Our Own Jurassic Park Setting

One of our favorite places to go for a family get-away is the Kohala Coast on this island--specifically, Pololu Valley. There are seven of these valleys that string together across the north face of the Big Island. It is very wet and windy here, much more than the sunny Kona side. The last of these valleys is the famous Waipio Valley, where we and thousands of others have hiked. But this one, called Pololu, is more remote and seemingly untouched. Just around the bend from the beach is an outcrop of rocks that Randy has captured a hint of in his beautiful photos. That is where some of the movie Jurassic Park was filmed. Enjoy with us, our descent into the valley that we took in mid-July with Evan's new friend from Tacoma, Parker Griffith and his family. We hiked down together, lost Randy for a couple hours while he tried to do justice to this beauty with his camera, and then the Richards re-convened for a family hike. We discovered stacked cairns of rocks, old marine ropes and rope-swings with to-die for views. You may get dizzy watching some of these photos. We hope your eyes are dazzled by the beauty, once again, of God's untouched creation.

The Tonga Blow-Holes

The Blowholes of Homua! By Randy If I only had one word to describe the Blowholes of Homua it would have to be exhilarating! Of course how could anyone describe with just one word this amazing place, hidden on a small bump of an island called TongaTapu, which hardly breaks the surface of the vast South Pacific. If it was well known, the Blowholes of Homua would be one of the wonders of the world. But this secret spot sticking up mere feet above the blue waters of the ocean is the most exhilarating place I have ever visited. When you are there all you want to do is shout! Loudly! Cheering, clapping and whistling are also very common occurrences for all who visit this place. Wet! Wild! Windy! Massive waves crashing onto the upraised coral sends water skyward and shoreward, soaking all who are standing there in awe of the previous display of the tremendous power of God. Swell after swell pound the shoreline of coral rock. Mile after mile of Tongan coast is pummeled with the churning Pacific. 30’-40’-50’ and at times 60’ into the air the waves shoot up before falling back into the ocean or blowing up onto the land and those lucky enough to be viewing this wonderful show. The secret is that as the coral breaks down from the force of the surf, holes and narrow tunnels are formed. The water shoots through these tunnels up into the air, to the delight of all who see it happen. Exhilaration, way better and cheaper than a Starbucks Grande Iced Mocha with four shots of espresso! Exhilarating and thrilling far beyond watching a rocket launch or your long-awaited first trip on an airplane. If you could spend all day at the Blowholes you would be spent just from all the adrenalin that was released in your body, but you would want to return again the next day! The Blowholes of Homua were the favorite spot of our family and our team on this tropical island paradise. Here are a few shots I took there. If you go to the following link you can see some more of my shots and a couple of videos of the action. You can also do a search on You Tube to find some other videos of this wonder of the world that, in one sense, displays His power. http://travel.webshots.com/album/577108786TycShS The boys loved the blowholes so much that they wrote the following poem about them: THE TONGA BLOW-HOLES A Mighty Adventure on our Last Day-off in Tonga By Evan and Josiah Richards March 8, 2010 A day out with Katoni and Young, our private “chauffeurs” from Lafa Lafa. We went to the wicked, wild, and wet Blowholes of Houma. The waves were as tall as a house, and their spray even higher. The water shot through the coral holes like a whale when it breathes. “KAPOOH! BOOM! CRASH! SMASH!” The angry waves devoured the trembling coral below. Mommy’s rain jacket caught the wind ‘til it puffed out like a Sumo wrestler. And we stood there, Daddy, Mommy, Evan and Jo Jo, Screaming, shouting, dripping and smiling An exhilarating day out to the Tonga Blow-Holes.

Gifts Freely Given

GIFTS, FREELY OFFERED
This was originally written by Kris on 2/10/10, and was edited with an amazing final gift at the end that was given our last day in Tonga, March 13, 2010.

“Freely, freely, you have received, freely, freely give. Go in my name and because you believe, others will know that I live.” This old hymn was on my mind today, and I hummed it as I cleaned up in the campus kitchen. It seems to have extra meaning now, as I ponder gifts and as I sit here in this south-pacific country where I’ve come to freely give away that which I have received (Christ’s love).
I’VE BEEN THINKING LATELY ABOUT GIFTS. It is a privilege to receive a gift from someone when there is no obligation or formal situation mandating such action. The best gifts are from the heart, spontaneous or carefully-planned, but given freely just because that person cares.
I got such a gift from my 4th grade son, Evan on my birthday two weeks ago. Well, it wasn’t a gift but a hand-made card. Dad didn’t tell him to make me a card, but he penned one with a green Overhead pen, front and back, with little pictures of each of our 4 heads and well wishes from Evan to Mommy. He hid it in the fridge on the birthday fudge the team had made for me here in Tonga. He figured for sure I’d come home and eat it, but I didn’t. It was a big night on this missionary base, as it was the kick-off evening for the new Discipleship Training School on this base. It was the biggest incoming class they’d had in 10 years. So, celebrating my birthday was a lower priority, and just didn’t happen (until the next day). Imagine my delight when I walked in the door around 10 p.m. to find that Evan had stayed awake, and ran to the fridge to give me my card. It was gold to me. I actually wept, as it was the first time in my 40+ years of living that I had not celebrated my birthday at all on my day. But he wouldn’t have that, and made sure of it with that little rather-messy green card. That was a priceless gift for this mom 23 hours ahead of her time-zone and home. Another gift for my birthday was lavished upon me by my new friend Jennie. An Australian teacher and mom whom I befriended the first week, she insisted on treating my family to a tour around the main island and an afternoon at a beach and supper for my birthday 48 hours before she was to fly home! (See photo of Jennie and her kiddos and our supper.)

Another gift was from my new friend Kerstin, a German woman on this base who also is a teacher. She offered to give me a back massage for my birthday, which I cashed in on a couple nights ago. She is excellent at these massages, as her masseuse aunt in Germany taught her many techniques. She comes over with a home-made concoction of coconut oil and hot chili peppers—kind of a tropical version of Icy Hot. When Kerstin walked in, though, she brought another gift for my husband. It was nicely-wrapped horseradish from a care package they’d received from Germany. I had mentioned that Randy loves horseradish, and she’d remembered and decided to go out of her way and give out of her way for his palate. What a treat! (Spending Valentines' evening at a resort for dinner with Kerstin and her husband, Karl, was also a gift! See photo.)

I had a few more gifts, freely given, today from locals. One teen-age gal on the base, Cindy, who is a nanny for the leaders, braided my hair in the French-braid style that the Tongan girls wear. She cheerfully did this, even though the dinner bell was ringing and she had kiddos to watch. We had some yard work that we needed done, and I was trying to find one of the guys to come over with his machete . A young man did come with a weed-eater, and took care of all of that growth and more for us. As I was picking up trash that was in our yard, I was called over by two of the new DTS students. “Want a drink?” Within seconds they’d taken their machete and made a green coconut into a lopped-off fresh drink for me. I ran inside, got a straw, and enjoyed the drink, like a tropical version of Gatorade. I glanced in the mirror at myself drinking this coconut milk with my new hair-style: gifts, freely-given. I was thankful.

Not to be forgotten was the mind-blowing gift given me by my Tongan friend, Kika. She had been going through some difficult times in her family, and we had had her over for prayer and encouragement. She also was the person we’d hired to do our laundry, and she did it quickly and so efficiently that the blouses sometimes looked like they’d just come from the department store rather than a two- gallon washing machine that you have to move the hose out to re-fill on the porch of her fale (pronounced fal'lay).

 Our last morning in Tonga, I was awakened by Kika at the door at 6:50. I could hear Randy saying, “Kris will want to see this; let me wake her!” I crawled out of bed…. to a shocking gift from Kika. “I couldn’t think of a gift for you, so I prayed, and this is what came to mind. Please take it!” It was her tapa cloth. (See photo of Tongan wedding with tapa cloth on wall behind.) This is a priceless tapestry that the women create over weeks and hand-down from generation to generation. Kika had received hers on her wedding day from her mother. It covers a whole wall, and is made from the bark of the Ironwood tree. There are black ink markings on it that represent things in Tonga, like the three dots representing the three old kings that all used to reign that island nation. I still cannot believe this newer friend gave me her tapa cloth! I transported it home in a loosely-bound carry-on bag. When it was time to declare what I was taking out of the country for customs, I could attach no dollar value to this sacred cloth. What a privilege and a remarkable gift, freely given!

Cyclone Rene'

On February 14th, Randy and I went out for Valentine's with a German couple on our base who have become good friends. We had heard a cyclone was building far north of us, but it was just a tropical storm level 2 earlier that day. While we went to dinner and swam in an increasingly-churning little bay at nearby Kaleti Resort, we found out that the tropical storm had upgraded to a Cyclone (Hurricane) and was up to Level 4. It was headed right toward our island, and was supposed to be a Level 3 Cyclone by the time it hit. We tried to determine from the website at the resort if the arrival time (from a weather station in Fiji, on a different time zone) was 6 a.m. or 6 p.m. the next day. Well, at 6 a.m. "BAM!" We got wind! I kept thinking of that movie Twister throughout the day when Helen Hunt yells out, "We got sideways rain. We got cows!" as she sees various things going by the car in the hurricane. We just had sideways rain, palm trees bending, a basketball (netball, here) hoop pulled out of the concrete, and some flooding on our campus in almost every little home (fale'). So, at the base-leader's counsel, we had our whole team and then a few in to our larger home during the cylone to wait it out, read, eat snacks, worship together, play games, and find whatever we could to occupy us by candle-light. It was sooo satisfying for me to find a bed or a couch cushion and sheet or blanket for all 14 people that found shelter in our home that night! We had our team of 11, plus two more Tongans and a Kiwi who was visiting to help speak on the campus that week. The next day, we spent much of it inside as well, but discovered a new pond on the field by our house, a couple palm trees down (which is hard to have happen since they are so flexible), and a fence or two down. The damage was minimal, but the cyclone was the worst this area had seen in about eight years. We found a few houses in town with roofs missing, and many plantations (esp. banana plants) devastated. We were happy to be able to offer hospitality, and to grow closer as a team as we hunkered down while 70-100 mph winds whistled outside! Here is a poem that Jo Jo wrote in the shape of a twister in his writing folder. Our team enjoyed hearing it.

CYCLONE RENE
February 16, 2010
Tonga
It started to rain,
And we played a game.
Palm branches broke,
And the floor got soaked.
Candles got lit,
And we ate a bit.
The wind did roar,
And Allen did snore.
14 people slept in our home,
All because of that BIG CYCLONE!

By Josiah, Age 7

My Life is a National Geographic Magazine

MY LIFE IS A NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE
I mean it—that is no exaggeration. I am seeing such suffering and such beauty in nature and in people here in the South Pacific, that I cannot do justice to it with words. My husband, great photographer that he is, also cannot do justice photographically to what we’re experiencing here.

Today we visited a village that is by far the poorest and most-forsaken place on this Tonga Tapu main island. It is way out on a peninsula outside of town, past the wharf, the market, and the Her Majesty’s Marine Base of Tongatapu. This is the part of the island where all the other villages take their old garbage and junk. There are shipwrecks out in the harbor, rusting carcasses of commerce long-forsaken. There are stacks of cars, smashed, along the road. Behind many of the “houses” is a type of bay, but it’s more of a pond that is indiscernible of where it ends and the garbage starts. I cannot believe people are allowed to live in this place. I’ve been told by the locals that the government has actually improved it quite a bit in an effort to move the junk outside of town into the “bush-bush.” I found myself praying repeatedly that the people in this hidden-away village would not feel forgotten and overlooked. Though they are surrounded by trash from this whole island, I prayed that they would know they are valuable and beautiful to the Lord.

Our time there today involved pulling up in our bus, all 20 of us emptying out, and then going door-to-door inviting people to the program we’d be putting on at 1:00 that afternoon. Well, we didn’t get far in this endeavor. Upon disembarking from our bus, we were flocked with about 20 kids, all in various states of dirtiness and disheveledness. I looked at a little girl holding a red flower in one hand, and gripping a barbed wire fence in the other, and I thought of a name for these kids: Children of the Barbed Wire. They were all beautiful children, and you wanted to take them home. One little girl was brought to our attention who had a bad gauge out of her foot—from barbed wire. It looked pretty gruesome to our healthcare people, but they cleaned her off and patched her up. “When did she cut herself?” my son inquired. “Last week,” her big sister replied. WHAT?! Last week? This is a bloody mess on a three year-old that should have been dealt with that day, not the next week. Where was her mother? ? Though I saw many children playing along the road, along with stray dogs and the local pigs that have access to everywhere, I didn’t see many moms. (It was a week-day in late morning; perhaps the moms were at work.)

Enroute through the community, I strolled on to the beach for a few minutes while some of our people played marbles with some of the boys. What was here?! Shells of the most-unusual shape and color! Like the beautiful Children of the Barbed Wire, these shells were diamonds in the rough—spotted huge Cowrie and Collector Urchins and spiny shells that looked like a glove that could fit your hand. Evan plucked out of the coral bits of a giant oyster shell. I found two of the type of mollusks that I’d seen and bought in the Philippines, from which the harvest pearls come.

Eventually, I started a spontaneous game with the 30 or so kids sitting on mats in a yard. We sang songs, performed a skit or two, and I gave a testimony about how God is faithful even when we have a big mountain to be moved. My “mountain” was when I lived in Portland as a young teacher who was only subbing and not getting paid throughout the summer. My waitressing pay helped, but wouldn’t enable me to pay my bills. God came through by allowing my car to get hit when I wasn’t in it, and the person in the car insisting on paying top-dollar cash to fix the car. I wonder if the kids could relate to my story—even with our friend Paki translating. Would the Children of the Barbed Wire—some with faces like older ladies due to pain they have known—consider difficulty paying your bills for one summer a “mountain” to be moved?

I doubt the impact we had on those kids was from what we said, or what truths we chose to highlight. Instead, it was the love of God that caused us to visit, to hold, to pray, to hug, to bandage, and to remember (and write about) the Barbed Wire Children.

TIME FOR A NEW DICTIONARY

TIME FOR A NEW DICTIONARY
Living in Tonga has certainly jarred my sense of which-way-is-up. This island culture is definitely down-under, being a six-hour plane ride from New Zealand. The stars look somewhat different here. The water goes down the drain counter-clockwise rather than clockwise as in the northern hemisphere. Though I’m tempted to call it “backward,” I realize that it’s just third world. I remember living in England for a year right after college. I saw gadgets and sociological happenings that were ten years past in the US. Here I’d say it’s more like a hundred years ago in America. Sometimes I feel like I am in a Little House book, and other times I feel like I’m in the most beautiful, untouched place on earth; and other times I feel like just regular living is camping.
We live on a Youth With A Mission campus called Lafa Lafa, located on the southern tip of the main island of Tonga. Our home is a beautiful, well-built structure that a German family expanded from the normal two-bedroom hut or fale that is common in Tonga. The home is an answer to my husband’s prayers, who asked God for nice accommodations for his family prior to our leaving our lecture phase in Kona. God definitely did that. But it’s what is around and part of this campus and island that throws me. I’ll try to explain it so that friends back home in the Northwest can grasp what it’s like for us as we swim through layers of culture adjustment.
The campus seemed at first to me like a retreat center with little cabins around. Near our home are three little portable-sized classrooms with little decks and brightly-colored plywood exteriors. These are for the little Christian school that is on the campus (which is currently on summer break here in December). Very close by our home are more small fale’s, which I thought were more classrooms or out-buildings for the campus, but they’re not. They are homes where young men live, part of the Team Extreme ministry run by our friends Lynn(American) and 'Ale (Tongan). I realized that I needed to change my definition of home when I saw young men going in and out of these structures. I had to keep changing my definition of home as we wandered into nearby villages, offering to pray for people or to invite them to our outreach meeting that Friday night. I’d approach a home with a Tongan brother, and we’d knock on the door. Apparently, it’s not considered rude to wander around peoples’ homes in their yard trying to find them. One such day we found a young man asleep in what I thought was a fort of some kind. Wrong. This is not some tinkering by teen-agers trying to get a touch of freedom from their parents’ place. This is a “bedroom” made of corrugated steel roofing softly lined with cardboard. The floor was dirt with a very old rug over it, and the walls were open framing with cardboard stuck in for insulation. The “bed” this young man climbed out of was a table with a foam pad on it. His “kitchen” was a hot-pot for tea. Under his bed was a huge, rolled up tapa cloth, which is a type of matting made by the women from bark of the Ironwood tree, and then dyed with natural dyes from the Tongan soil. I have seen kitchens without stoves under a tree lined by 3 feet high “walls” of the same tin roofing. Inside will be a chair or rock to sit on, and a fire over which 1-2 women may be cooking. Wow. Front entryways, even of nice homes, will have 3 foot-high little concrete walls in front of them that you have to step over when you go to the door. Quite necessary. Keeps the pigs out or in, whatever the case may be.

Besides the term “house,” I now have a whole new definition for “clean” and “safe.” There are very few seatbelts in this culture. I’ve seen a working one once when I caught a ride with a gal to the radio show we were doing on the local Christian radio station. Usually, our family (including our boys ages 7 and 10) climb onto our team bus where a boy will sit next to a parent for stories or singing wherever we’re going. No seatbelts there. And the bus door will be open the whole time, feet from where my 7 year old is sitting. Two nights ago we crossed the island for that outreach evening and had 35 people in the bus that is to hold 25. Two small children were crouched up on the dash board, smooshed against the front window. We cringe and hold our tongues—as well as our boys, tightly.
In this humidity, I have a new definition for “damp” and “dry.” I also have new words for being sick. They all range at this point along the stomach-flu end of things, but there comes a point in you when you know that dehydration or weakness is setting in, and you wave the white flag and declare yourself “sick.” I did this yesterday. It was wonderful just relaxing instead of going out for street evangelism. Though my teammates returned with wonderful stories of what God did, I was able to relax in a longer (cold) shower, and to nap for a good long time. “Relax” and “cold shower” wouldn’t have been near each other in my old dictionary, but they are here in Tonga.
“Going shopping” no longer means a nice, predictable, tight little journey. It’s instead an adventure I can bank on from finding the right shops to the bus breaking down to the city bus getting in a wreck with me on it!
Finally, “Tongan” to me used to mean someone with dark skin who was larger framed from Tonga. They probably would be someone who enjoyed traditional dancing, and may not have the same sense of time that westerners have. I have found that “Tongan” is someone who can “TIHOO!” like the rest of them in excitement. He is someone who can and does enjoy laughing, has a natural shyness, but when s/he gets going, they are the life of the party. Tongan is no longer an unknown face. It is Mata, Mapue, Siddatha, and Sunny. It is Sepho and Nive and their 11 other siblings; it is smiling faces, frequent laughter, ingenuity with their hands, and somewhat of a knowledge of Jesus. Tongans are friends from a new dictionary, yet to be completed.

THINGS I LOVE ABOUT TONGA

I love the color of the skin of the children, and the way they call out to me when I go for walks on our campus. I love the singing of just about every sector of society. When vehicles go by on the road, they usually are vans or trucks full of people, all of whom are singing at the top of their lungs. I love how people don’t seem to need a radio or ipod—a guitar and a friend for harmony anywhere anytime will do.
I love how the people all drive slowly here. No one is in a hurry to get anywhere or to accomplish loads of things. I love how the people aren’t obsessed with looking good, and how being thin doesn’t seem to be on anyone’s mind. I love the bakeries that bake fresh bread every day. We buy it every three days or so, and slice it up for lunch or breakfast. I love the way our vegetable garden (planted prior to our getting here by a German woman) grew to harvest stage in six weeks. I am regularly harvesting the fruit of her labors. I love how it is windy here all the time. Though people have to burn their own garbage and there often lingers a smoky smell, it is not stifling like the Philippines as the smoke is whisked away quickly by that wind. I love how the culture has kept many of its traditions, including women keeping themselves covered in a skirt or lava lava. It’s amazing how holidays are centered for everyone around church rather than a party or a bottle. Though the churches aren’t perfect, everyone goes and hears and participates.
I love how the queen of Tonga hasn’t just given lip-service to wanting to “adopt” the people in the handicapped home; she has made each one of them her children. She brings them personal gifts, pays all the bills, and invites the residents to be her VIP’s when she has to make an appearance at something. I love our home in Tonga, with the leveler windows with screens, the Tongan wood cabinets, and the much space and rooms! I love the yard that God picked out for me here: complete with everything that was in my Hawaiian garden back home as well as things that almost seemed transplanted from my yard: three rose bushes and a honeysuckle. I never even saw a rose bush in Hawaii, having been to three different islands in that state. Yet here, 21 hours ahead of the Portland area, this former City of Roses gardener has pink flora bunda on the front corners of her lanai!
I love the men and their strong dances they do, the chants and “items” everyone does at schools at any event, and the women’s tapa cloths. I like snorkeling here, with coral unlike any I have seen, and tiny cobalt blue fish! I love the unassuming way the people have here, and their laid-backness coupled with effusive humor.
I love the beauty of this land, and how every morning when you awake it is clear and sunny. I like how I can go for a run in the early morning or for a walk at dusk with my boys, always in a t-shirt and shorts or a skirt and we’re warm enough! Though the land is fairly flat, the big sky is so beautiful. The clouds tend to be stacked cumulus ones that are rosy-tipped with sun rays stretching out past them. It’s like God is smiling down on us here in Tonga.