Heart of Java

Saying Goodbye

2010-06-07T11:24:00.004+07:00

This is my final blog from Indonesia. We leave in a few days, which will be filled with packing and throwing ancient, forgotten papers away.

Today I was working at the school to do some computer work in the library. When I was finished, I realized that I likely wouldn't be back in the library before I leave. As I was going out the door, I turned and said, "Goodbye library. Thank you for serving me well these past few years."

I've discovered that to be thankful doesn't require a living recipient. The importance of thanksgiving is found in the state of mind: a recognition of service or kindness or availability that wasn't of my own making. The library has been a place of solace and, sometimes, solitude. A place where I can read National Geographic when I want to hear about the exotic world abroad without being in a NatGeo-type setting. (It's humorous to me that I have to go into my Western-constructed environment to do that.)

The library has also been a place where I've done some of my best work here, writing and researching for articles. It's where I've met with students to discuss their papers or their relationships or their problems. It's where I've played chess in the air-conditioning on steamy monsoon days. It's where I've escaped from the heat and muggy-ness outside when I simply can't breathe the Javanese air any more.

It's important to say goodbye. And it's important to be thankful. And places can be just as important in our lives as people. So, goodbye library. And thank you for serving me so well these past few years. I won't forget you. Cheers.

Ghost Bird

2010-05-18T09:00:00.003+07:00

Our house helper left us a lovely present the other day: an owl in Mona's bicycle basket with a newspaper lid.

It's the weekend. We work on Saturday morning in preparation for finals week at school, then kick back at the house for the evening with a friend in tow. Mona goes into the side room where her bike is parked and begins screaming that there's something in the room. I grab my shoe expecting a roach only to hear her say, "I don't think your shoe's going to be big enough."

Sure enough, I peer into the basket to see an owl sitting with its back to me, its head turned all the way around to see my face. A gorgeous creature about the size of Errol from the Harry Potter series (volleyball sized).

I send a text message to our helper. She writes back the following: "When I opened the curtains, the bird was already on top of the ceiling fan in the front room. The bird flew down to land and the orange cat tried to catch and kill it. So I caught it and put it in the bicycle basket. I thought that bird was there last night in your house, and that bird is often killed by cats (its name is “ghost bird”)."

What?! She left the bird in the house rather than releasing it, and she didn't leave us a message or note about it? By the time we found it, it had been in captivity for more than 24 hours, sitting silently in the basket. And the cats didn't make a fuss about it either. In fact, when I brought it through the living room to release it, Homer, the orange cat she referenced above, didn't even open his eyes from his lounging position in agknowledgement of the momentous occasion. Completely docile.

Anyway, now we can say that we've had a "ghost bird" in our house. Hey, that's a great prank. Catch a large bird and put it in someone's house. Images of Will Ferrell with a cougar in his car come to mind, on a much more tame scale, of course.

Back from Bali

2009-06-26T12:39:00.002+07:00

So, we're back from Bali for a week before we jet off to Malaysia for visa work. Just enough time for me to fall ill once again. Life in an impoverished country can take its toll on even the most diligent of us.

While in Lovina Beach area on the north coast of Bali, Mona and I both completed the PADI Open Water SCUBA certification. A phenomenal sport...philosophical undertaking...shift in perspective. I have many diving friends that have boasted of the beauty and majesty of life underwater, but I couldn't have understood the depth of this truth until I did it myself. And all this joyful transformation takes place a mere few meters under the surface. Added benefit: now when we're on vacation, we have another option of activity.

My underwater camera will be developed shortly. Pics to come here and on Facebook.

Prayer for the Future

2009-06-05T09:31:00.003+07:00

Lord, guide my future path in wisdom. Enable me to be courageous through transition. Open my mind to new possibilities that my culture or background would negate. Unstop my ears to the cries of the suffering and the music of humanity. Speak to me through your valued creations and draw me to a deeper understanding of the unending love upon which you founded all that is. Help me to recognize and develop my Self as a member of your family in whose growth you seem immensely concerned. Thank you for the Sacrifice that freed me to see, receive, embrace and extend reconciliation to and from all. Amen.

Jane Austen in Java

2009-06-03T08:09:00.002+07:00

Reading Pride & Prejudice while on Java adds a new flavor. Austen's humorous look at young passionate romance and the ever-flirtatious pursuit of a spouse mimics modern Javanese life in many ways.

The first parallel I see comes in the words of Austen's young maidens who exclaim that being mid- to late-twenties without a husband makes one an old spinster. Many of the girls here are quick to jump at marriage as a form of social salvation, accompanied by the obligatory first child within a year. Unwed girls of 25 or more, and boys of 27 or more, are held in suspicion for their apparent lack of social understanding. Parents become nervous for their child's well-being, and extended relatives watch attentively out of the corner of their eyes while searching vigorously for a prospect from other circles of influence.

The second major parallel I notice between Austen's realm and that of modern Central Java lurks a little below the surface. In Emma and Sense and Sensibility, Austen's heroines collide with the age-old battle of youth: love versus security. Do I marry for basic compatibility and money? Do I pursue love and passion at all costs? Isn't love all that we really need? Although their is little money in Java, family ties and neighborhood connections become that security that correlates to a healthy income in Austen's novels. I know and know of several girls who have married for the social security of a spouse over passion.

One major contrast still remains. Austen's novels are filled with wealthy, single young men who are in search of a wife just as much as they are being pursued. Social life in Kent or Hamptonshire revolves around who has how much per year and how do we bat our eyes at them. Life in Central Java is not so high up. With next to no middle class, the measurement of a man by his income is more or less a question of if he has one at all. Even then, the compulsion to marry overwhelms any recognized Western sense of economical sustainability. "Neither of us have jobs, education, ambition or prospects, but let's get married and have kids right away anyhow." Whereas Austen's families are concerned with a consistent income and a life of comfort, many in Central Java see children as a sign of arrival, even if it means that they can only afford to eat 1,000 calories each per day.

Perhaps Austen's Sense and Sensibility wouldn't be understood here after all. Our Western notions of sensibility and practicality don't fit with Javanese rukun or gotong royong, surface social harmony above all.

Losing or Loosing

2009-05-18T19:33:00.002+07:00

Living and working and loving in an environment like this, where everyone's lives intersect more than just at the office, binds us in ways that I've never had in a multi-sphered social construct. Here, we live in a culture where our Western education and access to - not to mention addiction to - international perspectives, information and dialog are truly foreign. This means that to get a taste of open dialog from multiple perspectives I, more often than not, revert to my International community. (Notably, there are several Indonesians who fit in this category; however, they are often ridiculed by their family or neighbors as "foreign wannabes.")

This combination of intellectual dependence, working proximity, and emotional/spiritual connection melds us as friends and brothers. Relationships are formed quickly and deeply. Most who spend more than a couple of years in this environment become either very bold or very timid relationally. All or nothing. Love without hesitation or wall up the heart. It's a place of beautifully dysfunctional people to be sure.

Graduation is this coming Thursday. Our fifth class to watch leave this magical place.

I'm not sure what to make of it.

Another section of friends off to four continents. Excitement and pain.

So, after five years of this investing and releasing, which is it? A losing of a relationship or a loosing? Am I selfish to say that not seeing some of them ever again means that I'll not know the return on my investment? Am I overly spiritual to say that I'll find out postmortem? And does it matter either way?

Graduation is this coming Thursday. And in some ways, the most exciting thing about it is that I get to wear my new tailored suit. Saying good bye is never a highlight for me.

Did I Miss Anything

2009-05-08T08:08:00.003+07:00

By Tom Wayman
Question frequently asked by
students after missing a class

Nothing. When we realized you weren't here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours

Everything. I gave an exam worth
40 per cent of the grade for this term
and assigned some reading due today
on which I'm about to hand out a quiz
worth 50 per cent

Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose

Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
a shaft of light descended and an angel
or other heavenly being appeared
and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
to attain divine wisdom in this life and
the hereafter
This is the last time the class will meet
before we disperse to bring this good news to all people
on earth

Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?

Everything. Contained in this classroom
is a microcosm of human existence
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been
gathered

but it was one place

And you weren't here

A Quote for Today

2009-04-29T08:52:00.001+07:00

"Any attempt to bypass our ordinary life to reach God will surely fail. We will only find the union with God that we seek by entering into the ground of the ordinary." -James Finley

I'm a Jerk! Are You?

2009-04-15T12:42:00.005+07:00

My sister sent me the link to her rector's blog (http://scottsrott.blogspot.com). I read through and found myself connecting with much of what Scott writes about. A recent entry of his discusses coming out of ourselves; of getting out of the "You're in my way" mentality. He writes about how moment by moment we're challenged to realize our place in humanity, our place in line, our place in life. This is where I connect.

Last week I was on the moped when I found myself having the most awful thoughts about the other drivers. Road rage has never been an issue with me. I'm somewhat arrogant in my ability to wait my turn. But the other day I was thinking murderous thoughts, degrading my fellow human beings into categories and races and statuses (stati?).

As this is all about me, let me tell you what occurred to me about me. I'm a jerk. I don't think I've always been one; but it seems to me that somewhere around my senior year of high school I took a drastic shift into jerkness (jerkhood?) and began criticizing everyone else for their incompetence. You know where this leads. Perhaps you've been or are currently there, too.

So, I'm driving along thinking moment by moment how this guy's a moron and how that girl should never have even gotten on the bike to begin with, because, let's face it, girls are just not as focused and decisive in their driving. Then I realized that all Indonesians, with the very few exceptions of those I happen to like, are uneducated idiots who are more concerned with the status quo than progressing humanity toward something healthy, beautiful, and over all "better." That's about the time that I realized that I'm not only a jerk, but also a bigot and a racist. Like I said, I'm pretty sure I wasn't always this way.

As a "good" Christian, I pray and repent and move on to choosing to think better thoughts and to "take captive" these negative thoughts. But really, I'm still a jerk who's now simply trying to act like I'm not a jerk by controlling mental impulses that have an invisible root. Perhaps my own insecurities, my own feelings of incompetence, some may say that perhaps these thoughts come from some guy with horns and a pitch fork. Whatever. Truth is, they're my thoughts. The thoughts of a jerk. And that jerk is me.

I hope realizing my tendency to be an asshole will in time enable me to have deeper causal realizations. Who knows, maybe I'll be a sweet boy once again . . . in the very distant future.

A New Day to Vote

2009-04-02T16:48:00.003+07:00

Presidential elections are scheduled to take place next week on Thursday and Friday. The count will be announced on Easter Sunday. Police have said that this year's election should be much calmer than in previous years as political parties are not allowed to do much more than pass out flyers and hold posters or banners. In years past parades and loud, seemingly inebriated party members would harangue observers for their vote. Voters were often paid for their alligence; the clever voters collecting from several different candidates. But this year, change is expected...

Yesterday I drove by a small rally in Salatiga. While scooting by on my moped, I saw a hand-made poster which read Pilih yang benar. Jangan yang bayar. "Vote for the correct one; not one that pays." The small crowd was chanting as best they could, obviously pushing a particular candidate, but also pushing the idea that a good candidate isn't determined by who pays the most for a vote.

In the midst of my current culture stress, this was a relieving sight. Corruption is no longer the assumed norm for some. There's talk about how a political office is not for sale, and how the holders of such offices are public servants. Human history says that Indonesia still has a couple generations to go for this idea to take root, but progress is being made. Dignity is at least being acknowledged. And for that, I'm proud of this country and her people.

"Give to Anyone Who Asks"

2009-03-24T08:53:00.003+07:00

So I've been stuck in Luke's account of Jesus' life. I can't get past some of the things he records Jesus saying. I can't get past how contrary to my cultural upbringing these sayings are. I can't get past my greed and judgment of others.

In a third-world country with over 40% unemployment, begging is a way of life for many. And for all at some point, begging is a must to make ends meet and to have food on the table. As a foreigner with what is perceived as a literal unlimited amount of money, what is the proper response when asked for money? By friends? By neighbors or acquaintances? By strangers? By kids on the streets? Travel to any impoverished country and you've probably wondered the same thing. Anyone been south of the border lately?

Luke 12:33 "Sell your possessions and give to those in need. This will store up treasure for you in heaven! And the purses of heaven never get old or develop holes. Your treasure will be safe; no thief can steal it and no moth can destroy it."

Luke 6:29-31 "If someone slaps you on one cheek, offer the other cheek also. If someone demands your coat, offer your shirt also. Give to anyone who asks; and when things are taken away from you, don't try to get them back. Do to others as you would like them to do to you."

This guy comes to my house selling cookies that most Indonesians can't afford. I buy some and they're mediocre. He comes the following week with the same goods; this time I don't buy but say thanks for coming. The following week he comes again saying that he has a job starting the next week but still needs to make ends meet. I don't buy because I don't like the cookies, but I do give him some food for his family.

Last week he came again in a panic with sons in tote. He says his wife went to hospital and his sons need new shoes and he can't afford food. I'm inclined to give him food and some small money because of what Jesus said, but I don't trust him. When folks come panicked, it seems put on, especially when they use Christian rhetoric but don't seem to have any faith. (Notice the judgment coming into play here.)

Yesterday he came again in a panic with just one son. He said his son swallowed a toy. But the son looked fine, and when he pulled a duplicate of the toy out of his pocket for show, I thought something was being put on. Then I noticed that the toy was a small magnet with smooth, rounded edges. Something that could be passed easily. I laughed then addressing the boy, reassured him that he'd be fine; that I had swallowed worse as a child with no consequences. The father jumped in between me and the boy so the boy couldn't respond and said the boy was in terrible pain. That's when I was convinced something was up. The boy was smiling and at ease.

He said he prayed, so I said to have faith and not panic. He said he didn't know what to do, so I said to do nothing but love the boy and let the toy pass. He said he needed money, so I said good day.

How do I give to anyone who asks when my culture, my brain, and my moral compass won't allow it? In the text, Jesus doesn't clarify about circumstances or exceptions or qualifications. He just says to give. But I still don't like being lied to or taken advantage of because, as Don Miller says, "It feels like I'm losing something; like something is at risk here."

Slip of the Tongue

2009-02-19T09:44:00.004+07:00

For those of you who have every learned a second language, here are some of my most recent faux pas.

When being asked about "orang miskin" (poor people), I replied that "orang kismis" (raisin people) are loved of God and need to be invited into our homes to eat.

When being asked how I interact with my neighbors, I replied that I generally "bercium kepada ibu-ibu" (kiss the women), rather than "berseyum kepada ibu-ibu" (smile at the women).

My friends here have even funnier mishaps, but that will have to be their own confession rather than my juicy gossip. Please pray for my language acquisition. Blessings.

Who Will You Be Tomorrow?

2009-02-13T09:13:00.003+07:00

Our first year here I taught 8th grade English. Those cute kids bounced around, talked when they should have been working, played when they should have been studying, and performed an appropriately silly play. They were kids. They did kid stuff.

This year they're graduating. The girls are young women; the boys, young men. Colleges expect them in August and parents are striving to let them go.

I had soto (chicken soup with rice) with one of them yesterday. Justin and I used to meet weekly when he was in 8th and 9th grades for mentoring. He was wonderfully creative and full of energy, but unfocused as one would expect for a boy of that age. At times it was difficult for me to imagine him as an adult, even though I knew it was soon to come. Yesterday Justin sat across from me as a man. He's just as creative, if not more so, but his maturity and self-control prove him to be ready for this next step.

Graduation is one of life's early traumas. We end what we've known for our entire lives, exchanging it for independence, increased financial responsibility, and new friends. Many of us move to far away places (especially my students -- now on five continents) where we know no one. But seeing Justin again, I have two hopeful anticipations for him and his classmates. First, that they have been well prepared for this leap of faith and responsibility. We have loved them deeply, sacrificially, and transparently. And when they slip, they have not only the skills but also the faith to get back up and walk forward again. Second, just as Justin is a new creation compared to his 8th grade self, so will he be renewed again in four more short years. The hope, then, is that each one of them will be today whom they hope to be in the future. When we conscientiously envision who we'd like to be someday, we then are ready to act and think like that person today.

To my soon to graduate friends: Live today the life that you hope to live tomorrow. Character, maturity, and faithfulness do not come to the aimless but to the visionaries.

Sitting Serenely

2009-02-08T08:20:00.003+07:00

The wonder and magic of any place is found in a complex combination of people, culture, smells, sounds, sights, and sentiment. But sometimes that complexity fades and one simple attribute stirs the senses. For me, the view of Mt. Merbabu in the morning wearing a cap of white cloud does this.

Thursdays I have no classes. Sometimes I go to a pretty place to sit and read, to write and listen. Other days I play saxophone for hours on end. This past Thursday I did a lot of nothing, and it was beautiful. With all the trips I've recently taken, all the studying I've been doing, and all the illnesses we've been through, sitting serenely at the foot of Merbabu with no pressing responsibilities was like coming up for air after a long swim. I felt out of breath, out of steam, just out.

By early afternoon Merbabu's little white cap transforms into a long cloak hiding its majesty among the threatening sky. White turns to gray and gray to rain. It seems the whole earth stops to bathe. The winds and rains wash away the smoke, dust, and litter from the day. And by morning, Merbabu once again comes out wearing its familiar cap to stretch in the fresh light before it takes another bath.

2009-01-30T09:03:00.000+07:00

Just missing my mother and friend today.

I love you Mom.

Joy in Klaten

2009-01-27T13:56:00.003+07:00

My friend Samiyono had planned our trip to Klaten to visit his family, my friends. When I arrived at his house, fortified with Anti-Mo and Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution, Sam hands me the keys to his van while everyone else piles in the back. Turns out Sam has neither the experience nor the license to drive his own vehicle. What could I do but laugh and scoot the driver's seat all the way to the rear?

The weather on southern Java is scorching. Rainy season's humidity levels put the air somewhere in the viscosity range of 10W-30 oil. Sitting on a rough concrete floor with brick walls and clay tiles over head, I wanted nothing more than to jump into the well in the back yard (a big white stamp declares it as being donated to this earthquake hit area by UNICEF). A septegenarian man, who came with us as much to bottle well water that could "make a dead man come back to life" as he did to laugh and eat his way through the day, suggested with both words and visuals that I strip down and jump on in. I retorted to the merriment of all the men there that when I am as old as he I may can get away with that.

We visited the homes of Sam's parents, in-laws, brother, sister, and sister-in-law, staying around 30 minutes at each. Just enough time to eat soto ayam (chicken broth over steamed rice) and hot peppers at each place. By the end of the day, I had consumed several liters of soto and numerous glasses of hot tea. Floating to the van and squeezing behind the padded wheel became incessantly more difficult with each stop.

In late afternoon, just as Sam said it was time to leave, lightning struck about a half kilometer away, shaking the whole neighborhood. The older laughing man, wide-eyed and stock still, plucked 3 hand-sized leaves off a tree in the front yard. He said that each one represents a different element of the earth, providing protection from being struck. Over the next 4 hours, these leaves slowly wore down as he fondled and caressed them religiously.

One observation of joy: yesterday I was able to see my friends as something profoundly new and yet obvious: bearers of His image. When I shook hands with the 83 year-old matriarch of the neighborhood, I saw Jesus, and I wanted to serve her. The same thing happened when I was chasing kids down the road or hiding as they tried to be stealth about looking at the "ghost." It happened when the old stripping man and I were laughing like children. It happened when a local woman asked me to pay for the second-story addition to her house and when the young man at the road-side food stall asked me to take him to America so he can get a better job. For every person I encountered, I had a heart to listen, to embrace, to laugh, and to rejoice. Please don't take this as self-righteous meandering. Because the reality of what happened in my heart was a beautiful thing. I find myself falling in love with these people, my friends, my neighbors, my siblings more and more. And I desire to love them as an action of melded mind and heart and spirit, not simply as a cultural abstraction or religious obligation.

What joy it is to find the courage to look someone in the eye long enough to see there soul.

Pray for Trips

2009-01-26T07:22:00.002+07:00

Today I (James) am heading to Klaten with my friend and neighbor Samiyono. Mona and I visited his family there in October 2007 after a massive earthquake that toppled 72 out of the 75 houses in their development. The houses were demolished, but not their spirits.

Mona has to teach today, so it's just me, and I'm not really feeling up to it. I've had bowel issues for 2 days now including some mild cramping. I'm packing an emergency bag just in case.

This coming weekend I'm heading to another part of the island to encourage some Jesus followers there. It's difficult to live a life of grace extending it to others when so much of the suffounding culture is fixated on forced piety, but that's exactly how Jesus lived. To talk about grace, the poor, charity, and love is celebrated, even honored. To live scandolously by offering grace to evildoers, living with the poor, and loving the outcasts leads to the cross. Please pray.

More later.

Transitions

2009-01-20T08:10:00.003+07:00

We're back in Indo! What a trip. 3 days in the air and in foreign towns can take a toll. Thus, it's taken me a week to get back online to write even a simple Blog. Pray for our continued adjustment to the time zone (jet lag) and the culture.

Mona caught a cold the first day back in Salatiga, which progressed to where she missed a day of teaching in her first week. But it wasn't just a cold that took her down. A lack of nutritional variety and quality played a role, too. In the States we ate fresh greens, tomatoes, grains, and other lovely rich-in-nutritional-value foods. Here, in the "land of veggies," we've had a booger of a time finding good veggies. What the local stores have are mostly rotting, picked too early, or old. Transitioning from a full menu of healthy goodies to a diet of white bread, canned tomatoes, cheese and beans leaves some things to be desired.

Yesterday I spent the entire workday in Semarang, the large coastal town to the north, on a veggie hunt. I finally found an expensive import store with zuccini, cucumbers, frozen strawberries, and various greens. Although more expensive than I can afford on a regular basis, I stocked up. Mona's recovery and transition into a healthy routine are worth a costly jump-start.

Please pray for her continued health and for her ability to restart her running program. (In case you didn't know, Mona ran a 5K in Little Rock and is working up to a 10K. We even purchased a membership to an in-town resort with workout facilities and a pool to accomodate for the tropical heat.)

Blessings to you for today in Him.

Visiting a Friend

2008-11-28T02:02:00.004+07:00

It's Thanksgiving Day. The family has come around. Food sits ready on the table. And as we near the end of eating, someone asks who plans to go shopping tomorrow. Later my family asks what I want for Christmas. To be honest, the answer is a contented "Not much." There are a few items I've been researching for a while -- a quality SLR digital camera, good motorcycle helmets, quality binoculars -- but, now that I can have virtually anything I want, nothing seems to be a necessity. Nothing makes my heart jump with excitement at the prospect of a purchase.

In the previous post I asked for Christmas service ideas. While no one's written a comment, several ideas have come via other means. At a recent funeral of a family friend -- 2 funerals, in fact -- I've run into elderly widows that I knew as a child. Seeing these women again reminded me of Matthew 25 where Christ says to visit the widows. In the book of James we read that true and pure religion includes visiting the widows and infirmed. And why not? Visiting a widow doesn't take much time, and it brings much joy to both of us. Listen, talk, share. Read to her or change her light bulbs or hold her hand while she tells her stories.

I had the chance to do that recently. We only shared about 30 minutes before it was time for her treatment, but driving away afterward I wondered who was blessed more. I know she was touched and encouraged by a simple visit and honest discussion. Yet I could argue that I was the one who received more. I was the one who asked difficult questions and received experienced wisdom. We both won. We were both blessed by a moment's encounter with another journeying soul.

I don't yet know what our family will do this Christmas to break the Materialistic cycle, but my vote is that we visit the widows who may otherwise receive only the gift of solitude.

Reduced to Faith

2008-10-23T20:24:00.002+07:00

Last night I had a discussion with my aunt, uncle, and wife about suffering and the challenges we face in life. It was an encouraging time, filled with accounts of victory, humility, and transformation.

Speaking with many believers across the country, including last night, one recurring theme is that suffering plays a crucial role in our becoming like Christ. At the dinner table, my aunt spoke of her bout with cancer, possible cystic fibrosis, and other constant reminders of her limitations. But as she worked through the list of offenders, spoke of the internal struggles, recounted the numerous intimate encouraging relationships, and testified to her heart and mind transfromation, her face lightened and her inner beauty shined brightly. How is it that one who has suffered so much can emit such a powerful light? And those of us who have suffered little can darken even the gayest of situations?

I don't have many illnesses. In fact, until my struggle with e-coli and kidney stones in March of 2007, I have never been abnormally sick. Yet, the ordained steps toward my humility are no less severe. My personalized kiln has more to do with me making an ass of myself. A mouthful of foolishness, one word too many, impatient inquiry, or a forgotten appointment. My battle with self-image and identity usually resides in my lack of demonstrative wisdom.

What I've realized is that we all have a tailored struggle. We each must overcome our arrogance and wrongful self-importance. And God has designed into our fabric a gnawing flaw that requires either a recognition of our frailty or a vain attempt at self-delusion. Whereas my aunt has questions of why and when and for how long, Lord; I have questions of when will I learn and where did that come from. We must come to terms with the fact that even on our best day we are not intended to be God in perfection, wisdom, power, or knowledge. We are intended, however, to rely upon the God of those things. We are meant to be humble and intentional in living lives of worship. Otherwise, who would receive the glory?

Surely I will prove myself once again as an idiot. And, surely, once again, grace will be shown to me. And in my pride I could be angry about this predictament. But isn't it better to rejoice in the grace, recognize the flaw, and pray for transformation of both heart and mind. After all, isn't that the greater treasure to pursue?

Observations from Williamsburg, VA

2008-10-22T20:35:00.003+07:00

We're staying for a few days of alone time at Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia. The town is about one-half mile north to south and 1 mile east to west. They have 3 hotels on the campus and a regular shuttle to carry to the far sides of the park.

Yesterday we went to a program where George Washington took the stage in an outdoor amphitheater. He gave a reasonable yet impassioned speech about the necessity in 1774 to boycott all British imports, but to not yet ban all exports to them.

After his speech, he took questions from the audience. Most of which were well informed, and his responses were entirely in character and knowledgeable. He spoke of the reality that the taking up of arms against unreasonable oppressors was to be an absolute last resort, and that men of character and reason would exhaust every means necessary to foster dialogue and charity before acting aggressively. He renounced the actions during the Boston Tea Party and honored John Adams as a man of character for defending the British Regulars after the Boston Massacre.

After spending 2 in-depth days in the colonial town, having read, discussed, and witnessed recreations of many of the actions taken here in Virginia, I feel solidly that revolution could have been avoided altogether under the following circumstances: 1) that the British Parliament had been filled with honest and humble men, 2) that American businessmen and women had a greater sense of community and responsibility to withstand the pulls of greed during trying times, and 3) that the Crown's representatives, like Gov. John Dunmore of Virginia, had been men of humility to see the pains of unjustice that these colonial Americans were suffering, rather than usurping their rights by use of the threat of military force and the disbanding of their legislatures prior to their seasonal work having been finished.

All in all, revolution stems from unjustices being met by the forces of impatience, a lack of faith in God's providence, and an insatiatible greed on the part of the oppressed; and continual arrogance and presumptuous power and control on the part of the oppressors. Add to this a growing relational distance between the governed and the governing, and you have the makings for a bloody and irrational war.

Violence only begets more violence. Retribution and revenge are the work of the devil.

Long-time Friends

2008-09-30T03:32:00.003+07:00

You remember that guy in your 11th grade American Lit. class? You know, the one who used to write silly limericks about the teacher with the large glasses and bad breath. The one who made you laugh until you got detention for "disruptive behavior." Where is he now? Why aren't you still in touch?

This past weekend I was in Greenville with friends from college. We all graduated in 2000, eight years ago. While hanging out with the Greenville gang, it struck me that I've kept in touch with these guys but lost contact with so many others. What really stuck with me was the thought that, back then, I spent less time quantity-wise with these guys than with many others. What was it that kept us connected while so many others have been lost?

After my second year at Mountainview, my good friends Mike and Heather left Indonesia for good. The last night I saw Mike, he said, "I love you, but I'm terrible with email. I may not write often, but that doesn't mean that you're not in my heart or on my mind." And, judging by my own life experiences, that's true for many of us. I love and pray for many of my old friends -- Joe, Candida, Corinne, Tom, Mandy, Dwight -- but I certainly have done a miserable job at keeping close ties with them. In fact, on this trip to the States I learned from a friend of a friend that some of these people who reside in my heart are now married, have kids, are divorced, have dealt with personal loss, or are no longer in the States. Joy and sorrow ensues. Guard against the guilt.

What keeps us in contact with some and not with others? I'm not really sure. There are many factors to it. But I do know that when I see someone from the past, my heart swells and my palms sweat. And, often, we pick up, not from where we left off (because we're not the same idiots we were back then), but, rather, we pick up with a sense of connectedness that time cannot wipe out. If anything, time and experience adds to the beauty of the reunion.

By the by, if any of you can explain the sweaty palms, I'd sure appreciate it. Makes shaking hands a real issue.

My Love Affair with "Story"

2008-09-26T03:28:00.003+07:00

I'm taking a class on writing from Fresno Pacific. It's actually a class on how to teach a writing workshop; how to help my students get more out of my writing classes. Today I was reading about drafting: the step in the writing process where you just put the story down; where story becomes its own entity; where an idea leaves your mind in favor of the page, yet somehow returning to us fuller and more developed than when we first thought of it.

I love reading the Bible, imagining God as the Author rather than as the Inspirer. If God were going to write a novel, what aspects would he put in it? Would he write with a Christian theme in mind? Would it be fiction with an agenda? I ask this not as a critic, but as a reader, a lover of story.

I think that these questions are unanswerable in some aspect, but what they accomplish highlights something more valid than motive. When I read the Bible, take Genesis, I read it as though God's telling me a story worth hearing, worth knowing. I read it with an understanding that God, knowing and seeing and hearing all, chose to give just these specific details. Just these facts and perspectives. Just these characters and times and places. Thinking of it that way, doesn't it make the Creation myth all the more beautiful? God chose to say "And it was good" in just such a way that that's really all we know about it. He didn't leave us diagrams or formulae or massive Naturalist catalogues (although that would've been impressive). No, he writes, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him." He leaves out many of the whys allowing us to work through them ourselves.

When I think of teaching writing (or writing myself), I think I'll challenge my students to delve more into the mystery of writing--of letting some things be left unsaid--in favor of focusing on the essence of story. Details can be fun and enlightening, but they are just details, after all, and not the story itself.

Greenville Visit

2008-09-23T23:47:00.002+07:00

After finishing our first road trip, and before launching into our Eastern road trip, I have a short visit to Greenville, Texas. I'll be visiting the Blasingames and McClendons this coming weekend and speaking at First Baptist Church of Greenville.

Please continue to pray for our support raising efforts. God has encouraged us as we've reconnected with friends and family. Our hearts are filled with joy by the love we have received and have been able to share. Whereas our prayer support base has been growing significantly, our financial needs remain unmet at this point. That said, we still have several church contacts with whom we are communicating. Thank you for continuing to pray with us.

Where's the Truth?

2008-08-28T23:10:00.003+07:00

One thing I've picked up since returning to the States is that the media is so full of misconceptions. I knew this in part, but now I see it even more clearly. News reports and entertainment put out the idea that the Church is dead; that God's people are making no real impact on this country or the world; that Jesus can't be taken seriously because no evidence of his resurrection exists, and certainly no one believes in such nonsense anymore. But that's not our experienced reality.

As we've travelled, we've seen countless examples of genuine faith; of people sacrificing to bless others and overcome trials by faith; of families reuniting and forgiving, and of communities being changed for the better. I met a man who uses his revenue properties as an opportunity to speak into the lives of his tenants. I heard first hand of another who has pushed out the drugs and gangs in 3 city blocks by peaceful confrontation. I've met parents who's children have gone to fight in the middle east or who've gone themselves, and whose faith is stronger for trusting God with the battle. I've seen people who minister to the poor, the widowed, the orphans. We have several friends who've adopted and more who are in the process. We've seen Bible studies and worship services and community projects and outreach where people are changed. The stories we've heard would move you to tears.

The truth: it's not found on MSNBC or CNN or Fox News. The truth is that God is alive and well, and his people are on the move. For anyone who's doubting if a life of faith can make a difference, I'd say two things: 1) turn off the TV -- it's all brain rot, and 2) go and share your faith. You'll not only see God move in and through you, but you'll also meet others who are doing the same. Now, why isn't this making the front page?

On the Road...Again

2008-08-28T13:00:00.004+07:00

So, here we are in Bandon, Oregon. We've already put 5,000 miles on the truck, and she's beginning to let us know. Nothing major, but she's got a couple hiccups: lights needing replacing, wiper blades split, slight click in the engine, driver-side door lock no longer electric. A few others too. We just pray that we'll make it back to Arkansas. And if we have to have a major overhaul, then we'll look for the person we are to share with while waiting.

Tomorrow we enter California. We'll hit the Redwood forest up first, then camp before meeting our friend Justin in Lincoln. We'll present Mountainview's work to his church and hang out for the weekend. He's promising a pool party and barbecue.

One last picture. Here's the Chevy on the high plains east of the Tetons. She handled the mountains quite well. Although the sands of the Pacific are another story for another blog.

Panoramas

2008-08-18T12:57:00.007+07:00

A few of my favorites.

A vain attempt to capture some of the grandure of the Badlands of South Dakota.

The Rockies in Rocky Mountain National Park, just above Estes Park, Colorado.

Click to blow up image.

What Happens When A Truck Sits?

2008-08-13T01:23:00.004+07:00

This is a truck at our friend Oscar's. He and his wife Pansy have a beautiful bit of land above Wheatland where trucks go to die. It's a truck hospice. This was my favorite.

Sleeping in the Chevy

2008-08-09T22:22:00.004+07:00

On the road from Winnipeg to , Wheatland, Wyoming, Mona and I camped in Rapid City, South Dakota for a few nights. We had some time to spare and thought we'd take in Mount Rushmore and a few other memorable sights.

We found a camp sight in Piedmont, just on the edge of the Black Hills, and pitched a tent for the night. That first night a light sprinkle washed off the dust, with a bright shining sun in the early morning.

About midday, as we were out in Rapid City, half way through a human maze, a storm blew in from the north and ransaced our campsight. When we arrived, we found our tent flat on the ground in a puddle. Sleeping bags and pillows were soaked. We pulled out our gear and put it in several dryers, then went to the only indoor place around -- a biker bar. Mona and I spent the next couple of hours talking to bikers from all over the country and hearing their heroing stories of surviving the torent on two wheels.

That night, midnight brought in another round of storms. Lighting, beginning on the distant horizon, edged its way closer. By 1 A.M. we were high-tailing it to the truck from our tent in the trees. Lightning was so prevelent that with my eyes closed it looked like Mona was flashing her headlamp in my face.

We're very thankful for this Chevy, but I never thought I'd end up spending the night in the passenger seat being rocked to sleep by derecho winds.

On the Road - Indianapolis

2008-07-23T09:16:00.004+07:00

Here's Uncle Bill's truck. We're driving a Chevy and loving it. Never saw myself as a truck person. But for the road, it's very comfortable and can carry all our camping gear. We'll be camping out most nights that we're not staying with friends or at conferences.

We hit the road on Friday, the 18th, drove to Memphis where we stayed with friends, made some new ones, and grew closer to some old ones. Then on to Mammoth Cave National Park next to Bowling Green, Kentucky for some underground hiking. On Monday we drove to Indy for our CMF furlough retreat. Here we've been delving into the subject of suffering -- a solid Christian theme -- and, again, making some new friends and growing closer to some old ones.

Oh, and the truck's in the shop for a transmission check up. We had some hiccups just as we pulled into city limits and off the freeway. Coincidence that we made it here for a 5-day retreat before we had trouble?

Culture Shock v. Reverse Culture Shock

2008-06-17T22:13:00.006+07:00

Culture shock: not knowing how to say or buy cereal in a foreign country.
Reverse culture shock: walking down the monstrous cereal aisle in my home country.

Culture shock: riding in traffic with "flexible" rules without cussing out another car.
Reverse culture shock: being cussed out for slowing to let someone in during rush hour.

Culture shock: trying to commisserate with the broken, lonely, and hurting of the host country.
Reverse culture shock: realizing all the broken, lonely, and hurting in my native country.

Culture shock: comparing everything in Indonesia to "how good it is in America."
Reverse culture shock: comparing everything in America to "how simple it is in Indonesia."

Culture shock: paying for things in denominations of multiples of thousands.
Reverse culture shock: paying multiples of thousands for everything.

Culture shock: avoiding street riots over $1.25 gas in a third-world country.
Reverse culture shock: nearly causing a parking-lot-riot over $3.93 gas in this country.

Culture shock: passing time by playing computer games while waiting for Internet pages to load.
Reverse culture shock: playing computer games as a pasttime.

Catching Up

2008-04-22T08:00:00.002+07:00

For the last couple of months I have been avoiding writing blogs for two main reasons: 1) I'm not sure that anyone actually reads these, and 2) I don't want you to think that all I do is sit on the computer and Photoshop random photos and write senseless blogs. Truth is that I do much, much more than that. Like, sometimes I also play Texas Hold 'em on Facebook or browse the online listings of auctioned merchandise from the county courthouse. You know, important stuff like that.

Every Tuesday morning I go eat soto (chicken soup) with my friend and former student Tim Kim. He graduates in 4 weeks. We've been hanging out since my first month in Indonesia. He was in 9th grade then. Today the junior class is celebrating him. Each senior is honored for a day by the juniors. They sang/rapped a song in Korean that Tim likes over the intercom. Everybody laughed and cheered. Tim's a great musician. He writes his own songs, and mimics many talented guitarists like the guys from Dream Theater, Joe Satriani, or Philip Keaggy (pardon the spelling). Tim wants to study music and serve in worship, but his parents want him to be an engineer. Difficult choice.

Recently Tim laid this decision before the Lord. And God showed up. He gave Tim unexplainable peace, then told him that He has a plan for Tim that Tim cannot achieve if he stresses too much or tries to make his life happen in his own strength. That encouraged Tim so much, that lately he's been encouraging the other seniors to let their burdens go too. The seniors here are constantly stressed about their SAT, AP, ACT, TOEFL, or some other standardized test scores. Now, even with the SAT and AP Calculus tests coming in a couple of weeks, Tim's feeling at ease. He said that his study times have been more productive and relaxed as a result. How cool is that.

So, really, I guess I do get to do some cool things. I get to hang with guys like Tim who know and love God just as much as I do. What joy!

Breathing and Smiling

2008-02-04T08:04:00.000+07:00

My lovely sister wrote me this weekend about a friend of hers. Hopefully you know someone like this, too. She described him as being "so easy to be with, it's like breathing and smiling."

I love that imagery. Breathing and smiling.

In my 7th and 8th grade girls' PE class on Thursday we practiced basic breathing techniques. Try it with us: sit in a cross-legged position with relaxed but erect posture on the floor, hands on your stomach to feel the diaphragm's movement, and "breath in." Take slow, controlled inhalations through your nose that last 4 to 7 seconds. Now hold it for a couple seconds before your blow it through an imaginary straw for 6 to 10 seconds. Once all out, take a second or two to enjoy the emptiness. Then start again. Focus on the breathing itself, keeping your eyes either shut or trained on a single spot. Don't let your mind wander to all the beckoning distractions. Be single-minded. Feel the air refresh as it enters and cleanse as it exits. Breathe like this for several minutes, then smile from your toes to your scalp. Smile big.

With the young girls, this practice takes some adjustment. Youth typically wants to move and jump and shout. But many commented later that although at first they were bored or distracted, soon they found themselves relaxed and alert yet without being pulled anywhere but closer to their own breath.

I imagine my sister's friend is much like that. Natural, perhaps even "common." Yet the more you focus and cut out distraction, the more you realize that the relationship brings refreshment and cleansing. What a pleasant spirit to be near.

What kind of a spirit are you sharing today?

15 Minute Transformation

2008-01-22T08:03:00.000+07:00

Marjolein stands nearly 6 feet tall in the eighth grade. She's Dutch and she smiles a lot.

Yesterday during JV Girls' basketball practice I noticed that even though she's literally head and shoulders above the other girls, Marjolein crouches with the ball after a rebound. She cradles it under her arms and looks for a pass to the safer outside rather than taking the shot right back up.

After practice I pointed out her tendancy to do this. Then we had her practice getting a rebound off the backboard and taking it straight back up without bringing the ball down. We also had her practice V-cutting and transitioning a pass directly into a short jump shot. Lastly we practiced jumping as high as possible on layups and rebounds.

Only working on these skills for 15 minutes, Marjolein showed marked improvement. It seemed as though all she needed was someone to show her what to do in place of what she's habitually learned. 15 minutes and she's that much more of a dominant player.

A great parallel for my discipleship with students. A short amount of focused time relearning how to respond, how to listen, how to trust, and lives can be transformed.

Thank God for the men and women who took 15 minutes with me throughout the years. You have transformed me, and now I can work to transform others.

Flat Tire

2008-01-17T08:26:00.000+07:00

Last week, Mona and I were still in major jetlag--up at 2:30 a.m., crashing at 4 p.m. The benefit of jetlag to this extreme is that you have plenty of quiet time to think.

Indonesia loves commotion and noise. From the time the cock crows to the last evening call to prayer, the tropical days are filled with horns and vendors from the street, small engines revving in each yard, and speakers blaring from the mosque. But at 3 a.m., nothing stirs. Blessed silence.

One such morning, Mona and I scurried to town on our moped for breakfast (a rare treat for us since Mona's a night owl). After sipping soto (chicken soup), we found our rear tire flat to the tarmac. A street merchant told me a small tire patch stall sat just down the road, so Mona squatted on a bench on the corner while I scooted down the half kilometer.

Staying put, Mona was hailed by every passing vehicle, including bikes, mopeds, over-stuffed vans, and rikshaws: "Buy this," "Give me something to eat," "Give me money," "Ride in my vehicle," "Hey, Baby," "Look, Mom. A white girl!"

More than once she had to wave people on to avoid grid lock. "White Woman Causes Traffic Jam" the headline would read.

P.E. Debut

2008-01-11T10:56:00.000+07:00

James here...

This is my 8th semester teaching at Mountainview. Up to now, my day has been full of English, visual arts, performing arts, writing and music classes. But yesterday turned a new leaf in my experience: 7th & 8th grade girls PE. Tuesdays and Thursdays through May will have me out on the court/climbing wall or on the soccer field stretching, running, playing, and climbing. It's a nice way to finish the school day.

Yesterday, we played footsol: in-door soccer. Several of the girls have played most of their life, and seeing that checkered ball fly at me with bruising force is quite something. But it's so endearing to see someone get mildly brushed by a ball or passing leg and then the whole class, both teams, rush over to make sure she's okay. I made a great steal, but the girl fell in the process; and what could I do but give her the ball back?

My New Year's resolution: have fun, and perhaps get a bit leaner in the process.

New Year's Optimism

2008-01-07T09:49:00.000+07:00

I love entering a New Year. Who knows what will happen this year? People are happier at New Year's--more optimistic. Thus, the New Year's resolution. The past few years, I've shunned the resolution, but this year, in the spirit of the holidays, have decided to make a few.

Resolution #1: This year, I'm giving up french fries.

I know what you're thinking. "Say it's not so!" French fries are more American than ... say ... French people. But I know something which might surprise you. They are very unhealthy. Did you know that one little french fry contains more carcinogens than are legally allowed in our drinking water? It's true; I read it on the internet. I used to eat french fries "in moderation" but have found over the past semester that my addiction has forced me to consume them daily. So it must be stopped.

So far, I've had two opportunies to say "no" to french fries. This has been a liberating experience. I feel healthier already.

Drop me a comment if you have any resolutions you'd like to share. :) mona

The Million Pound Bank Note

2007-11-23T18:45:00.000+07:00

This year's 8th grade play was a lot of fun, especially thanks to the audience, who laughed and cheered heartily.

The Radical Life

2007-10-14T19:38:00.001+07:00

We just finished a 6-week study of the book of Acts with eighteen 6th thru 12th graders. The study was called "The Radical Life." It was one of the most enjoyable Bible studies I've ever been a part of. We saw a revival of prayer and an increased interest in sharing the gospel. Every week, we shared the simple message of the gospel: Jesus died on the cross for your sins and when you accept his sacrifice, you join with him in the resurrection. It was also a neat opportunity to probe deeper. Please continue to pray for our students and their response to the gospel.

Answers to Prayer

2007-09-11T08:21:00.001+07:00

At the end of last school year, the Lord showed several of us teachers that we have many students who are unreconciled with Him. They are living in sin, gossiping, or simply lost. After hearing all the testimony of what God was saying to my co-workers, I shared these thoughts with the teaching staff at an end-of-the-year meeting and asked them to join me in prayer over the summer.

As a result, many prayed and fasted throughout the summer for the salvation of our student body and an active walk with the Lord. God has since answered.

We've had three weekly chapels thusfar, during which we've shared the gospel clearly: our fallenness, redemption in Christ, and our identity in Him. The altercall this past Friday was amazing. Not only have several students received the Lord Jesus for reconciliation with the Father, but they are being baptized and radically living out their faith.

Sam, a ninth grade Korean, has been reaching out to his fellow students and challenging them to make their faith an impactual part of their lives, not merely a cultural identity. He's discipling two other students and meets with us regularly for prayer, encouragement, and further discipleship. Disciples making disciples.

Please pray for Sam, and others, as he continues to walk by faith.

First Week of School

2007-08-22T18:09:00.000+07:00

An air of excitement is around us. Something is moving in the wind. Whispers of change are all around ... but ... they're already being drowned out by groans of "Agh! There's so much more homework this year than last year!"

So goes the first week of school. We can't wait to see what transformation will occur this year, but it's so easy for us to get bogged down in the workload. Me, I'm waking up with dark cirles under my dry eyes. One of the 10th graders, Carrie, sits on the bench next to me in the mornings and says, "I see you have your friend with you again." She says the word friend contemptuously, as she refers to the hot, delicious cup of coffee in my hands. I try to educate her on the health benefits of coffee, but some students are truly rebellious and cannot be taught.

My first class is U.S. History, and I notice that Dan, who sometimes gets less-than-desireable grades, is doing his worksheet in the five minutes before class. I go to have a talk with him, only to discover that he's actually working on tomorrow's homework. Yes! We're getting off to a great start. In the afternoon, the Worship Drama class brings Bible stories, and a sweet aroma fills the air as they are read aloud. After school is hang-out time, where we're still swapping summer stories. At the end of the day, I come home to my cat and crash into my comfy bed, slipping off to sleep within minutes.

I confess, I love school. I always have.

Merlin's Vanishing Act

2007-08-02T20:19:00.001+07:00

The good news is that my cat Merlin was waiting for me when I got home today. He wouldn't tell me where he had been the last two weeks, but he was looking fat and healthy, so I can only assume he found a house with some yummy niblets. In an effort to win him back, I locked him in the house and fed him KFC. But, when my back was turned, James let him outside and he darted off into the night.

So I'm overjoyed that Merlin is well, but I'm upset that he didn't hang around for long. I'm hoping that he comes home tonight!

Gearing up

2007-07-30T21:40:00.000+07:00

Just a quick update:

We're gearing up for school. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, we'll be orienting the new teachers. Some have been here all summer, one is arriving tomorrow morning. Two families, unfortunately, will not arrive in time for the orientation. Pray for all of them as they transistion.

My mom visited with us for a week and a half and had a fabulous time. She did a lot of things she'd never done before, like order in Indonesian, swim with sharks, and ride interesting forms of public transportation.

Merlin, our gray cat, ran away. Please pray with me that he'll come back.

Thank you for all of your prayers!

Where Saints and Pigeons Trod

2007-07-13T23:50:00.000+07:00

Am I getting older or is travel getting harder? It took, including layovers, 30 hours before we arrived in Rome. So I had to ask myself, is it worth it? Recently, I watched a special on virtual worlds, and I began to wonder, "Could a virtual world fulfill my travel 'needs?'" It would certainly be cheaper, safer, less tiring, and possibly more educational. But what would I miss out on?

1) Bonding time with family or friends: Getting lost and ending up on an active volcano, coming face to face with a komodo dragon, or singing U2's "The Sweetest Thing" at the top of your lungs while you drive down I-40. From the ordinary to the extraordinary, these are the times I'll be talking about with friends for years to come. "Remember the time . . . " But could I convince my friends to meet up with me in virtual Rome? Or to slay a dragon with me on one of those online video games? and would it be a bonding experience, or would it be too lame and predictable?

2) The food: This used to be the biggest draw for me. Now, I find home cookin' to be the best, especially since you can find a recipe for anything on the internet. And I've come to appreciate the power of my imagination. That's where I find the best tasting gelatto. Over the years, my memory has enhanced the taste. mmmm . . .

3) The magic: I can read about the David. I can see pictures of the David. So what would make me want to travel to Florence and stand in line for 2 1/2 hours in the heat, just to see the David in person? If you've seen it yourself, then you know what. No copy, not even a photograph, can capture what Michelangelo did. There is something magical about walking through those doors and seeing with your own eyes as the light hits this magnificent work of art. And it's as though Michelangelo himself is there, ambling through the crowds, marvelling at the fact that the art he created 500 years ago is still standing. The only other place I can experience this is in my own memory and imagination. So when I'm sulking because the Renaissance never made it to Indonesia, I can close my eyes and walk back through the doors of the Accademia. I can admire the perfectly sculpted muscles of the David's legs, and the way the veins pop out on his hand. I can see the far-off look in his eyes. Because I've been there.

So what gets you packing?

Security

2007-07-12T13:03:00.000+07:00

This summer was my first time to fly since the new liquids restrictions. Unfortunately, the paranoia over bottled water has made its way to Java. Going through the security checkpoint, I'm forced to leave my water bottle on a table with a few dozen others. I gulp down a few last drinks before following protocol. But the funny thing is that James walks through the metal detector and, too lazy to empty his pockets, sets it off. No one notices or cares that he has unknown metal content in his pockets, and he gets through.

But I Still Love Technology

2007-07-11T11:13:00.000+07:00

Let me just take a moment out of my busy day to reflect in awe and wonder on that modern marvel we call the internet.

Where else can you talk heart to heart with people about the things that really interest you, like whether or not the Chipettes were the downfall of Alvin and the Chipmunks? Who needs co-workers, friends, and family, when my soul companions are all online, organized topically on easy-to-search discussion boards? Yes, we are living in a virtual world and I am a virtual girl. Thus far, I have not fully embraced cyberspace. Alas, we do not have high-speed internet at our fingertips. But I am intrigued and looking forward to the day when I can take a virtual tour of ancient Rome, play cards with my sister in NYC, or chat about the impending destruction of the planet with total strangers who have cool onscreen nicknames like "Fairy Princess." Currently, I'm limited to enjoying e-mail, bbcnews.com, blog-stalking, and the occasional skype conversation.

James's mother commented that someone (you know who you are!) sends her a postcard every month. She loves this. So James and I sat down with our address list Monday night. I wrote one card--just one--and it was painful. Writing out in longhand something that would take two weeks to arrive (if it got there at all), I was thinking, "This is ridiculous. I should just write these people an email."

So here's to the internet!

2007-07-07T10:58:00.000+07:00

My darling mother took us to Italy for our annual rendezvous. Here she is at our hotel in Levanto, the fabulous Hotel Al Terra di Mare.

The Cinque Terre is a series of five small towns on the western coast of Italy, north of Rome, west of Florence, south of Genova and Milan. We stayed in Levanto, just north of Cinque Terre. Levanto has a lovely, long white sand beach with plenty of eateries and gelaterias. The shopping is easy to navigate as the town has a central piazza (Piazza Cavour) from which two streets take you to either of the main shopping lanes (Via Viviani or the city park).

A three minute train ride (only 1 euro) takes you to Monterosso, the nearest town of Cinque Terre. It's another short train ride or a 45 minute coastline hike to the next town. Choose your style, as either way you'll find yourself endulging in the pleasures of the Italian coast. Oh, don't miss out on eating taglioni alla pesto. It's a local pasta with our favorite Italian sauce.

Here my lovely mother sits at front of the Duomo in Florence. She visited with the men to her left. They were from the Ukraine but worked as carpenters in Florence now. Don't you love international acquaintances?

What are some of your favorite cities or international spots? Where have you found yourself able to revel in the flavors of another culture? Do share.

'06 - '07 Highlight: Drama

2007-06-12T09:48:00.000+07:00

This year in drama was a personal highlight for me, since James and I took our first stab at playwriting. What did we come up with?

"The Knight in Shining Buttons" starring Matthew Geary . . .

An arrogant young knight buys a beautiful vest with golden buttons. Little does he know, the vest is enchanted. Every time he is mean or proud, he loses a button. The knight must learn some valuable lessons before all of his buttons are gone!

The 8th graders did a fabulous job. In addition to the play, we added an 8th grade drama class this year. This was a fun class to teach, and lays the foundation for 9th thru 12th grade electives. This summer, I'm getting ready for three new drama electives: Theater Movement, Acting II: Shakespeare, and Worship Drama. In the meantime, James is earning money for improvements to our auditorium by starring on a television program. He's the host for several episodes of "Fun with English," a program designed to teach people English.

And of course, we had the spring play. The cast included some veteran actors, as well as some who had never been in a play before. They were brilliant. So, all in all, it's been a great year for drama.

movie picks

2007-06-06T18:32:00.000+07:00

This week, we enjoyed a rare treat--a trip to the movie theater. The closest movie theater is a 2-hr drive, and our favorite one to go to is in the Solo Grand Mall. We've seen three movies there: "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," "Narnia," and, most recently "Pirates of the Caribbean 3." Pirates was a huge disappointment, for unnecessary brutality and difficult-to-follow plot. In fact, it's getting more and more rare that I watch a movie that I really enjoy. Our other movie options are a rental place in town, where we can get many of the new releases, or borrowing from friends--although sometimes this involves very sketchy, pirated versions. We were once at a friend's house watching Batman, when suddenly the movie skipped ahead 20 minutes, and Batman started speaking Russian.

Still, I sometimes come across movies I would recommend. Here are mine from this year (at least, I saw them for the first time this year. I don't keep up with the box office, so I'm not sure of their actual releases):

1. "Stranger than Fiction" with Will Ferrell, Emma Thompson, and Dustin Hoffman. This story appealed to the writer in me, and my own strange journey with my characters.

2. "Finding Neverland" with Johnny Depp as author J.M. Barrie. Considering I spent several years of my childhood waiting for Peter Pan to show up at my window. . . . That fairy bit gets me weeping every time.

3. "SIMONE" Very funny, and an interesting commentary on our society's worship of superstars.

4. "Keeping Mum" with Rowan Atkinson. A bit more questionble in content, but also very funny.

Honorable Mention: "Ella Enchanted" not brilliant, but got me dancin'!

I'm interested to hear your picks.

Musim Panas

2007-06-02T12:38:00.000+07:00

Greetings from Mona, a.k.a. buncis manis,

This morning, I grabbed a stack of 200 flash cards and shoved them against my forehead, hoping that a slot would magically open and accept the download. When the attempt was unsuccessful, I made a cup of coffee and attacked the stack the old-fashioned way, feeling the poignant crackle of my wrist popping with each new word. In linguistic school, I was taught that this is the worst way to learn a language. Unfortunately, I happen to be a tactile learner with mild social anxiety. So three years in, James (an outgoing, auditory learner), is yacking away with everyone he sees and I'm left staring blankly, mouth agape.

Not long ago, I thought I would never achieve fluency in a second language. But I've made it my summer project to become conversationally fluent, and am approching it systematically. So all over our house are stacks of little blue cards, and when I go out, I carry a pen and my little notebook with the picture of Jesus on the cover.

Two nights ago, I met the grandmother of some of my students. When she and her husband retired 8 years ago, they moved to Turkey. She had never learned a language before, but she began to conquer Turkish, one of the more difficult languages in the world. Now she's handling it just fine. She said that they have a saying in Turkish which means "Never give up." Well, we have a saying in Indonesian "sedikit, sedikit," which means "little by little." One little blue card at a time.

Mountainview Needs Teachers!

2007-05-02T08:01:00.000+07:00

James and I will be heading up the new teacher orientation this summer. So far, we have two new teachers coming and new dorm parents. We also still have many holes to fill before the next school year starts. Our primary needs are:

Kindergarten
Lower elementary
5th grade
Music
LD

Please pray that God will send teachers who will love, teach, and mentor our students. If you know anyone who might be interested, please refer them to us or to Mountainview's website.

This Too Shall Pass

2007-03-06T07:57:00.000+07:00

Okay, so it's only funny if you like puns.

I've struggled with what we think are kidney stones for the past two and one-half weeks. Some blood in the urine, constant need to visit the restroom, sore lower back and kidneys, and the occasional cramping of the kidneys in the night. Thank God for powerful drugs.

At this point I am able to go to school. I've only missed one day plus one class. But I'm tired. In fact, I'm nearly exhausted. The evening ritual of sitting still so as to rest, and the popping of pills on a schedule have me worn out.

This is the final week before spring break. Although we'd love to make use of our time off to go snorkeling or see some indigenous endangered species, I think we'll play this one safe and stay home.

Please pray for James's kidneys. Pray also for our friend and fellow teacher Jay who's not doing so well either.

A Quiz

2007-02-23T20:22:00.000+07:00

1. James and Mona get to school by:
a. bus
b. car
c. foot
d. none of the above. We haven't actually been teaching, but are running a restaurant in our back yard.

2. Which natural disaster has not hit Indonesia in the past year?
a. earthquake
b. volcanic eruption
c. flood
d. asteroid impact

3. James is best known around campus as:
a. the funniest teacher
b. the sloppiest dresser
c. the guy who never says "no"
d. a big, fat meanie

4. Mona was recently frightened by:
a. a big, ugly bug
b. a man on her roof with a machete
c. oncoming traffic
d. all of the above

5. After work, James and Mona
a. enjoy a nice, candelit dinner
b. go clubbing
c. play computer games
d. grade papers

2006-12-14T13:11:00.000+07:00

It's Christmas time again. Another warm December rolls around, and we're missing snow, and sweaters, and eggnog as usual. But, it's lovely to be with family nonetheless - spiritual family, that is.

Hope your season is jolly and filled with wanton presents and gluttonous parties.

J&M

Another Take

2006-12-05T07:56:00.000+07:00

The other day I contemplated boredom. While praying for my neighborhood this morning, it struck me why I feel numb. The reality is that I'm bored with the empty pleasures of life. And what I long for is more of Jesus. Sounds simple, ya.

I've shared God's loving message of unmerited sacrifice with two of my neighbors - both times in broken Indonesian in order to answer their questions. Unlike in the states, few here have heard of grace before. Our cousins here can get defensive at the name of Jesus, but not when spoken of in their context: Isa Al Masih (Jesus the Messiah as from the Quran).

My desire remains to set the captives free. Teaching the children of freedom bringers gives me great joy, but I long to one day "give sight to the blind" as well.

That's the antedote to this numbness.

Boredom

2006-12-02T10:48:00.000+07:00

This December marks our third Christmas in Indonesia. Three trees. Three Christmas Eves of opening presents. Three green Christmas Days. Could someone ship us a care package of snow?

Our third year also marks a change in our cultural understanding. We're past all the newness of Indonesia, and through most of the shocks of living here. The call to prayer at the mosque no longer seems to shatter our peaceful home; rather, now it seems to blend into the backdrop of evening bug symphonies, roosters crowing, and motor scooters with bad mufflers racing down our cragy street. The third year seems to be the year of boredom.

We have several new teachers this year. Interacting with them helps me to see how far we've come in our adjustment. Whereas the newbies work 16-hour days to keep up with their load, neither Mona nor I have to stress over class preparation or lesson planning. I'm teaching mostly the same classes that I have for the past two years, and reading The Scarlet Pimpernel for the third time just doesn't carry much umpf like it used to.

In reality, we're doing several new things this year. We wrote the eighth grade play, we're co-coaching JV girls' basketball, and we're more involved in our community - including a wedding that begins with a committee meeting tonight. Yet, I feel numb. Nothing feels exciting. Nothing exilerates me.

Please pray with us that we'll regain a sense of focus in our work. This school and city are ripe for the harvest. Perhaps we've just got the third-year blues.

Seventh Graders Are Mad

2006-12-01T12:56:00.000+07:00

In seventh grade Language Arts we're learning parts of speech. I use free online Mad Libs to generate student interest. Here's one from today completed by Sun Joon and Breeana. You can copy it into a Word document and clear the italicized words for your own fun at home.

Mad Libs from Outer Space
"Copernicus"

Four hundred years ago people knew little about our stupid (adjective) universe. They thought that the earth was the center of the entire christmas tree (noun) and that the sun and all of the boogers (plural nouns) revolved around it. But then a/an Korean (nationality) named Copernicus discovered the truth. The earth revolves around the Dr. Pepper can (something round) thirty-seven (number) times a year.

Copernicus, whose last name was Humble (last name), was born in Warsaw, and he used one of the first colorful (adjective) telescopes, which was invented by Jemma (someone in the room). This primitive telescope was little more than two pieces of fried rice (food) stuck on each end of a soccer ball (noun). In 1600 an Italian swimsuit model (occupation) named Galileo expanded Copernicus's sweet(adjective) theories, but during the Inquisition in Italy he was wildly (adverb) arrested. After barfing (verb ending in -ing) for six months in jail, Galileo was forced to sneeze (verb).

Confession

2006-11-06T10:56:00.000+07:00

I'm noticing a pattern. When life is grand, I write more. When life is dull and repetative, I feel I have nothing worth writing. The truth as I now see it is that when I feel I have nothing worth writing, I am on the verge of something supernatural, or at least insightful.

This has been the case for these past couple of weeks: boredom with routine and contempt for the familiar have crept into my heart. Recently Mona and I both have experienced a lack of love. Yes, I confess. I don't always love my students. And, this love I refer to is not merely an emotionally inflated view of an imperfect being. I haven't loved my students; and that's a terrible loss for all of us.

I've even gained a mild, sick pleasure from correcting them or controlling their outbursts in class. It makes me feel powerful and "better" than those little pre-pubesent creatures that draw on my desks and feign listening with benign gazes and confused looks. For the past two weeks or so I could tangibly feel my heart hardening. I watched as an onlooker from the security of a video room. It felt like voyeurism much more than a personal experience. I must say that I grew sick of my lack of love. I grew sick of myself....

But, then Jesus spoke. He spoke not words of contempt as I would have if I were my own student. Rather, he spoke in tones of love and compassion. He spoke words of healing and encouragement, which made me want to reciprocate them. And, later, to duplicate them for my students.

Mona and I prayed and spoke honestly about this issue for several hours yesterday. She, too, had been biten by this loveless bug. Because she's a different creature, the symptoms were varied from mine; but, biten she was. We confessed to each other and to Jesus of our weakness. Of our sin. He forgave. We praised.

This morning, we joined the daily teacher prayer meeting. In a moment of silence, I shared briefly of my personal journey. The others nodded knowingly. We prayed that Jesus would make us immune to this bug by softening our hearts by his Spirit, and that he would begin to re-confirm our school culture as a place of love and encouragement. We know that Jesus will respond because his heart and his Word are replete with similar desires. We also know that any transformation in our school must begin with the teachers. And so, now we pray. Now we love.

Please pray for our love. In our first year, many of our supporters prayed daily for our hearts regarding the love toward different groups here: students, teachers, neighbors, etc. We are requesting that again. But this time on behalf of all our teachers.

Good things are happening here. God is changing lives. He's changing us. Thank you for praying.

First Rain

2006-10-17T10:50:00.000+07:00

The dry season is coming to an end. The margins between the only two seasons we know here - wet and dry - are flexible and slow coming. Yesterday's light shower may not be duplicated for another week. But, eventually, the rains fall consistently at the end of each day, creeping day by day earlier until they finally drench the earth around noon for four months straight. 400 of the annual 420 inches of rainfall occur from November through March, leaving the dry months aptly named.

Yesterday, as I sat in my home reading after school, I first heard a rustle in the trees, then a growing breath in the distance, then the light percussion that preludes the symphonic sounds of heavenly rains. I rushed to the door to confirm the long-awaited sight, then skipped down the road to join the few neighbors already out to welcome the rains back home.

My friend Pak Jumanto stood with me under a palm tree. We chatted about the blessing of rain, allowing the scattered shower to wash over us as it cleansed the earth around us. The sprinkles came and went, came and went. When they finally decided to come in full, Jumanto invited me into his house where he smoked and we visited further. We laughed above the cacophony outside, and we humbly listened to this long-absent performance. We were refreshed.

A Petty Prank

2006-10-11T19:44:00.000+07:00

In the past two weeks we've had a couple of unintentionally damaging pranks pulled at school. Pranks done to the right people with a clear motive and creative forethought can be hilarious. Unfortuneately, recently they have carried a dark undertone that hovers about campus like a storm cloud.

One of these silly jobs was spawned, I'm sure, of a spontaneous nature. A student replaced the campus Indonesian flag with the stars and stripes. When the campus guards, all of whom are Indonesian, saw the flag, they were furious and ordered the student to remove it at once. The student complied, but the deed had been done.

Another "good natured" prankster thought he would have a little fun by kidnapping a jar of American candy from the library. This wouldn't be such a bad deal except the planning had been short-sighted and no ransom note left for the librarian to find in the stead of the jar. The second problem was that the librarian isn't the stereotypically prankish type. So, the call to arms was raised immediately and feelings were hurt, causing the would-be jokesters to go into hiding for fear of reprisal. Over a week went by with no clear word from the kidnappers, leaving the injured parties to believe that the candy was stolen rather than briefly taken for a joyride. It didn't end well, even after the pranksters eventually were compelled to come forward; too much time had passed and too much speculation spread during the interval of what would have been an appropriate amount of time to hold the candy jar hostage.

A wig from the prop room disappeared. A DVD player from the music room went with it. A pair of safety glasses from the states vanished. A few DVDs walked off. And somewhere, all my escaped socks from my college days are having a frat party in a field with a bonfire. Those little buggers were always trying to run-out during the spin cycle.

Please pray that our campus will take on an air of openness and honesty. Petty theft and silly-hearted pranks can quickly turn hearts to distrust one another. All three, two causes and an effect, are undesireable. God help our hearts and relationships.

Dry and Weary

2006-10-08T11:12:00.000+07:00

Mona and I have been very tired these last few weeks. The first quarter is nearly over, and the work has run full tilt. But the work load isn't unusual. In fact, this being our third year at Mountainview, we're running smoothely compared to the new comers.

What is different about this year is the lack of rain. Rainy season usually slowly begins in late September; however, we haven't had a drop in over a month. Even during the dry season an occasional brief shower keeps the dust down and the reservoirs full. But not this year. Everything is covered in dust and smoke. When a breeze blows through it carries a dust cloud with it, making bathing a necessity several times a day to stay fresh.

We've noticed a dryness in the teaching staff too. We have a great staff: beautiful hearts and minds, but exhaustion is hitting quickly this year. It's not crankiness or aggresiveness; rather, we see a short road to frustration. The day's heat pounds us and the winds and dust blind us. With every passing cloud comes a fleeting hope for rain.

A Work Beginning

2006-10-08T11:09:00.000+07:00

Last night I walked out of my house at around 6:30. Outside, the day’s heat had cooled, but a remnant remained indoors. So, I turned on the fans, opened the windows, and went for a walk.

The mosques had blared their “Ramadahn-fasting-is-officially-over” siren an hour earlier leaving the now heavily fed men to rest and digest on their porches with a cigarette and a cool breeze. As I strolled along, each man on a passing porch greeted me and invited me to sit with him. So, I sat for a few minutes at three or four houses chatting the evening away. No heavy topics; just visiting.

After half an hour, my friend Samiyono – a Javanese man in his 50s – drove up on his 110cc motor scooter. “Stop by my house before you head home, ya.”

“Sure,” I said, knowing that I couldn’t refuse another friendly drink and snack.

Two weeks earlier I ask my Indonesian co-worker Pak Nosh how to go about helping my neighbors with financial needs without putting myself in a precarious position. I have heard several stories of well-intentioned foreigners who have become little more than an ATM. Nosh said that I should ask a trusted friend in the community to inform me of individual needs as they arise, then have the school facilities crew purchase the needed supplies (concrete, bricks, etc.) and deliver them anonymously. That way I can help directly without having any of the cultural awkwardness.

When I entered Pak Samiyono’s front room, I broached the situation. I explained our intent to help our neighbors saying that we are “shy,” and thus don’t want them to know that it’s us. He was very pleased with this arrangement, and immediately told me of a need that has been stagnant for over a month.

Our conversation eventually turned toward the earthquake that happened in late May. The homes of Samiyono’s parents and three siblings all collapsed to the ground save one. They are all living in the one partially damaged house while they try to rebuild over time. If I understood Samiyono correctly, that’s more than 12 people – 3 generations – living in one small house. And even that house’s roof is collapsed, but at least it has walls.

Samiyono said that he understands that our desire is to help our primary neighbors first, but if we are interested in helping his extended family, he’d be most grateful. So, I’m borrowing a friend’s car and we are going to Klaten next week to visit his family and see what immediate repairs can be made to better their situation. This will be my third visit to the region hit hardest by the earthquake, and it may be the most impactual thus far.

Please pray for our endeavors as we begin helping our neighbors in a hands-on, personal way. There are risks involved that I don’t fully understand yet. Wisdom and insight are much needed.

Under Compulsion

2006-09-19T08:12:00.000+07:00

While I lived in the states, a constant nagging lingered behind my smile and daily service. I generally enjoyed my work, my ministry with youth and music, and my community; but something beyond my daily interactions was lacking. As I clearly saw this summer, many Christians are exactly where God would have them to be. They live, work, and love intensely and contentedly. But for me, even as I served and gave three years ago, I was left unfulfilled.

Two stories with a common theme:

A student’s father spoke in chapel last week. Noel shared his testimony regarding how he and his family came to Indonesia. Amongst various jobs stateside, Noel got a counseling degree, did Christian counseling, trained to be a fireman, and served in youth ministry. After serving at one church as a youth minister for a few years, he and his wife felt it was time to move to another position. Here’s where God spoke. Noel visited a youth conference where several Christian Service organizations were represented. While having recently submitted resumés to several churches for a new job, Noel was confronted with a challenging worldview at the conference. One of the Noel’s prospective churches had received more than 30 resumés for a single youth ministry position. Contrastingly, one international organization at the conference was shaking the barrel to find one willing and able person to send to any one of 10 Unreached People Groups (UPG). Get that: 30 competitors for a single youth ministry position, as compared to 10 UPGs without a single message bearer. The option was clear. Noel and his family were willing. Noel and his family were able. Noel and his family went.

Peter was nearing graduation with college and a world of options looming ahead. Peter’s parents and grandparents are both doctors who have served in Borneo for almost 50 years. Peter subsequently grew up in Central Borneo speaking three languages with only occasional visits to his country of allegiance. When posed with the question of future outlook, Peter responded with great wisdom: “Seeing as there are so many Christians in the states who are not called, willing, or perhaps able to serve overseas, if I am willing and able, shouldn’t I go?” We teachers realized that we had just become students.

The Great Commission from Matthew 28 is best understood from the perspective of “As you are going….” Thus, where we find ourselves, that is where we are to serve, give, share, and love. However, for some, God places us where we can learn, grow, and gain experience for a future service. If this is you, then take heart and listen. There are more than enough Christians in the United States to transform the entire country. However, there are several hundred million people in the world with not one messenger of the gospel. Would you be one? And if not, would you be one to serve in other areas to enable that messenger to go?

Mountainview International Christian School currently sits with a shortage of educators. The school has had to cut a number of electives due to a lack of qualified teachers. And teaching is but one supportive role in Christian Service. Medicine, administration, financial accounting, logistics, and leadership training are some of the other areas of service that are needed throughout the world.

So, when asked why I live and work outside of the states, the response comes easily: Because I am compelled. Are you?

What I’ve written here barely scratches the surface of this conversation. If you would like to discuss this train of thought further, please comment or write me a personal email.

Dwi and Yogho

2006-09-03T19:24:00.000+07:00

Today I went to a neighbor’s wedding, Dwi and Yogho. I hadn’t met Yogho yet; he and his family live behind us. Music advertising the ceremony blared throughout the kompung – neighborhood – for nearly two days, save a few hours in the late night and early morning. As I walked around the two corners to the soccer field adjacent to our block, several men I knew approached me, seemingly surprised that I was attending the gala. Granted this is the first time I’ve attended a wedding in my own neighborhood, it was still shocking how excited my friends were that I was there.

One man, Pak Isro, his wife and two children in tow, invited me to attend with them. We walked under the tent, signed our names to the guest book, and shook hands with the entire wedding party, 28 in all. The bride shook my hand vigorously, accompanied by many words of thanks while her new husband smiled politely at her enthusiasm. Pak Isro commented with a sly grin that it’s not often an “orang asin” comes to honor a kompung wedding.

Everyone was beautifully adorned. In the states, shirts and ties, skirts and blouses are the norm. Here, everyone wears their best. Women spend hours at the salon having stints added, pulled up, and hair sprayed to the texture of concrete. I wore my batik shirt, which is appropriate, but most couples wore matching outfits of shimmering fabrics and intricate embroidery. I guess I’ll be doing shopping.

After multiple plates of food, sharp tasting beverages, and plenty of live Javanese singing, my full stomach prompted me to move toward the exit. The man organizing the entertainment intercepted me to ask if I’d like to sing. Knowing that he wasn’t joking, I thought it best that I didn’t either. “No, but thank you,” I declined attempting to do so without a tremor. With 300 guests chatting and eating, all the while the number increasing, I dropped an envelope in the locked box at the sign-in and followed my guide, Pak Isro, out the front entrance.

Only 14 days until my next friend’s wedding. And now I know not to eat before I go.

One Photo

2006-08-26T16:46:00.000+07:00

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

2006-08-19T19:31:00.000+07:00

This is Homer, the snuggliest member of our family.

Scenarios and Consequences

2006-08-03T21:10:00.000+07:00

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.

Ashlock's Top 10

2006-07-05T10:19:00.000+07:00

My sister Rita and her husband Jason spent two weeks with us before our trip to the States. Here are their top 10 observations about Indo.

1. Traffic laws are flexible.
2. Something's always on fire.
3. The call to prayer happens 5 times daily in full surround sound (and sometimes it's "amateur night," with little children on the mic.)
4. When you meet someone for the first time, friendship is instantaneous.
5. How can they squat for that long?
6. Deflated economy = cheap tourism
7. Road signs aren't reliable.
8. (The following should be read with tongue firmly in cheek) The Javanese know everything, especially when it comes to giving directions.
9. Coffee filters are unnecessary; the thicker the sludge, the better the java.
10. Yes, there is a volcano.

The Journey Home

2006-06-21T09:11:00.000+07:00

In a little under an hour, our journey home will begin. We will get in a rented vehicle headed for Solo City where we will stay the night near the airport. Tomorrow morning we will arise bright and early for one last meal in Indonesia before taking the shuttle to the airport and board Silk Air for Singapore. From the moment our plane takes off, we will spend the next 44 hours traveling to Little Rock, Arkansas.

Last night I had to say goodby to some of my friends; really they're more like family, but the blood issue remains. During the past two years, the drastic change in culture from that of the United States has enabled me to discern areas in my home culture that are not so beneficial. Let me say here that I love America. I love my country, even though I have serious political issues with its current administration. I also love much about my first culture. However, I also realize that much of this world's culture is comprised of human insecurity, greed, and self-preservation. The interesting insight I've had is this: why strive so hard to preserve what is so fleeting anyhow? Or, as Jim Elliot said, "He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."

All that said, what occurred to me as I was saying goodby is that Indonesia is home. I am comfortable here. When on vacation, I look forward to returning to Salatiga. I like Indonesian people, the language, the food, and the culture; although it, too, has faults. What I am interested to see is how this transition will show itself while we're in the states. Will I discover that my memory of the U.S. differs from reality? Will I be disgusted with the materialism and shallowness of Western life? Or will I be impressed with its suffistication and depth of life? We'll see.

One thing I am sure of, God will show me more of himself and of who he's made me to be. Cultural adjustment is not my goal. Nor is political correctness. My aim is to be transformed into the mindset of Christ. And any obstacle of human invention is not worth holding on to.

Lost

2006-06-13T20:18:00.000+07:00

Have you ever driven around a foreign country without the luxury of a native speaker, a map, or any idea of exactly where you were headed?

Last night, Mona, her sister, said sister's husband, and I did just that. We spent the day visiting Borobudur, then on to Yogyakarta for some shopping at Malioboro to encourage the economy of a town hit by the recent 6.2+ earthquake. After a great day of seeing, spending, and scarfing, we decided to take an alternate route home. Mona and I had previoiusly traveled several roads home from Yogya and wanted to venture out to find a shortcut for ourselves. Armed with a digital compass/watch and our wits, we veered from the normal course and flow of traffic into the abyss of rural Indonesian roads.

Our adventurous spirit had us heading in the general direction of our home town, but without road signs, a map, or a trusty guide, we ended up on a road with a blockade that read, "Do not enter: this road closed due to volcanic activity." Apparently our northern route had led us right to Mount Merapi.

So, I pulled over and asked a local vendor how to get to my desired destination. He and his wife immediately said, "Continue on this road for a few kilometers and then turn right. You can't miss it."

Naturally I asked, "Isn't this road closed? The sign says so."

"Of course not. Go on."

So, being the go-getter I am, we headed on up. Not 30 seconds after passing the sign, we entered the tent-city of the evacuees from Merapi’s activity. I quickly pulled over and walked into the first police station I saw. I politely asked the gentlemen how to get home, to which they laughed hysterically before saying (roughly translated), “Son, you done got yourself so lost, it’ll take Search & Rescue team to get you out of here.”

After a few more minutes of us all laughing at my blunder, one man said he was about to head home anyway, and that he’d be happy to lead us to the main inter-city road.

We followed this fellow for several kilometers before he pulled over to give us brief directions the rest of the way, as his home took him in another direction. His muddled jargon and gesticulations left me baffled, but wanting to proceed. So, I thanked the kind man, then immediately turned left, misunderstanding his pantomime, before he raced up behind us, flashing his lights like a disco strobe. He got out and furrowed his brow as he approached the passenger-side window to clarify, “I said straight, then left. Not left, then straight.”

“Oh, I see now,” I said as I played the role of the dumb tourist. “So straight, then left. Ahha! Thanks again.” And we’re off. This time he doesn’t follow, so I figure we’re okay.

Two hours and several numb extremities later, we arrived home.

Earthquake

2006-05-30T08:48:00.000+07:00

As you may know, a 6.2 magnitude earthquake hit java on Saturday morning. Many of us were awakened to the tremor here in Salatiga. I (Mona) slept through it. We had only minor damage in Salatiga; our neighbor's septic tank was broken.

Jogja got the brunt of the damage. Although I haven't seen for myself, the reports that we are hearing are that the Sultan's Palace and everthing south to the beach are completely destroyed. This would include the hotel we were planning to stay in next weekend.

Our friends went to one of the villages that was hit yesterday. This particular village lost only two people. Many of the homes were destroyed, but did not fall. Now, because they are unsafe to live in, they must be torn down. This will be a long process of rebuilding. (Most of the homes here are made with concrete.)

Most of our Sunday meeting was spent praying and discussing what our role as a fellowship should be. It is evident that once the news crews and emergency responders leave, there will be many needs that we as a body are equipped to fill. Please pray for God's leading in this area. Pray also that He will move in this time and this place.

To Flee or Not to Flee

2006-05-14T13:09:00.000+07:00

Today's headline at Yahoo! reads the following:

Thousands Flee Dangerous Indonesia Volcano
By CHRIS BRUMMITT, Associated Press Writer
40 minutes ago

MOUNT MERAPI, Indonesia - Thousands of people fled the fertile slopes of Indonesia's most dangerous volcano Saturday as glowing lava oozed down the side and ash and rock spewed from the mountaintop, leading authorities to warn that an eruption could come soon.

Note the voice used to sensationalize the news here: "people fled" and "most dangerous volcano". This, of course, occurs all the time to gain readers, as news is big business. But, this particular story is of personal interest due to our proximity to the "rock spewing mountaintop".

Sid, our assistant superintendent, went to Ketep Pass between Mount Merbabu and Mount Merapi to take photos last night. The crowds of spectators were so thick that he continued another twenty kilometers to Selo, slightly closer to the "dangerous" crater. Sid did see some lava. But, as he was showing me the photos, I could make out no more than a spec of red on the screen of his professional grade digital camera. Surprised, I asked why he didn't get any better shots. "What you see here is all there was," he laughingly replied.

The smoke you can see at Yahoo! is more than usual, but Merapi constantly bellows fumes. Google Earth, another modern technological marvel, always shows Merapi smoking. In other words, yes, it's errupting; but, no, it's not that sensational.

To regress to the title, the Indonesian version of fleeing is like golfers leaving the eighteenth hole, headed for a drink at the club house. It's more of a saunter or a meandering. To say that they "fled there homes" is about as accurate as saying that the Triumphant Entry centered around Jesus racing into Jerusalam on a steed to get good seats at the synagogue. No one flees here. Many locals think that they, or their elders, will know when the volcano is ready to release its digested rock, and that all this hype is only keeping them from tending their flocks and farms. Of course, most of them have no access to Internet, nor can they read English. Although, I bet that if they could, they'd wonder which village had inspired this article. Then they'd all sit under Merapi for morning jamu (health drinks) and gossip about their neighbor's folly before cutting more grass for their livestock.

The Change of Seasons

2006-05-03T14:03:00.000+07:00

The Indonesian Department of Education just gave our school notice that all staff over the age of 60 have one year to prepare for transition. The government is revoking all work visas for those over 60 or under 24. For some of our teachers, this means transitioning from a decade or more of service into God knows what. Some of these teachers think they're return to the states; some to other countries for additional service; some are simply along for the ride and expect that God will show them what's next as they disembark from the plane. None of them that I've talked to are nervous. In fact, quite the opposite. One of our newest 70-something staff, Kit, got this gleeful, almost mischievous grin on her face like she was concealing a flask under her shawl before discussing her lack of anxiety or concern for the future. "You get kicked out of one country only to work toward exile from another."

I've also been thinking about change. We're planning on being at Mountainview for another two years after this one, but from time to time people ask what we're doing in Indonesia; as though they really wanted to ask, "What possessed you to move 13,000 miles from home? Are you crazy?!"

I borrowed a friend's copy of Don Miller's Through Painted Deserts. In this re-publication since he became famous in Christian circles for Blue Like Jazz and Searching For God Knows What, the author's note says the following:

I remember the sweet sensation of leaving, years ago...leaving Texas for who knows where. I could not have known about this beautiful place, the Oregon I have come to love...And I could not have known then that if I had been born here, I would have left here, gone someplace south to deal with horses, to get on some open land where you can see tomorrow's storm brewing over a high desert. I could not have known then that every body, every person, has to leave, has to change like seasons; they have to or they die. The seasons remind me that I must keep changing, and I want to change because it is God's way...Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons.

I reckon this is also about the most honest thing I could say to my interrogators: I had to leave so I could come back and love it again for all new reasons.

We don't know where our graduating seniors will end up in a few years: college, jobs, families. We don't know where our retiring seniors will end up next year. We don't even know for certain where we will be tomorrow. But does that really matter? No, I reckon it doesn't. I just know that I am willing to follow Jesus wherever he leads, and in so doing to be transformed, changed, made new. And then, when I return to some place I had been before, to see it, and them, and to love them again for all new reasons.

Ring of Fire Resurrected

2006-05-03T08:01:00.000+07:00

Mount Merapi has been under close observation for the last several months due to tremors. Over the past three days (April 30 - May 2) the pinnacle has grown an additional 10 meters; that's 33 feet. This sudden spurt is considered a warning of an imminent eruption. Yet, many local farmers are still reluctant to evacuate the area.

This morning, as Mona and I were walking to school, Mount Merbabu was clearer than it has been for the past week. Clouds usually obscure its facade. Mount Merapi, too, is clear this morning. One can see it peaking out from behind Merbabu from the town center on Jalan Jendral Sudirman. Its proud throne emits a constant stream of sulfuric smoke year round, but even more so now. We hope to take a drive this weekend to look out across the deep valley separating Merbabu and Merapi and witness this growing monster first hand.

The danger to us in Salatiga is minimal. In the 1990s, when Merapi last erupted anything more than a trickle, Salatiga received nothing more than some residual ash. In our defense, Mount Merbabu stands stolidly like a giant sentry, protecting the simple farmers and rural villagers of Salatiga.

Visit www.indahnesia.com for current information and photos.

Perfect Love and the Heebie Jeebies

2006-04-25T20:24:00.000+07:00

On Tuesday nights two of our students, Nasreen and Jung Min, come to my house for prayer time. We've been praying for world events and for different countries and their leaders. Tonight, I was reading 1 John 4 while praying for the Middle East. Two verses stood out to me. "Anyone who loves is born of God and knows God." and "Such love has no fear because perfect love expels all fear." As I prayed for the people of Iran, the beauty and power of love struck my heart in a sweet way. The media seems to thrive on fear, and the politicians seem to use it as a tool, but God's perfect love "expels all fear."

Then it was time to say goodnight. As the students were leaving, I felt the distinct tickle of a roach scurrying across my toe. I immediately began hopping and exclaiming, "ewww, gross, yuck," etc. Nasreen was quick to come to my rescue. She picked the bug up out of the cranny it had crept into, placed it on the floor in front of her, and squashed it with her shoe. "You touched it?" I asked, flabbergasted. "It's okay," she said, rolling her eyes, "Where I grew up, cockroaches are a delacacy."

10 minutes later...in the shower...washing my foot for the 12th time...I began sheepishly asking God, "Can perfect love drive out the heebie jeebies, too?"

The Komodo Dragon

2006-04-17T15:34:00.000+07:00

I spent the last week living in a fantasy world. In my imagination we were sailing on the Dawn Treader, like great explorers discovering beasts of mythological proportions. This is what it’s like to vacation in the Flores Sea.

The islands in Flores are home to many creatures, the most famous of which is the Komodo dragon. Before traveling, I read that there are only 6,000 Komodos in the wild, and they all live on two or three islands in Flores. The word to emphasize would be only. That would be like saying “There are only 50 crocodiles in the pool in my backyard. I think I’ll go for a swim.” Seeing the dragons up close seemed a bit reckless to me. Yes, they have been known to bite and even to eat tourists.

The Komodo dragon has a symbiotic relationship with bacteria in its mouth, and one bite usually leads to death for its prey. The dragons feed on everything from smaller dragons to horses and water buffalo. According to the information at the welcome center, they hide in the grass along trails waiting for prey. Hiking in flip-flops, I became increasingly aware of my naked feet.

“No worries, mate,” the Aussie-influenced locals would say. The guides at Komodo National Park are quite capable. Granted, our guide was on his second day on the job. Having grown up on the island pretty much makes all of these guys experts in my mind, though. They also carry forked sticks to protect us.

All in all, we saw seven Komodos. Five were lounging around the guide posts, and two were actually out on the trails. In spite of their reputation, they seemed quite docile. We found out as we were leaving the island, though, that one tried to attack a woman that week. Thankfully, the guide held it off with his stick, and she came away unharmed. Danger is part of adventure’s enchantment. . .

Angkota Calling

2006-04-05T15:17:00.001+07:00

The angkota is the most common form of local travel after the good old legs. When we first arrived, the angkota was Rupiah (Rp.) 800 per person per leg. That's about a dime. Since then, with two gas hikes and a shift in government administration, the price per leg has risen to Rp. 2,000. Most trips to town take between two and four legs round trip.

These supped up mini-vans would normally hold a maximum of five in the states, but with the back seat removed and replaced by two planks along either wall, they frequently fill with 20. This is no exaggeration.

Note the men hanging out the side. That's the fun part. Each angkota has a driver and a caller. The caller hangs out the side yelling, "kota, kota" (town, town), inviting patrons, and helping women with their groceries or other market goods. As the van fills, the young men make room for the ladies by hanging life and limb out the side as you see. Some of these vans are equipped with semi-trailor road horns which they use to bully their way through the narrow alleys at whiplash speeds. Angkotas on the same route will commonly race each other to the central market, where all angkotas end up if you stay on long enough.

When you reach you destination, simply shout, "kiri" to the driver. They'll slam on the breaks, squeezing everyone toward the metal baracade behind the driver's seat, making room for you to exit. Then off they go again to the races.

Mitchell Goins and I once replaced the caller for a leg. We got many stares, shortly followed by a marriage proposal to Mitch from a local woman on behalf of her daughter. Never knew being a caller was such a prestigious vocation.

Family Bike

2006-04-04T14:20:00.000+07:00

A while back, I mentioned the fun of local travel in Indonesia including entire families on a single moped. Well, here's a shot of one such family. Note: it's quite difficult to get a shot like this due to the movement and seemingly random nature at which traffic can flow here.

Changes

2006-03-26T13:55:00.000+07:00

We will be traveling home for the summer. When I daydream about the good ole U.S.A., I sometimes imagine a land with hover cars and retinal scanners on residential front doors. But, really, what has changed over the past two years? Whether it's a hot new TV show or a personal victory, we're inviting comments and observations about American life. What's the biggest or most interesting development in your surroundings in the past couple of years?

Four Teachers and a Student

2006-03-23T08:03:00.000+07:00

I meet with four of my junior high boys on Sunday evenings. These four guys each have their own challenges: time management, insecurity, selfishness, people pleasing; you know, basically just like adults. I am not only their English teacher, but also their friend, and they mine. We've been going through Experiencing God, which is difficult for junior high guys due to the commitment of time required. But we also talk about personal struggles, leadership, and hearing from God in practical ways. In truth, I think this group is more about my struggles masked through discussions of their lives. How's that for honest?

Justin is a 16 year old 9th grader. He was held back a year for academic struggles and continues to barely make the grade to move on. Yet under this "carelessly immature" exterior, Justin has wisdom and insight that fly in the face of his grades. As Justin has taken off his masks one by one, and I mine, we have found common ground: we both have come to Jesus to be transformed into who we were meant to be. Justin shared that, in part, he doesn't even try to get A's because everyone expects him to not be able to, and because the few times that he tries and does well, such a big fuss is made over him that he feels it's patronizing at best. I can't say that our growing friendship has been the sole contributing factor, but Justin didn't miss one homework assignment in my class this past quarter. I love this guy.

Vincent, or Vinnie, is Justin's younger brother. He's in the eighth grade, a real actor and patron of the stage. He's an honor role student and class favorite, yet struggles with trying to please others. He comes across as fairly mature for his age as he knows when to be serious. Student leadership is my focus with him. He's been vulnerable enough to share his people pleasing struggles, which has naturally made him a stronger leader in his class. It will be fun to watch where this relationship leads over the next couple of years.

Clayton is the cool one in our group. His tussled blond hair and lazy blue eyes make him a favorite with the girls, which often bog down his capacity to focus on the more important things at hand. His heart's desire is to know and please God, but he sometimes gets into near legalistic attempts at holiness without fully confronting the heart issue. Great intentions, just needs some time to refine his technique. It's awesome to hear him share how God speaks to him and shows him the beauty in life, and then watch him seek after that unsurpassable joy full throttle. The skater motif comes into play here.

Spencer is the youngest Goins, our adopted family here. Spencer's older brother, Mitchell, just graduated, making Spencer the heir to a vast dynasty of humor, personality, and moxie. Spencer's a natural comedian. In the annual eighth grade play, Spencer's entrance as a mermaid in the second scene halted the play for over 30 seconds as the audience raucously cat called and hooted with laughter. For eighth graders, that's an eternity to simply stand and wait in front of over 200 viewers. Spencer lives for the moment and the thrill of interaction. We share this characteristic, which makes for some uproarious games of Monopoly, improvised humor, or just being boys.

Our regular get-togethers leave me feeling encouraged, and give us some fabulous inside jokes to chew on throughout the week. Their parents frequently say "thank you" for our meetings; but the real joy comes when they face a situation that I know could be bad for them, and instead they pull through with finesse and maturity. That's when I learn from them. That's when I become the student and they the teachers.

A Sad Note

2006-03-07T14:49:00.000+07:00

Our school is in the middle of a large building project. Our split campus is becoming unified by selling our elementary school and rebuilding adjacent to our high school buildings. The building project began last summer and is scheduled for completion in early May. More than 200 workers have been employed to make the deadline, causing the work site to appear like an ant hill as Indonesian men use sheer labor to transform an old gymnasium into a modern elementary school. No heavy equipment, no cement trucks, few power tools. Shovels, small cement mixers, hand saws, and hammers create a cacophony of sound for teachers to shout over during the day. As the daily rains come, the workers scurry for cover and the percussion line is exchanged for the regular rhythms of rain on tile and roof waterfalls on rock beds. Sign language has become our lingua franca.

Yesterday, a different sound was heard: dread silence. During sixth period, the raucous subsided. Many students and teachers saw a man being carried by his peers, face wrapped and mouth agape. They rushed him to the hospital while rumors spread like fire. In nearly nine months, this is the first major accident on the site. The young man fell off the roof of the new building. Rains had been spitting all day, making the roof a veritable water slide without forcing the men under cover. Apparently he was near the apex of the tile roof when he slipped and tumbled all the way to the ground; the roof is the equivalent of a three story building. Many prayers went up.

This morning at our teacher prayer meeting, it was announced that the young man passed early in the morning. He was the major bread winner in his extended family. With unemployment rates near 40 percent and life insurance unheard of, his death will impact his family and his close friends in more ways than we Americans can understand. Death is so common here, yet its sting knows no mercy. Please pray for Mastur’s family and the morale of his co-workers.

B.Y.O.M.

2006-03-04T12:55:00.000+07:00

One of the cool things about living in teacher housing is that we own virtually nothing. This became apparent when our friend John was planning to stay with us. The evening he was to arrive, I double-checked to see that everything in the guest room was in order. I looked in the room and saw that the bed was gone! One of the other teachers had guests coming in, and they forgot to tell us that they were removing the bed. John had to find another place to stay.

Two weeks later John needed to stay with us again. This time, he brought his own mattress. Talk about feeling like a bad hostess! It didn't seem to bother him at all, though. What a blessing to have such laid-back friends.

We love having guests come stay with us, but we learned right away that things won't always go as expected. I just hope all our guests can be as patient with us...

Peeling Potatoes

2006-02-16T08:11:00.000+07:00

This past weekend was the boys' spiritual retreat. Four of us teachers took twenty-two boys to a mountain vacation home for a time of listening and growth. An unintentional but overarching theme was brotherhood. Each of us teachers shared something from our lives that we wish someone had told us when we were younger; something we wish a mentor had spoken into our lives before we stepped out on our own. All of our "wishes" turned out to be somehow related to the formation of deep community; that stable sense of oneness with another man that you can only comprehend if you've experienced it.

Saturday afternoon, halfway through the retreat, we sent the boys in teams to develop a launching mechanism and collect the stankiest ammunition they could find for a championship round of targeted launches. While they were out bargaining and building, we teachers prepared a feast of barbecue chicken, coleslaw, nasi goreng (friend rice, which goes with everything here), and mashed potatoes. Mike and I toted several kilos of potatoes, two paring knives, and a large pot out onto the patio. The afternoon shower insulated our discussion, and, for nearly an hour, we peeled laughter and potatoes. Mike and I are closer than brothers. He's more than just a friend or an accountability partner; for Mike, I would lay down my life. About the time a raw spot sprang up from holding the blade against my forefinger, a thought dawned across Mike's face. "This is exactly what I want for these boys," he said. "Peeling potatoes in the rain?" I mocked. Chuckling slightly he clarified. "No. This. Deep rooted friendship in Christ. We talk about more than just sports or music or gossip. We feed each other on what the Lord has been speaking to us. My walk with God is not solely my walk; we share it in community. And I want that for these guys so bad."

"Ya," I brilliantly concluded.

Later, as we closed out the weekend, Mike told the group that his favorite memory from the retreat wouldn't be sliding down the staircase on matresses or the food or even the launching of gook from the third floor balcony. The memory that he'll take with him to Tanzania next year is that of peeling potatoes with a brother, chatting away about our love relationship with Jesus. I think that's probably what I'll remember most too.

Eat My Dust, KFC!!

2006-02-05T17:33:00.000+07:00

After the Indonesian economic collapse of the late 90s, they created a job for the common man: a "parkir" or parking attendant/director. This person has an official vest and waves people in and out of traffic. In the "pasar," or market, they are in charge of a stretch of stores and are paid a few coins per vehicle.

The best parkir in Salatiga works at KFC. He's efficient, diligent, and has foresight when giving directions. After my twentieth or so visit, I thought I should introduce myself. I was on my motor bike, so it was easy to chat while he pulled my bike out of the narrow slot. His name is Widodo. I told him mine and said I'd see him again soon. And I sure did. The following week, Mo and I took some friends out to eat. After eating, while pulling into traffic, I said in Indonesian, "I'll see you next time, Mr. Widodo." He waved me into traffic, then, just as I stepped on the gas, he suddenly leaned on the car and said, "I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your name." I kept right on, only to see him in my rearview mirror spinning in the street.

Now, please don't think I'm a brutal colonialist or anything. Truth is, I actually didn't understand him, and was more focused on the raging bus bearing down from behind. But just as we were leaving the block, my friends all started laughing and asked somewhat mortified, "Why'd you drive off without answering his question?"

The following week, when again on my own, I apologized to Pak Widodo and reintroduced myself. Then, when leaving, I dropped a larger than normal tip in his hand. The next time Mo and I drove up, he cheerfully welcomed, "Good afternoon, Mr. James." I wonder if it was the tip or the apology that spawned his glee....Perhaps both.

Indonesian KFC

2006-02-05T16:45:00.000+07:00

Okay, it's confession time. About once a week I crave french fries and coerce James into taking me to KFC. Yes, that's right, Kentucky Fried Chicken. There's just something about greasy fried chicken and coke that comforts me. Our KFC has a slightly different menu than the ones back home. Sadly, it does not include mashed potatoes and coleslaw; only rice and perkedels (fried potato dumplings). The chicken is a little spicier, but the french fries are fantastic.

This week we stopped in for lunch and happened upon a birthday party. I counted between 40 and 50 children. Now, I don't know if you had birthday parties as a child, but I seem to recall little gatherings of 6-8 children. So I'm wondering, how does this kid even know 50 people? Are they the children of his parents' friends? His entire school class? His religious youth group? The events of the party are a little different than I remember too. Used to, my 6 friends and I would eat a McDonald's hamburger, throw a few bean bags at Grimace, and leave with a helium-filled balloon. Inevitably, someone would let loose her balloon and stand screaming in the parking lot while it drifted heavenward. To this day, when I see a child sobbing over a lost balloon, it makes me smile nostalgically. The Indonesians celebrate a little differently. KFC provides a PA-system, and someone makes a few speeches, tell a few jokes, and generally riles up the children.

So James and I are sitting in KFC, listening to a man chatter away on a microphone while 50 children sit and eat chicken and rice. Then comes my favorite part; it's time to sing to the birthday boy, and they actually sing "Happy Birthday"--in ENGLISH. Why? It's a mystery. I'm no anthropologist, but I find the reach of the American influence on this Oriental island truly fascinating. One day, perhaps, we'll sit down to good, old southern coleslaw and biscuits with our chicken. Any of you grandmas got a recipe we can sell them?

Cash: The Commodity of International Trade

2006-01-07T21:48:00.000+07:00

We're on Skype now. (Skype is an on-line calling system. You can sign up for free at www.skype.com to make calls cheaply. Plug, plug, plug.) I just used it to call my brother-in-law Jason. He and Mona's sister are coming to visit this summer and escort us back to the states for our short furlough. What a joy family is!

I mentioned in a previous blog that I've lost my eye for seeing the cultural varients as I once did. Chatting with Jason helped me realize that I don't have to see life here as I did when I was fresh off the plane. I can ask prompting questions like "What will Jason and Rita find comical here? What did my mom and sister see as unusual when they were here?" Or even specific starters such as "What is different about transportation here compared to the states? Food? Fashion? Economics?" These questions have brought new life to my perspective on life in Indonesia.

So what did I find of interest today? Money. We all like it, but the concept of it - its value, use, and methods to get it - are very different from America. The first thing I noticed is that Indonesia is a cash-based society. Want to go shopping? Make sure you have enough cash on hand. Very few places accept credit cards. And, although credit card usage is growing, it's strongly advised not to use them except at internationally reputable businesses. Credit and the banking systems have only in the last few years gained a role in the common Indonesian's life. I've heard stories of vehicles being purchased after the buyer spent an hour at the ATM. $16,000 is a lot of cash to pull out $100 at a time.

The next difference about money here is that its value varies based on what you're buying and from who. For instance, prices are rarely set in stone ("pas" as we say). I bought a large bouquet of flowers at the street market ("pasar") for Rp. 20,000. My helper went to the same "ibu bunga" (flower lady) and bought an even larger bouquet for Rp. 6,000. The sad part was that I bargained her down considerably to get my price. The other variation in its perceived value is that often one can barter rather than pay cash money. If I have something they want - which is virtually anything I'm wearing from the states, especially shoes - bargaining takes on a whole new life.

Lastly, very few native Indonesians are creatively entrepreneurial in their businesses. In our small neighborhood are several "warungs" or selling posts. They sell packaged noodles, pads, native candies, cigarettes, and the like. However, they all sell the same thing; same brand; same quantities. There's no real edge on the market or uniqueness of product to draw customers in. Also, once a product is bought out, it's out. Many times for weeks on end. "Baru habis" is a commonly heard phrase meaning "We just ran out."

All this said, I do think that Indonesia and her children are beautiful. They are not like me; or rather, I am not like them. Other than the fact that I am often a foot or more taller, much fairer skinned, and the only red-head in a city of 200,000, I also think differently about money. I like my credit cards. I like having a bank account that pays interest - minute as it may be - and I like knowing that I can go from vendor to vendor to get the best price in a capitalistic market. However, the system of bartering, bargaining, and brandishing cash works here. And for that matter, why should they change just to suit my preferences?

Sign Language for Dummies

2005-12-29T20:32:00.000+07:00

Mona and I went downtown to run some errands today. Mona's been trying to get a haircut for a couple of months, and again today the salon was "tutup," closed. We were there at 10:30 a.m. At what time are they open? The woman in a mumbled Javanese-Indonesian dialect said to return on Saturday. Guess that's what we'll do.

We also got an Indonesian language (Bahasa Indonesia)lesson from Ibu Jimi, a local seamstress. She knew several English words dealing with her occupation, but not much else. As Mona is now down to two pair of pants, we signed our way through the process of ordering a few new pairs and some new shirts. Ever tried to mime "tight"? We bought some lovely fabric a month ago with some money from our parents for my birthday. And since our sizes are not on the common rack, the seamstress is a good route; especially as it's cheaper than buying from American department stores.

Tomorrow I need to go to the bank, and plan to take some time to capture some cultural snapshots en route. I've discovered that my fresh-off-the-boat eye has turned on me. I no longer notice the glaring differences between Indo and the states. "So there are 20 people in a mini-van or a family of 5 on a moped. Is there something wrong with that?" I'm hoping that seeing Javanese life through a camera lens will recultivate the norms of my mother culture.

The Best Present

2005-12-28T21:50:00.000+07:00

Merry Christmas and happy New Year!

Mona and I enjoyed the usual gift giving and ambitious eating of sweets. I say ambitious because my glutonous binge typically ends with overly adverse effects compared to the all-too-short enjoyment. The chocolate high takes a bow amidst a finale of mild shakes and late night rambling. Too many sweets always give me the gitters.

This week Mona caught a bug. She's been down for two days with a runny nose and an intermitent fever. Today she's much better. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this "mothering" thing. It doesn't take much work, just a little sacrifice of self. And that's not too much to give to someone who's constantly doing the same for me, even when I'm not ill.

But the real joy of Christmas came unexpectedly this year. We drove to Semarang, the large city to our north, for an evening with friends. While there we discovered that one of our friends is a "Stargate: SG1" fan. (It's a stateside TV drama.) And while she was on leave in the states last year, she purchased all eight seasons on DVD. We flipped out when we saw them. She let us borrow the most recent season, and for the next two days we endulged in a binge for the eyes. Thankfully this one doesn't leave me shaking, but the insatiable cravings for more are all too familiar. Season nine is showing stateside right now, but we'll have to wait another six months for that fix.

Now that the presents are all opened, the decorations put away, and the chocolate eaten, the best thing to do is to just sit back a take a nice, deep breath, and help my darling wife get back to full health while we play cards or Backgammon. Sometimes the best present afterall is something you already have.

Three-Toed Tree Toad

2005-12-15T12:05:00.000+07:00

My 7th grade English class just finished a brief unit on poetry. Hearing their works or art evoked a desire to read some of my own poetry. Here's some of the lighter works from the Griffin Collection.

Three-Toed Tree Toad

A tree toad loved a she toad
That lived up in a tree.
She was a three-toad tree toad,
But a two-toed toad was he.
The two-toed toad tried to win
The she-toad’s friendly nod,
For the two-toed toad loved the ground
On which the three-toed toad trod.
But no matter how the two-toed tree toad tried,
He could not please her whim.
In her tree-toad bower,
With her three-toed power,
The she toad vetoed him.

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A Maid’s Bluster

A maid with a duster
Made a furious bluster
Dusting a bust in the hall.

When the bust it was dusted
The bust it was busted,
The bust it was dusted, that’s all.

Who said poetry had to be serious or boring? Seventh grade brings out my comical side.

Do you have any poems or other writings you'd like to share? Send 'em on over.

James

Lessons from Cap'n Jack

2005-12-10T01:47:00.000+07:00

When we arrived in 2004, one of Mona’s first desires was for a cat. We quickly received two young brothers whom we named Sweet Pete and Cap’n Jack. Both had the characteristically Indonesian kinked tails, but uncommonly sweet dispositions; they weren’t afraid of humans.

Growing up in Arkansas with a best friend who lost more pets than teeth, cats were always on our door step. However, my mother’s acute allergies kept me from ever cuddling them, let alone liking them. My aversion to cats turns out to have been a misperception on my part, because she loves cats despite her adverse reaction to their dander.

As Pete and Jack entered kitty puberty, their regular marking of our furniture and midnight piles in the kitchen or bathroom nearly put me over the edge. I threatened their extinction more than once, and may well have caused a temporary hibernation of Mona’s maternal instincts. Yet, despite my chiding and terse outbursts, Jack remained a loyal snuggler. His nightly hunting expeditions always ended in a chorus of meows at our bedroom window, demanding to be let in for pre-dawn snuggling. During the day, he’d regularly jump up in my lap while I read. He seemed to not be put out whatsoever by my irrational loathing of him.

One day last spring, just before my mother and sister flew out for a visit, I was asked why I disliked cats so much. I immediately sensed that this was more than a rhetorical question; thus, I personalized it: “What’s stopping me from loving completely?” It didn’t take long to conclude that the only block to loving holistically was a simple choice to do so. What a realization. I immediately began experiencing unfamiliar benefits of having pets. I welcomed Jack into my lap and stopped grumbling at his premature wake-up calls. After school I would look forward to his escort home on our “jungle path.” The entire house took on a renewed spirit of warmth and comfort. Naturally, this out pouring of love didn’t stop with Pete and Jack. I found myself embracing my junior high students more freely, and telling my accountability partners that I love them. This one simple decision added dimension upon dimension to my other relationships too. It even enabled me to release some grievances I had been holding on to for several years.

Earlier this month, Jack stopped eating. Within a couple of days he became lackadaisical and despondent. He would hide under the couch and refuse food and water entirely. The local vet said he was reacting to some sort of poison, probably from eating a bad bug. Mona would drag him out from under the couch, dim the lights, stroke him and tell him that we loved him. A week after he stopped eating, Jack died. I buried him in our front yard under a jeruk tree. I cried.

What separates us from those we love? What prohibits us from forgiving or receiving forgiveness from others? From God? Is there someone you “cannot” love? Why not? For me it was simply realizing that I had permission to love. Thank God for the gift of Jack. He has given me more than just a year of fond memories. He has given me hope for complete reconciliation.