One Photo

Every Wednesday after school, several teachers and students visit a local orphanage. Some teach English, some visit with the kids, and some work with the single mothers and widows that live there, but we all come away changed by the experience.

Yesterday was my first time to visit the orphanage since December. The paint that our students put up last Christmas hangs old and chipped, and the sign out front needs touching up, but, thanks to the generosity of one visitor’s home church, a few new buildings are underway to accommodate their ever-increasing population. The orphanage has an open door policy: if no one else will take in the orphan or widow, the “asrama” will.

As my friends and wife teach English, I wander into the courtyard with my camera. Several pre-teen children rush, begging to have their photo taken. They pose in a well-rehearsed pile, making way for each face to be seen. A quick flash, then a rush for each to be the first to see his face on the 2-inch LCD screen. They howl at seeing each other on the screen, then rush off to play soccer before the older kids take over their make-shift field.

A slump-backed old woman approaches, asking me to take a photo with her. A dozen hands thrust for the camera to take the picture. Petrus wins by sheer volume of voice. “I can take the picture the best,” he shouts above the grunts of sandwiched children. The old ibu (ee-boo) smiles brightly while I dip at the knee to put our faces together. She caresses my arm and says thank you before I lay a kiss on her ruffled cheek. She chuckles amidst the flood of children rushing back on the field.

Our time ends quickly just at the call for supper. And, as we pile back into the car, several children wave good-by from the gate: one is clearly frustrated by his deafness, another nervous and hungry, and still another tall and sprightly. We wave knowing that our visit hasn’t accomplished much toward our annual objectives or toward immediately transforming the lives of these 255 children; yet, we are also confident that our visit makes Jesus smile. Next week we’ll return, and I’ll be sure to bring a printed photo for my new friend Ibu Miriam.

Pictures to come later.

Our Cat

This is Homer, the snuggliest member of our family.

Scenarios and Consequences

Two years ago, Mona and I had a visa trauma. Well, more like visa indigestion, as compared to a visa coronary.

We were scheduled to leave the states on a Wednesday, yet our passports and visas hadn't arrived as of the Monday prior. Long story short, after some stress-filled prayers and a few hundred dollars, our visas were shipped via courier directly to us 7 hours before our flight was to leave.

We are now scheduled to leave the states today, Thursday the 3rd of August, and I just found out that our visas are at the post office as of 8:30 this morning. An entire 10 hours before our flight is supposed to leave. Praise God. Unlike two years ago, this time I was able to put it all in a little bigger perspective. Why stress the unknown? What would happen if our visas didn't arrive in time?

Scenario 1: We have to change our flights and wait another day in country with family. Consequence: We're out some money and we miss the opening of the teacher meetings at school.

Scenario 2: We fly to L.A. and have our visas overnighted to us there. Consequence: We have to change only our Singapore Air flights, but have to wait in a hotel; although, it would allow us more time to navigate DFW and American Airlines.

Scenario 3: We panic and hyperventilate so heavily that all logic and reason escape us. We sulk on mom's couch like the doughy masses that we are to the detriment of our health, such that when the passports do arrive we're in such a complete state of hysteria that we have to be carted around the airports in wheelchairs and given pre-boarding privileges. Consequence: Well, they're all terribly embarrassing...except for that being carted around and given privileges bit. That might be okay.

All in all, I'm glad to say that there has been no losing of anyone's mind or senses. God has enabled my faith to grow over the last two years, and, all glory to him, it hasn't taken a Job-like trauma to get me to listen.