there’s something specific we need – which is just what happened last night…
Sunday night, CJ started not feeling good. Monday morning he was no better, but we had things to do so he trudged on. Monday night he went to work to teach his English class downtown, but by the time he got home he was really sick. He felt nauseous and was having stomach cramps. We couldn’t nail down anything specific that he had eaten that would’ve made him sick. We eat all our meals together these days, so if it had been food related, we would’ve likely all been sick. But the girls and I were fine. It was just him, poor baby.
Have you ever been sick and known exactly what the problem is and exactly what medication would fix your ailments? Of course, in the states, even if you know what medicine you need you have to first see a doctor to get a prescription, right? When you’re feeling bad and just want medicine, it can be a hassle, but not so here.
In this country, you don’t need a prescription for medication. Nope, you just walk up to the pharmacy and tell them what you want, and if they have it, you buy it. Simple as that.
I’ve seen everything from Amoxicillin to Viagra on the pharmacy shelves here, and you can actually buy medicine pretty cheaply. Pretty cool, eh?
So last night when CJ got home looking green in the face, he begged me, “Would you please go down to the store and get me some medicine?”
Now I have to confess, we brought with us a good amount of over-the-counter medicines from home, but we had nearly drained our complete supply of Pepto Bismal in the month that we’ve been here. Plus, he needed something a little stronger, not to mention maybe something to help him sleep. (He had been up sick all night on Sunday and was in dire need of some rest.)
“What’s that medicine that we used to get at home to ease stomach pain and get you to sleep?” he asked groggily.
“Dramamine?” I replied.
“No, stronger than that,” he muffled while laying face down in his pillow.
“Phenergan?” I asked. That had to be it cause he didn’t answer.
“I’ll try,” I said as I put on my shoes rushing to get downstairs before the store closed.
Little Mia decided to tag along with me to provide assistance should I need it.
We were greeted by two girls and one guy at the little pharmacy section of the “superstore” downstairs. They were all young, but eager to try to help us.
I scanned the glass case holding all the medicines. They appeared to be in alphabetical order, but I wasn’t sure of the spelling in English, not to mention that most of the medicine labels were written in their local script – which is completely undecipherable at this point in our language learning.
So I attempted to ask the workers, “Phenergran?”
Their smiles waned. They obviously had no idea what I was saying.
“You write,” the male asked nicely implying that maybe if I wrote down what I wanted he might understand and could find what I needed.
To no avail though, writing it down didn’t help.
So I tried the little bit of language that I knew.
“Amu tha ma goun boo:” which translates, “Husband sick.”
“Bite naw day:” – “Stomachache.”
“Ahhhh,” the workers replied in unison with their smiles returning.
The male reached beneath the counter and handed me a package of tablets that had no English whatsoever on the package.
“Uh….” I really didn’t want to buy medicine that I didn’t know what it was or how to take it or what it would do.
“What - is - this?” I spoke super slowly thinking that maybe that might help them suddenly understand MY language. It didn’t.
I handed the medicine back to the worker.
That’s when I decided to try sign language. I gave them the universal symbol for stomach sick. I stuck my finger in my mouth and said, “aaack.”
The workers looked at me confused.
I did the sign again trying a few other words this time.
“Throw up.”
“Nauseous.”
I rubbed my stomach and said, “Yucky!”
Nothing worked.
That’s when other people in the store who happened to be shopping near the commotion we were causing joined in to try to help Mia and I.
People were huddled all around us, and we looked like a roving band of Charades players all motioning and speaking different languages.
I looked at Mia in the midst of hubbub and started to laugh. It was just too funny.
Eventually one of the female workers behind the counter handed me a box of medicine with English words.
“Excessive gas, bloating and flatulence,” was what the box read.
As I read the words out loud, Mia started laughing even harder.
Pretty soon, everyone there was passing around the box and laughing.
“Amu tha?” they were all asking and pointing at the box. “Husband?” they laughed.
I realized that these people must picture my husband walking around our apartment tooting everywhere he went and my precious daughter and I were seeking some relief.
By this point, the laughter was outrageous. Have you ever been like really stressed out, and all you can do is laugh. First a little snicker sneaks out, then it grows until you’re just laughing uncontrollably at the insanity of the situation.
Eventually I realized that we were not going to be able to buy any medicine that night. CJ would just have to make due with what we had at home.
I thanked the workers who were still laughing heartily as Mia and I walked away empty handed.
It’s a shame that what should be such an easy process – procuring medicine without any prescription needed – was so completely problematic.
Mia and I were still giggling as we returned to our apartment and I prepared to give CJ the bad news.
Ironically, we discovered CJ completely sacked out in the bed, sleeping soundly.
Even if I had bought some medicine, I don’t think I could’ve roused him to make him take it.
CJ woke up this morning feeling a little better. I haven’t had the heart yet to tell him to expect some funny faces staring at him when he goes down to the store. I guess I’ll just let him figure that out on his own… :)
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Grief overcome by love
In the work that we do here, we have often seen people who have to forsake their earthly families for their transformation into a child of Father. In other words, their families reject them for leaving the beliefs they were born into.
Here, religion is a very serious subject. It’s at the core of everything they do, how they act and even how they think. To be from this country is to be a believer in their religion, and they are enormously proud of their heritage.
Likewise, the family unit is very important. Not just a husband, wife and child, but also the grandparents, the aunts and uncles, the cousins and more. They often all live together. They play together. They work together, and they work to support each other. It goes far beyond the family ties we experience in the states.
I have always been proud of the fact that I grew up in a close-knit family.
My family including both my mother’s side and father’s side have always spent holidays together, and we went on vacations all together. We always shared Sunday lunch together, every Sunday, and we would often visit each other throughout the week. We would spend weekends going on outings and playing sports. There was a lot of laughter and a lot of joy in being together. We were all very close.
We still are, but it’s obviously different.
We’re all spread out now.
I’ve got family in Tennessee. Family in Florida. Family in Mississippi. And here I am, way out on the opposite side of the globe.
Because of our close-knit ties, most days the separation of our family into different places is bearable. We love each other deeply and we can feel that love from far away.
But then when things happen, things like sickness or trouble, that separation is very difficult.
When I received the word that my Nanny had passed away on Saturday, I felt a range of mixed emotions.
My first feelings for her were those of relief… she’s no longer in pain. She’s at peace and resting with her Savior. I have no doubt about where her soul resides, and I know that someday I will see her again. I believe that with my whole heart.
But then my heart broke for my grandfather. For 64 years my grandparents have walked step by step together, and I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this is for my Granddaddy.
Then I heard my mother’s tears through the muffled connection on the computer, and my heart longed to be where she is.
I want to be with my family to love on them and to cry with them. I want to remind them of all the great things about my Nanny and the wonderful memories of her life. I want to tell them that she’s in heaven, and they can see her again someday too.
In my weakness, I reached out for the Good Book to find solace and encouragement. But once again, as He so often does, my Father does not tell me what I want to hear. He tells me what I need to hear, and He led me to a passage by Matthew. In chapter 10, beginning in verse 34 the Master speaks:
But in reading the passage again, I began to understand what Father was saying to me.
He said, “It’s because you love ME more that I have given you the love of a family.”
I confess. I do love Him more than anything or anyone. He is why I exist. That love is why I am living here on the opposite side of the globe from my beloved family.
My intent is not to sound unkind during a time of great loss in my family. I miss them now more than ever! But He is in control.
Is He not the Creator of the universe?
Is He not the Redeemer of the world?
He is! And He is worthy of all my love and devotion.
I challenge you to love HIM more than anything. Lose the desire to place your own will ahead of His, and in return He will grant you the desires of your heart.
Here, religion is a very serious subject. It’s at the core of everything they do, how they act and even how they think. To be from this country is to be a believer in their religion, and they are enormously proud of their heritage.
Likewise, the family unit is very important. Not just a husband, wife and child, but also the grandparents, the aunts and uncles, the cousins and more. They often all live together. They play together. They work together, and they work to support each other. It goes far beyond the family ties we experience in the states.
I have always been proud of the fact that I grew up in a close-knit family.
My family including both my mother’s side and father’s side have always spent holidays together, and we went on vacations all together. We always shared Sunday lunch together, every Sunday, and we would often visit each other throughout the week. We would spend weekends going on outings and playing sports. There was a lot of laughter and a lot of joy in being together. We were all very close.
We still are, but it’s obviously different.
We’re all spread out now.
I’ve got family in Tennessee. Family in Florida. Family in Mississippi. And here I am, way out on the opposite side of the globe.
Because of our close-knit ties, most days the separation of our family into different places is bearable. We love each other deeply and we can feel that love from far away.
But then when things happen, things like sickness or trouble, that separation is very difficult.
When I received the word that my Nanny had passed away on Saturday, I felt a range of mixed emotions.
My first feelings for her were those of relief… she’s no longer in pain. She’s at peace and resting with her Savior. I have no doubt about where her soul resides, and I know that someday I will see her again. I believe that with my whole heart.
But then my heart broke for my grandfather. For 64 years my grandparents have walked step by step together, and I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this is for my Granddaddy.
Then I heard my mother’s tears through the muffled connection on the computer, and my heart longed to be where she is.
I want to be with my family to love on them and to cry with them. I want to remind them of all the great things about my Nanny and the wonderful memories of her life. I want to tell them that she’s in heaven, and they can see her again someday too.
In my weakness, I reached out for the Good Book to find solace and encouragement. But once again, as He so often does, my Father does not tell me what I want to hear. He tells me what I need to hear, and He led me to a passage by Matthew. In chapter 10, beginning in verse 34 the Master speaks:
“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law – a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household. Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”“That seems harsh Lord,” were the words that escaped my lips in a whisper after reading the passage.
But in reading the passage again, I began to understand what Father was saying to me.
He said, “It’s because you love ME more that I have given you the love of a family.”
I confess. I do love Him more than anything or anyone. He is why I exist. That love is why I am living here on the opposite side of the globe from my beloved family.
My intent is not to sound unkind during a time of great loss in my family. I miss them now more than ever! But He is in control.
Is He not the Creator of the universe?
Is He not the Redeemer of the world?
He is! And He is worthy of all my love and devotion.
I challenge you to love HIM more than anything. Lose the desire to place your own will ahead of His, and in return He will grant you the desires of your heart.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
An eye-opening experience
We didn’t really know where we were going or what we would be doing. Our teammates told us to show up at their house on Sunday afternoon, and we would leave from there together to go to a “gathering.”
We knew from CJ’s visit last year, that many times the “gathering groups” here will hold some type of English language-learning activity prior to their “service” that draw people to the place for attendance. Everyone here seems to want to learn English, and the gathering groups offer the education for free unlike the special school where CJ will be teaching on a regular basis where interested students must pay tuition.
So it was no surprise to us when they told us we would be teaching English before the gathering on this particular Sunday.
After driving only a short distance in the city, we pulled into an empty parking lot hidden from the main road by tall trees. There stood a plain, two-story, beige cement building that from outside appearance looked vacant. Walking through a set of darkly stained wooden doors, we discovered inside what appeared to be an empty warehouse. The interior had partitions set up to separate the open space into two halves with a hall of sorts in between. It was a little dark because there was no electricity in the building with the only light coming from windows in the exterior walls. There was an odd assortment of wooden wardrobes with padlocks on them filling the half of the room on the right where we first entered. In the room to the left-hand side of the building were rows of pastel-colored plastic chairs with some tables and a whiteboard in front. We figured this was where we must be meeting.
When we walked into the room, students (around the ages of 20 to 25) started filling in from other open doors leading into the building in the back and sides. There were about 20 students in all who greeted us with smiles on their faces. They seemed excited to meet us and hear about where we came from.
We taught English that morning using favorite verses in the Good Book. They were amazed when Zoë and Miá recited their favorite lines from memory, cheering and clapping for them when they were done. After about hour when our time was over, they asked to have a group picture made with us. For some reason, people in this part of the world don’t like to smile when they have their picture made, so we had to encourage them to smile for the camera by saying, “Say cheese!” which made them laugh uncontrollably.
They all walked us out to the car, hugging us and shaking our hands repeatedly before we were actually able to load the vehicle and leave. It was very sweet, and we felt our hearts connect to these students who seemed so anxious to want to be discipled and learn more about our Father.
Leaving the parking lot, we set out for our next adventure driving a few minutes through the city until the driver pulled over to the curb and parked the car.
“Grab some umbrellas!” our team leader instructed us.
It didn’t look like rain to me on this beautiful, sunny day, but I did what I was told.
We crossed a busy street and walked down a little path that led to a river. At the riverbank, our guide instructed our entourage including our family, our team leader, and a few others from the group we had just left, to board some boats. The students going with us on the journey were very protective of our girls putting their arms around them to shield and guard them as we crossed the street and boarded the boats. Before I realized it, the girls had walked onto a boat with the students when the boat driver said, “Too many. Only five.” And they pushed away from the dock. We were to get on another boat behind them.
I knew the girls were in good hands, and that the students would not let anything happen to the sweet angels they were protecting. I was more worried that the girls would not like being separated from their parents for their first time in this environment, but what was done, was done, and I kept my eyes glued to their boat from ours only a short distance away. I definitely did not want to have any part of me touch the dirty, brown water in the river, but if I had to, I was within swimming distance of my girls the whole five minutes it took to cross the river.
The boats we boarded were flat wooden vessels that reminded me of the ones I’ve seen in movies like the ones in Italy guided down small inlets with a driver standing on the back, pushing and steering with a long pole.
The driver of the boats we were on also stood on the back, and there were two long poles that he could use for assistance. However, these boats also had little motor engines to power us to the other side of the river, probably 200 yards or so away. There were a couple of 2x4 wooden planks that crossed the width of the boat for passengers to sit on. I felt as if the boat might topple over if I so much as leaned a little in any direction, so I tried to sit very still, while wielding my camera to catch every sight.
This is also when I discovered the need for umbrellas. The hot sun was beating down, even more so on the water, so the colorful umbrellas were let up to protect us from the penetrating rays.
As I took in the landscape around us, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes at where we were. On one side of the river, the side we had just departed from, was a bustling city. On the west side to where we were heading, I could see yellow, bamboo houses with thatched roofs on stilts. There were tall palm trees rising high above the modest structures, swaying in the breeze. The boats on the water wafting in front of the village while they waited for paying passengers were originally painted various shades of blue and green although they were faded and streaked from the sun and years of use. Protruding from all the boats on the water were the red, yellow and pink wooden umbrellas hiding the people underneath. The sun was lazily drifting downward in the afternoon sky casting a golden haze around the edges of the background.
The scene before me looked like an oil painting in an art gallery, but it was real life that I was seeing with my very eyes!
Still the most amazing views were yet to come…
We arrived on the other side and I was glad to have my girls back by my side.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
“Sure! Why wouldn’t we be?” they said.
“Uh… how did you like the boat ride?” I quizzed them, trying to change the subject.
“It was AH-mazing!!” they chirped in reply.
What exactly was I worried about???
We had arrived in the middle of a thriving village. We walked down a wide dirt path through the middle of the hand-made houses. The people were going about their regular life, washing clothes in buckets, chopping vegetables and fruit, chatting with their neighbors. Of the multitude of things they were doing, they stopped frozen in their tracks the moment we passed by. The little children were making mud pies and playing with sticks in their little worn-out clothes, but they stopped playing and looked at us like aliens from a distant planet.
At first it was just a couple of ladies who approached us and said hello in their language, but then as we walked the path, everyone wanted to say hello and shake our hands.
They were smiling at us, but I was the one who felt so honored to be able to meet them. I wished more than anything that I could communicate with them so I could tell them so many things. In time, I know…
After we walked through the little town, we crossed a dried up and dusty rice field and over some grassy terrain. There were logs that we had to walk on to cross deep creek banks that will be nearly overflowing during the rainy season, but at the present were completely dry. Eventually we cleared a path and some trees to find a small one-room schoolhouse looking structure. There were no doors on the building and there were open window cutouts with chicken wire covering them on the outside.
Inside the clay and brick structure were two sections filled with rows of wooden pews for people to sit in. The cement floor was dusty and it was the first place we had been to since arriving in this country where people left their shoes on inside. The roof was tin, but there were sheets of covered plywood underneath the tin that provided a nice ceiling.
From my seat at the front of the room, I looked out the windows to view lines of fat banana trees all around us. I could also see other little village homes in the distance, with dots of people coming and going from the dwellings.
It felt almost like a dream, and all of a sudden I felt so thankful to be in this place with these people.
The people of this village who had all come for this gathering were humble by nature, yet they were filled with love and humor.
I couldn’t get over the words from their leader declaring that they had nearly 75 believers amongst their ranks with many more waiting to be discipled and dunked.
A middle-age man came forward with a small green guitar. He strummed the tune to a song that we had never heard, yet we knew immediately what the song was about by the way the people closed their eyes tightly and raised their hands high toward the heavens. They were singing with as much volume and passion as they could muster out of their thin bodies, and I began to cry.
I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, dirty from the dust of traveling there. The sight of these like-minded believers giving their whole heart in praise of Him who had saved them was more beautiful than any landscape or artist’s rendering I had ever seen.
When their leader asked if CJ and I would each share a few words with the congregation, I wracked my brain for words of encouragement. All I knew was to read from the Good Book, because there are no better words to be shared.
Our team leader translated the rest of the service to us that day, but it wasn’t really necessary because we could tell what was going on just by the looks on the people’s faces. Like dry lands thirsting for rain, the people were desperate for Good Book teachings, and you could see them being watered spirit and soul.
“Oh, how much we take for granted…” was all that I could think. In our hometown there are nearly 30 gathering places of like-minded believers, and we don’t hunger for the words of the Father as if our lives depended on them, ignorant of how much they really do.
The experience that day changed me. I’ve seen gatherings in other cities throughout Southeast Asia, but maybe it was because He has burdened my heart for THESE people, that it was as if I were seeing colors I’ve never been exposed to before. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough to take it all in. I wanted to swallow the experience and savor it so that it would provide some holy nutrition by the Spirit in times when I felt down or challenged or weak. Maybe it still will…
Before the day concluded, two silver trays were brought out to be distributed to the people. One tray had chunks of bread; the other had clear, tiny glasses filled with a generic cola.
About the time I understood what we were about to do, it dawned on me that this would be Miá’s first time to experience communion since she was only recently washed in the blood and went swimming thereafter.
My mind drifted back to recall our usual habit in our hometown gathering where new believers who have been recently dunked are allowed to sit on stage for their first experience taking communion. I imagined Miá sitting on that stage in our home gathering place being served the bread and drink by her daddy.
There was no pomp and circumstance for this day’s special communion, but in my mind I realized, there could have been no better place and circumstance for her to have this experience than in this rural village in Southeast Asia on a hot February Sunday, surrounded by foreigners who were yet brothers and sisters.
These people risk everything to come to this gathering – they could lose their homes, be imprisoned, possibly even killed – for standing in their newfound faith.
Yet, here they are with hands raised high and smiles on their faces.
Despite circumstances and hardships, sacrifices and sufferings, triumphs and blessings, life with purpose is a life worth living, and He is worth it all.
That day for that moment, they got it. They lived it, and so did I.
The best part is, I get to do it all over again next week!
Will you remember these village people in your petitions to Dad? Even though you don’t know their names or their location, would you ask for strength, courage and blessing for these people? Ask that their numbers multiply and for leaders to rise up amongst them. Also please lift up the students who came for English learning, that they would come to know Him personally.
We knew from CJ’s visit last year, that many times the “gathering groups” here will hold some type of English language-learning activity prior to their “service” that draw people to the place for attendance. Everyone here seems to want to learn English, and the gathering groups offer the education for free unlike the special school where CJ will be teaching on a regular basis where interested students must pay tuition.
So it was no surprise to us when they told us we would be teaching English before the gathering on this particular Sunday.
After driving only a short distance in the city, we pulled into an empty parking lot hidden from the main road by tall trees. There stood a plain, two-story, beige cement building that from outside appearance looked vacant. Walking through a set of darkly stained wooden doors, we discovered inside what appeared to be an empty warehouse. The interior had partitions set up to separate the open space into two halves with a hall of sorts in between. It was a little dark because there was no electricity in the building with the only light coming from windows in the exterior walls. There was an odd assortment of wooden wardrobes with padlocks on them filling the half of the room on the right where we first entered. In the room to the left-hand side of the building were rows of pastel-colored plastic chairs with some tables and a whiteboard in front. We figured this was where we must be meeting.
When we walked into the room, students (around the ages of 20 to 25) started filling in from other open doors leading into the building in the back and sides. There were about 20 students in all who greeted us with smiles on their faces. They seemed excited to meet us and hear about where we came from.
We taught English that morning using favorite verses in the Good Book. They were amazed when Zoë and Miá recited their favorite lines from memory, cheering and clapping for them when they were done. After about hour when our time was over, they asked to have a group picture made with us. For some reason, people in this part of the world don’t like to smile when they have their picture made, so we had to encourage them to smile for the camera by saying, “Say cheese!” which made them laugh uncontrollably.
They all walked us out to the car, hugging us and shaking our hands repeatedly before we were actually able to load the vehicle and leave. It was very sweet, and we felt our hearts connect to these students who seemed so anxious to want to be discipled and learn more about our Father.
Leaving the parking lot, we set out for our next adventure driving a few minutes through the city until the driver pulled over to the curb and parked the car.
“Grab some umbrellas!” our team leader instructed us.
It didn’t look like rain to me on this beautiful, sunny day, but I did what I was told.
We crossed a busy street and walked down a little path that led to a river. At the riverbank, our guide instructed our entourage including our family, our team leader, and a few others from the group we had just left, to board some boats. The students going with us on the journey were very protective of our girls putting their arms around them to shield and guard them as we crossed the street and boarded the boats. Before I realized it, the girls had walked onto a boat with the students when the boat driver said, “Too many. Only five.” And they pushed away from the dock. We were to get on another boat behind them.
I knew the girls were in good hands, and that the students would not let anything happen to the sweet angels they were protecting. I was more worried that the girls would not like being separated from their parents for their first time in this environment, but what was done, was done, and I kept my eyes glued to their boat from ours only a short distance away. I definitely did not want to have any part of me touch the dirty, brown water in the river, but if I had to, I was within swimming distance of my girls the whole five minutes it took to cross the river.
The boats we boarded were flat wooden vessels that reminded me of the ones I’ve seen in movies like the ones in Italy guided down small inlets with a driver standing on the back, pushing and steering with a long pole.
The driver of the boats we were on also stood on the back, and there were two long poles that he could use for assistance. However, these boats also had little motor engines to power us to the other side of the river, probably 200 yards or so away. There were a couple of 2x4 wooden planks that crossed the width of the boat for passengers to sit on. I felt as if the boat might topple over if I so much as leaned a little in any direction, so I tried to sit very still, while wielding my camera to catch every sight.
This is also when I discovered the need for umbrellas. The hot sun was beating down, even more so on the water, so the colorful umbrellas were let up to protect us from the penetrating rays.
As I took in the landscape around us, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes at where we were. On one side of the river, the side we had just departed from, was a bustling city. On the west side to where we were heading, I could see yellow, bamboo houses with thatched roofs on stilts. There were tall palm trees rising high above the modest structures, swaying in the breeze. The boats on the water wafting in front of the village while they waited for paying passengers were originally painted various shades of blue and green although they were faded and streaked from the sun and years of use. Protruding from all the boats on the water were the red, yellow and pink wooden umbrellas hiding the people underneath. The sun was lazily drifting downward in the afternoon sky casting a golden haze around the edges of the background.
The scene before me looked like an oil painting in an art gallery, but it was real life that I was seeing with my very eyes!
Still the most amazing views were yet to come…
We arrived on the other side and I was glad to have my girls back by my side.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
“Sure! Why wouldn’t we be?” they said.
“Uh… how did you like the boat ride?” I quizzed them, trying to change the subject.
“It was AH-mazing!!” they chirped in reply.
What exactly was I worried about???
We had arrived in the middle of a thriving village. We walked down a wide dirt path through the middle of the hand-made houses. The people were going about their regular life, washing clothes in buckets, chopping vegetables and fruit, chatting with their neighbors. Of the multitude of things they were doing, they stopped frozen in their tracks the moment we passed by. The little children were making mud pies and playing with sticks in their little worn-out clothes, but they stopped playing and looked at us like aliens from a distant planet.
At first it was just a couple of ladies who approached us and said hello in their language, but then as we walked the path, everyone wanted to say hello and shake our hands.
They were smiling at us, but I was the one who felt so honored to be able to meet them. I wished more than anything that I could communicate with them so I could tell them so many things. In time, I know…
After we walked through the little town, we crossed a dried up and dusty rice field and over some grassy terrain. There were logs that we had to walk on to cross deep creek banks that will be nearly overflowing during the rainy season, but at the present were completely dry. Eventually we cleared a path and some trees to find a small one-room schoolhouse looking structure. There were no doors on the building and there were open window cutouts with chicken wire covering them on the outside.
Inside the clay and brick structure were two sections filled with rows of wooden pews for people to sit in. The cement floor was dusty and it was the first place we had been to since arriving in this country where people left their shoes on inside. The roof was tin, but there were sheets of covered plywood underneath the tin that provided a nice ceiling.
From my seat at the front of the room, I looked out the windows to view lines of fat banana trees all around us. I could also see other little village homes in the distance, with dots of people coming and going from the dwellings.
It felt almost like a dream, and all of a sudden I felt so thankful to be in this place with these people.
The people of this village who had all come for this gathering were humble by nature, yet they were filled with love and humor.
I couldn’t get over the words from their leader declaring that they had nearly 75 believers amongst their ranks with many more waiting to be discipled and dunked.
A middle-age man came forward with a small green guitar. He strummed the tune to a song that we had never heard, yet we knew immediately what the song was about by the way the people closed their eyes tightly and raised their hands high toward the heavens. They were singing with as much volume and passion as they could muster out of their thin bodies, and I began to cry.
I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, dirty from the dust of traveling there. The sight of these like-minded believers giving their whole heart in praise of Him who had saved them was more beautiful than any landscape or artist’s rendering I had ever seen.
When their leader asked if CJ and I would each share a few words with the congregation, I wracked my brain for words of encouragement. All I knew was to read from the Good Book, because there are no better words to be shared.
Our team leader translated the rest of the service to us that day, but it wasn’t really necessary because we could tell what was going on just by the looks on the people’s faces. Like dry lands thirsting for rain, the people were desperate for Good Book teachings, and you could see them being watered spirit and soul.
“Oh, how much we take for granted…” was all that I could think. In our hometown there are nearly 30 gathering places of like-minded believers, and we don’t hunger for the words of the Father as if our lives depended on them, ignorant of how much they really do.
The experience that day changed me. I’ve seen gatherings in other cities throughout Southeast Asia, but maybe it was because He has burdened my heart for THESE people, that it was as if I were seeing colors I’ve never been exposed to before. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough to take it all in. I wanted to swallow the experience and savor it so that it would provide some holy nutrition by the Spirit in times when I felt down or challenged or weak. Maybe it still will…
Before the day concluded, two silver trays were brought out to be distributed to the people. One tray had chunks of bread; the other had clear, tiny glasses filled with a generic cola.
About the time I understood what we were about to do, it dawned on me that this would be Miá’s first time to experience communion since she was only recently washed in the blood and went swimming thereafter.
My mind drifted back to recall our usual habit in our hometown gathering where new believers who have been recently dunked are allowed to sit on stage for their first experience taking communion. I imagined Miá sitting on that stage in our home gathering place being served the bread and drink by her daddy.
There was no pomp and circumstance for this day’s special communion, but in my mind I realized, there could have been no better place and circumstance for her to have this experience than in this rural village in Southeast Asia on a hot February Sunday, surrounded by foreigners who were yet brothers and sisters.
These people risk everything to come to this gathering – they could lose their homes, be imprisoned, possibly even killed – for standing in their newfound faith.
Yet, here they are with hands raised high and smiles on their faces.
Despite circumstances and hardships, sacrifices and sufferings, triumphs and blessings, life with purpose is a life worth living, and He is worth it all.
That day for that moment, they got it. They lived it, and so did I.
The best part is, I get to do it all over again next week!
Will you remember these village people in your petitions to Dad? Even though you don’t know their names or their location, would you ask for strength, courage and blessing for these people? Ask that their numbers multiply and for leaders to rise up amongst them. Also please lift up the students who came for English learning, that they would come to know Him personally.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Smiles and Hair Straighteners
We walk down the street, and they all turn and look at us as we walk by. The brown faces stare at the white faces. The white faces smile at the brown faces in hopes of saying, “it’s ok. We’re just people too.” Then the brown faces smile back with their response, “thank you.”
In these early days before language learning, really all we can do is non-verbal communication. So we try to do the best with what we’ve got.
Our apartment is above a market – kind of like a Southeast Asian Wal-Mart, just a lot smaller. This market carries a few groceries, a few household items, a few appliances and some clothes, so when we need something of that kind, we often walk downstairs to this market. In the last seven days, we’ve probably been there six times, looking for various items we need for our apartment.
The first day we walked downstairs, through rows of little stores and into the market, the people would stop what they were doing and stare at us as we walked by, almost as if they were mesmerized.
I kept wondering if there was some kind of silent alarm going off that we couldn’t hear that proclaimed, “There are foreigners in our midst! There are foreigners in our midst!”
Even in the market, people who were busily going about their shopping would drop whatever item they were holding and watch us (almost open-mouthed) as we walked by.
“Is my hair messed up? Do I have something on my shirt?” I asked the girls in the process, cause I just couldn’t figure out what was the big deal.
“Mommy, can we go home now?” Miá whimpered that first day we went there. It was a little too much culture shock for her, in the midst of dealing with jet lag and just pure exhaustion. So we did. We all felt the same way. We went back to our apartment that night having bought none of the things that we had originally set out to buy.
We would try again the next day after a good night’s sleep.
We expected the stares the next day when we went back to the market. This time when we walked through the aisles, as people gazed at us and our every movement, we smiled at them.
That’s when we made an amazing discovery… when we smiled at them, they would smile back at us and turn around to go back to whatever they were doing before.
Oh sure, they still would kinda glance over their shoulder or watch us with peripheral vision, but at least they weren’t standing there gawking. We did this repeatedly every day.
After we had been here about three days, I decided I just could not live with wild, humidity-frizzed out hair everyday, and I wanted to buy a much-needed hair straightener. The girls and I walked downstairs to the market on our own. This time as we walked, I noticed that the people we passed along the way would initiate the smiles. They didn’t stop and stare so much. They smiled at us first! Some even waved a little.
I realized they were getting to know us. Even though we had not had a single conversation, they had become somewhat familiar with us, and they knew we were going to smile at them.
It made me smile even more.
Once in the market, we proceeded to the aisle with the hair dryers and straighteners. They probably have about 15 girls working in every aisle, but these girls gave us a little space as we walked around. When we found what we were looking for, I turned around and asked the workers close-by, “Anyone speak English?”
The ladies started bobbling like chickens in a hen house as they looked back and forth at each other, asking, “English? English?”
I could tell that they were surprised when we spoke to them, and they wanted very much to help us.
Finally, a young girl, probably in her late teens was pushed forward, and she said, “English? Yes.”
Sidenote: We had been warned by colleagues earlier that any items made in China were probably not good quality. Apparently they only get the rejected items here in this city. Items that no one else wants.
So I pointed to a hair straightener on the shelf and asked the young lady worker, “Chinese?”
She smiled jubilantly understanding what I was asking. “Oh yes, Chinese, Chinese, Korean, Thailand,” she said as she pointed at the different straighteners on the shelf.
Thailand. That’s the one I wanted, and so I took the item off the shelf.
“You test?” she smiled and nodded, taking the straightener from me and walking towards a nearby wall outlet.
“Um. Ok. Sure,” was our response. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not, but it’s only hair, right? What’s the worst that could happen?
Zoë, standing next to me whispered, “Can we try it on my hair?”
“Are you sure?” I asked her.
“Yes, please!” she responded. She was tired of wild, humidity-frizzed out hair too.
When Zoë stepped forward and took her ponytail down for the lady to straighten her hair, the workers got so excited.
A couple of the ladies stepped forward and started feeling Zoë’s hair, they were separating strands to straighten. They looked at each other and giggled. I giggled too. Zoë looked like an animal at the petting zoo as she looked at me as if to ask, “Uh… what do I do here?”
“They’re just excited to touch your hair,” I said, trying to ease her apprehension. “Their hair is different than yours, and they’ve probably never touched a white girl’s hair.”
Then Zoë started giggling. (She reminded me later of the scene in the movie ‘Karate Kid’ where the other kids want to feel the boy’s hair which made her feel like it was ok.)
Pretty soon, we were all giggling. There were about 10 workers and my girls and me, all standing there laughing while they tried to straighten Zoë’s hair.
Before we left that day, the worker who spoke English touched me on the arm and hesitantly said, “You come back?”
“Yes!” I told her. “We’ll be back.”
With that she turned around and started whispering to the other workers. They were all smiling and nodding and waving as we left. “Come back soon,” they said in broken English.
It felt like a small victory that day. It was a first step towards developing relationships with the people that we’ll be seeing on a regular basis. More importantly, it was a first step towards us being able to share where our inner joy comes from, and the true source of hope and life.
It all starts with a smile.
Is there someone you know who might need a smile today?
Share your smile – it could change someone’s life.
Psalm 4:6-7 “Many are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’ Let the light of your face shine upon us, O Lord. You have filled my heart with greater joy.”
In these early days before language learning, really all we can do is non-verbal communication. So we try to do the best with what we’ve got.
Our apartment is above a market – kind of like a Southeast Asian Wal-Mart, just a lot smaller. This market carries a few groceries, a few household items, a few appliances and some clothes, so when we need something of that kind, we often walk downstairs to this market. In the last seven days, we’ve probably been there six times, looking for various items we need for our apartment.
The first day we walked downstairs, through rows of little stores and into the market, the people would stop what they were doing and stare at us as we walked by, almost as if they were mesmerized.
I kept wondering if there was some kind of silent alarm going off that we couldn’t hear that proclaimed, “There are foreigners in our midst! There are foreigners in our midst!”
Even in the market, people who were busily going about their shopping would drop whatever item they were holding and watch us (almost open-mouthed) as we walked by.
“Is my hair messed up? Do I have something on my shirt?” I asked the girls in the process, cause I just couldn’t figure out what was the big deal.
“Mommy, can we go home now?” Miá whimpered that first day we went there. It was a little too much culture shock for her, in the midst of dealing with jet lag and just pure exhaustion. So we did. We all felt the same way. We went back to our apartment that night having bought none of the things that we had originally set out to buy.
We would try again the next day after a good night’s sleep.
We expected the stares the next day when we went back to the market. This time when we walked through the aisles, as people gazed at us and our every movement, we smiled at them.
That’s when we made an amazing discovery… when we smiled at them, they would smile back at us and turn around to go back to whatever they were doing before.
Oh sure, they still would kinda glance over their shoulder or watch us with peripheral vision, but at least they weren’t standing there gawking. We did this repeatedly every day.
After we had been here about three days, I decided I just could not live with wild, humidity-frizzed out hair everyday, and I wanted to buy a much-needed hair straightener. The girls and I walked downstairs to the market on our own. This time as we walked, I noticed that the people we passed along the way would initiate the smiles. They didn’t stop and stare so much. They smiled at us first! Some even waved a little.
I realized they were getting to know us. Even though we had not had a single conversation, they had become somewhat familiar with us, and they knew we were going to smile at them.
It made me smile even more.
Once in the market, we proceeded to the aisle with the hair dryers and straighteners. They probably have about 15 girls working in every aisle, but these girls gave us a little space as we walked around. When we found what we were looking for, I turned around and asked the workers close-by, “Anyone speak English?”
The ladies started bobbling like chickens in a hen house as they looked back and forth at each other, asking, “English? English?”
I could tell that they were surprised when we spoke to them, and they wanted very much to help us.
Finally, a young girl, probably in her late teens was pushed forward, and she said, “English? Yes.”
Sidenote: We had been warned by colleagues earlier that any items made in China were probably not good quality. Apparently they only get the rejected items here in this city. Items that no one else wants.
So I pointed to a hair straightener on the shelf and asked the young lady worker, “Chinese?”
She smiled jubilantly understanding what I was asking. “Oh yes, Chinese, Chinese, Korean, Thailand,” she said as she pointed at the different straighteners on the shelf.
Thailand. That’s the one I wanted, and so I took the item off the shelf.
“You test?” she smiled and nodded, taking the straightener from me and walking towards a nearby wall outlet.
“Um. Ok. Sure,” was our response. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not, but it’s only hair, right? What’s the worst that could happen?
Zoë, standing next to me whispered, “Can we try it on my hair?”
“Are you sure?” I asked her.
“Yes, please!” she responded. She was tired of wild, humidity-frizzed out hair too.
When Zoë stepped forward and took her ponytail down for the lady to straighten her hair, the workers got so excited.
A couple of the ladies stepped forward and started feeling Zoë’s hair, they were separating strands to straighten. They looked at each other and giggled. I giggled too. Zoë looked like an animal at the petting zoo as she looked at me as if to ask, “Uh… what do I do here?”
“They’re just excited to touch your hair,” I said, trying to ease her apprehension. “Their hair is different than yours, and they’ve probably never touched a white girl’s hair.”
Then Zoë started giggling. (She reminded me later of the scene in the movie ‘Karate Kid’ where the other kids want to feel the boy’s hair which made her feel like it was ok.)
Pretty soon, we were all giggling. There were about 10 workers and my girls and me, all standing there laughing while they tried to straighten Zoë’s hair.
Before we left that day, the worker who spoke English touched me on the arm and hesitantly said, “You come back?”
“Yes!” I told her. “We’ll be back.”
With that she turned around and started whispering to the other workers. They were all smiling and nodding and waving as we left. “Come back soon,” they said in broken English.
It felt like a small victory that day. It was a first step towards developing relationships with the people that we’ll be seeing on a regular basis. More importantly, it was a first step towards us being able to share where our inner joy comes from, and the true source of hope and life.
It all starts with a smile.
Is there someone you know who might need a smile today?
Share your smile – it could change someone’s life.
Psalm 4:6-7 “Many are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’ Let the light of your face shine upon us, O Lord. You have filled my heart with greater joy.”
Saturday, January 28, 2012
There's no place like home
We arrived at the Vancouver airport late on Monday night with 19 pieces of luggage in tow.
It was cold, yet we were wearing cropped pants and flip flops which would enable us to be comfortably dressed at our final destination. (I figured we’d only be inside airports for our connecting flights, so it didn’t really matter the temperature outside in those cities.)
The most stressful part was checking in all our luggage. The weight limitation policy is stringent, and I was worried we’d end up paying through the teeth in extra fees. When you’re trying to pack for four people to live at least three years in a third world country, you need all the luggage space you can get! But “somehow” every piece was under 50lbs. and we only had to pay for three extra suitcases. We were very relieved to move past check-in and go through security.
We all breezed through security except for little Miá. We had put about 30 packages of deodorant in her carry-on, and the security people couldn’t understand why anyone would need that much sweat protection. Especially a little girl her size. Once we explained that you can’t buy deodorant in Southeast Asia, they let us go. Although they were snickering as we walked away…
We were so thankful to finally be on our flight heading west to Beijing. The flight was 10 hours and 45 minutes. We had four seats together in the middle of the plane, so Mia stretched out over all of us and slept solidly the whole flight. The rest of us, not so much. But we did enjoy watching the movies on the plane. That was pretty cool.
We arrived in Beijing around 5am their time. The first thing we noticed was – IT’S COLD! I mean it was freezing cold. Colder than Canada. I never imagined it got this cold anywhere in the world except maybe Antarctica. But we were staying inside, so no big deal, right?
Wrong!
Because it was so early, there weren’t many people around to tell us where to go or what to do. We went first to “International Transfers” since we were connecting to a flight going to another country, but the officer said to follow him – which we did – to another office for a daypass visa in China.
“Um, babe, why do we need a visa for China? We’re flying out of here in 2 hours,” was the question I posed to CJ. He was just as confused as I was.
But the nice Chinese police man who speaks no English surely is telling us the right thing to do, right?
So we filled out paperwork and went through immigration.
OK. Now what?
Anyone who looked like they worked at the airport, I asked them, “Do you speak English? Can you tell us where to go?” They would shake their heads up and down, but they continued to smile and say, “No. No.”
Then I finally got one officer to look at our boarding passes and he pointed to a train. He said, “You go that way.”
Anyway, to make a long story short, we ended up riding the train to a different building. Inside there, we went through a maze of hallways, up several elevators and when the door finally opened in the domestic terminal for China’s capital city airport, we found all the people. It was a madhouse of people everywhere!
We kept asking people along the way where to go. “Are you sure? Is this right? We go here?”
Eventually we found the place where our plane was supposed to board. We did notice that not only was the city that we were moving to listed, but it also said “Kunming.”
Huh. Wonder where that is? Little did I know we would be seeing another Chinese city first hand within a couple of hours.
The other thing we noticed was outside the door next to our gate, we had to board a tram to take us to our airplane. That tram drove us out to the tarmac and let us out about 50 yards from our plane.
Did I mention we were wearing flip flops, short pants and short sleeves? I think it’s the coldest I’ve ever felt in my entire life. The funny thing was all the Asian people kept looking at us and laughing.
They would elbow their cohorts and point at us, surely thinking, “those crazy Americans.”
We did meet one elderly lady who grew up in the city we were moving to. She spoke a little broken English. She was traveling back to her hometown with her son and grandchildren. Because of our obvious ineptitude, she took us under her wings and guided us the rest of the way to our final destination.
Oh yeah, we flew to Kunming first and landed there, taking with us all our carry-on luggage. Once again we went through immigration and customs. More pointing. More giggling at our cluelessness.
But finally we were on a plane that would land in the city that has been stirring in our hearts for nearly two years.
We left a chilly Vancouver and an even colder China and finally arrived in our warm and sunny city. As we walked through the airport and down an escalator towards immigration, we saw our new teammates through the glass windows below. They were waving signs that read, “Welcome Johnson Family!”
It felt as if I had been holding my breath for a very long time, but at that moment, I finally exhaled. I was smiling through tears of joy.
We’re here. But not only that… we’re home.
It’s been a long time coming. It’s been months and years filled with questions, concerns and pryers. But ultimately this is where we were called to be, and we are anxious to begin the work we came here to do.
Can I just take a moment to thank all our partners who have been with us through every step of this journey? You have been lifting us up, supporting us, loving us and our families at home, you’ve remembered us in your daily petitions and you have completely filled our hearts. I don’t have the words to fully explain how crucial your role is in all this. Thank you just doesn’t feel adequate for the love and appreciation we feel for your participation in this process.
It is my goal to enable our partners to be a part of the work we do here. I’m not sure how that’s going to work because internet and technology are so limited here. (If you only knew what we had to go through just to post this blog…) But I want you to see what we see and hear what we hear. I want you to feel the burden of such immense darkness and then experience the crash of light that comes from seeing lost sheep found. I really want our partners to be able to walk this path with us side by side, even from a continent on the other side of the world. It’s something I feel strongly convicted about, so it is both a pryer and my goal.
This journey is just beginning.
Let’s do this together.
Here we go…
It was cold, yet we were wearing cropped pants and flip flops which would enable us to be comfortably dressed at our final destination. (I figured we’d only be inside airports for our connecting flights, so it didn’t really matter the temperature outside in those cities.)
The most stressful part was checking in all our luggage. The weight limitation policy is stringent, and I was worried we’d end up paying through the teeth in extra fees. When you’re trying to pack for four people to live at least three years in a third world country, you need all the luggage space you can get! But “somehow” every piece was under 50lbs. and we only had to pay for three extra suitcases. We were very relieved to move past check-in and go through security.
We all breezed through security except for little Miá. We had put about 30 packages of deodorant in her carry-on, and the security people couldn’t understand why anyone would need that much sweat protection. Especially a little girl her size. Once we explained that you can’t buy deodorant in Southeast Asia, they let us go. Although they were snickering as we walked away…
We were so thankful to finally be on our flight heading west to Beijing. The flight was 10 hours and 45 minutes. We had four seats together in the middle of the plane, so Mia stretched out over all of us and slept solidly the whole flight. The rest of us, not so much. But we did enjoy watching the movies on the plane. That was pretty cool.
We arrived in Beijing around 5am their time. The first thing we noticed was – IT’S COLD! I mean it was freezing cold. Colder than Canada. I never imagined it got this cold anywhere in the world except maybe Antarctica. But we were staying inside, so no big deal, right?
Wrong!
Because it was so early, there weren’t many people around to tell us where to go or what to do. We went first to “International Transfers” since we were connecting to a flight going to another country, but the officer said to follow him – which we did – to another office for a daypass visa in China.
“Um, babe, why do we need a visa for China? We’re flying out of here in 2 hours,” was the question I posed to CJ. He was just as confused as I was.
But the nice Chinese police man who speaks no English surely is telling us the right thing to do, right?
So we filled out paperwork and went through immigration.
OK. Now what?
Anyone who looked like they worked at the airport, I asked them, “Do you speak English? Can you tell us where to go?” They would shake their heads up and down, but they continued to smile and say, “No. No.”
Then I finally got one officer to look at our boarding passes and he pointed to a train. He said, “You go that way.”
Anyway, to make a long story short, we ended up riding the train to a different building. Inside there, we went through a maze of hallways, up several elevators and when the door finally opened in the domestic terminal for China’s capital city airport, we found all the people. It was a madhouse of people everywhere!
We kept asking people along the way where to go. “Are you sure? Is this right? We go here?”
Eventually we found the place where our plane was supposed to board. We did notice that not only was the city that we were moving to listed, but it also said “Kunming.”
Huh. Wonder where that is? Little did I know we would be seeing another Chinese city first hand within a couple of hours.
The other thing we noticed was outside the door next to our gate, we had to board a tram to take us to our airplane. That tram drove us out to the tarmac and let us out about 50 yards from our plane.
Did I mention we were wearing flip flops, short pants and short sleeves? I think it’s the coldest I’ve ever felt in my entire life. The funny thing was all the Asian people kept looking at us and laughing.
They would elbow their cohorts and point at us, surely thinking, “those crazy Americans.”
We did meet one elderly lady who grew up in the city we were moving to. She spoke a little broken English. She was traveling back to her hometown with her son and grandchildren. Because of our obvious ineptitude, she took us under her wings and guided us the rest of the way to our final destination.
Oh yeah, we flew to Kunming first and landed there, taking with us all our carry-on luggage. Once again we went through immigration and customs. More pointing. More giggling at our cluelessness.
But finally we were on a plane that would land in the city that has been stirring in our hearts for nearly two years.
We left a chilly Vancouver and an even colder China and finally arrived in our warm and sunny city. As we walked through the airport and down an escalator towards immigration, we saw our new teammates through the glass windows below. They were waving signs that read, “Welcome Johnson Family!”
It felt as if I had been holding my breath for a very long time, but at that moment, I finally exhaled. I was smiling through tears of joy.
We’re here. But not only that… we’re home.
It’s been a long time coming. It’s been months and years filled with questions, concerns and pryers. But ultimately this is where we were called to be, and we are anxious to begin the work we came here to do.
Can I just take a moment to thank all our partners who have been with us through every step of this journey? You have been lifting us up, supporting us, loving us and our families at home, you’ve remembered us in your daily petitions and you have completely filled our hearts. I don’t have the words to fully explain how crucial your role is in all this. Thank you just doesn’t feel adequate for the love and appreciation we feel for your participation in this process.
It is my goal to enable our partners to be a part of the work we do here. I’m not sure how that’s going to work because internet and technology are so limited here. (If you only knew what we had to go through just to post this blog…) But I want you to see what we see and hear what we hear. I want you to feel the burden of such immense darkness and then experience the crash of light that comes from seeing lost sheep found. I really want our partners to be able to walk this path with us side by side, even from a continent on the other side of the world. It’s something I feel strongly convicted about, so it is both a pryer and my goal.
This journey is just beginning.
Let’s do this together.
Here we go…
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