FALL IS COMING!

Fall is in the air.  I can feel it in my bones.  No, I don’t see it, and—aside from a faint sense of days cooling—I don’t feel it.  But it’s there.  It’s coming.  Maybe it’s the fact that the heat is less intense these days.  I’m down to one shower a day now here in Kona, Hawaii.  Like the tail end of an Indian Summer in the Northwest, we are lingering between summer and fall.   We pull the blanket on us earlier in the evening when Randy and I fall into bed. 

My husband thinks I’m crazy for saying that fall is beginning, or that it’s even cooler.  But I know it’s just around the corner.  It’s more than outward appearances. It’s a knowing of a season, of an imprint in my soul, like some kind of genetic cycle as sure as the maple leaves turning yellow in my native Forest Park in Portland. 

When I got home today after a missions celebration, the culmination of our first unit of study at our boys’ school, I made motions towards my bed.  I needed a nap.  But it would have to wait.  There was a fall lighting that filled up my room, squeezing between the flickering blinds on my window. I couldn't pass it up.  It was lower in the sky and softer than normal.  It drew me out onto the lanai from my nap.

What was that?

An edge to the heat.  A sense of expectation.  Newness to come. 

As a school teacher, fall has always brought a sense of a fresh start. It’s a new school year here in Kona, and new families are coming in to our co-op school community.  But there’s an on-the-edgeness in my spirit as well.  Strong enough to come see, to look and wait and pray, to see what God might be up to in this new season.

I find it interesting that I just submitted an article to the local paper about a ship coming in this Saturday.  Yet I find myself in my mind’s eye standing on a dock, waiting.  Waiting for a ship—a new thing and rare treat—to come in.   How could my soul sense fall when my body scarcely senses any freedom at all? 

I've seen glimpses of that new ship.  In my heart she’s called Hope.  When people cannot find her, they yell out for Hope found, for expectations met.   I must have a ride on that ship.   “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”  Proverbs 13:12

Let’s not defer hope any longer.

As I got up from my nap and cooked up some zucchini, green beans, and sweet onions from the market, I relished every bit of the fall meal preparation.  I sensed the ship was already coming in.   There were things that we didn't expect to happen in this season in our lives, but they are happening.  Randy has been asked to preach at our church once a month.  Friends who take the services at the chapel at Waikaloa Hilton asked if we would give the message and lead worship there monthly as well. 

Out on the lanai, I asked the Lord why this favor.  He reminded me that we have been faithfully working, patiently plowing. 

I wondered if it was another reason as well.  I have been asked to re-join our worship team at church, something I occasionally did a year ago.  I had been feeling like music was missing in my life, and our pastor just asked me if I’d start playing keys and singing again, starting this Sunday. 

 The university where I work has asked me to write articles for the paper.  Other than one earlier press release, I wondered if this would actually happen.But when I was  asked to write this piece about the ship coming in, I began to have hope.  I co-authored it with a gentleman in the community, and then was asked to come to the advance interview with the YWAM Ships director and the reporter to help navigate this whole paper-publicity stuff.  I didn't see that coming. 

But it is coming.

I believe I had to lay down my desire to help lead worship.  I had to let go of my hankering to write regularly for the paper.  I went through a season of being humbled over some things.  These desires went into the ground and have now sprung back up.  

Jo Jo, age two, peeks into our dining room from next to our Japanese Maple bush, moving into full color.

A fall memory I have of back home was how our Japanese lace maple tree would turn bright red in October.  It stood just outside our dining room, where we had one single painting on the wall:  it was a large print by Raoul Dufy called The Harvest.  We would enjoy it with our little boys as we looked out onto the world, the trees turning in Forest Park, and as we welcomed the seasons of our lives.

               I welcome this fall season now here in Hawaii, even if I only feel it in my bones.

Evan's kindergarten field trip to the pumpkin patch.

Multnomah Falls  is one of our favorite places to visit in the fall  when home in Portland. 

A huge smile for a boy who found a HUGE leaf pile! 

Turbulence!

                             

                                     

                                                                                                                   March 19, 2013

                “I don’t normally get drunk,” the yellow-eyed, missing-toothed older man said as he sat next to me on the plane.  “But oh, boy, did I ever get drunk last night!”  I believed him.  As I heard his story and that of his grieving daughter with him, I felt only compassion.   As soon as Tim and Kristi sat down, I knew they weren’t doing well.  The last to board the plane, they reeked of cigarettes.  I could tell that they needed those last minutes to suck down their smokes in order to last the trip from San Jose to Seattle.   I was going to see my sister who was going through some real shaking with her health.  Tim and his daughter were going through their own shaking. 

                “We’re here to remember her mother, who died a year ago this week.  It’s been hard.”  He didn’t need to tell me. Her silent, hurting eyes that stared far away, and her father’s frequent kisses told me they were still in the thick of grieving.  “We needed to go back to Morro Bay to be where she last lived.”

Morro Bay.  How did I know that town?  It hit me: the landlord of our condo in Kona had just died of a sudden heart attack at his home in Morro Bay.  What are the chances?  I asked myself.  Two sets of families grieving at the same time in the same small town, coincidentally both intersecting our lives.   

Or was it coincidence? When Tim plopped down next to me on the plane, a friend immediately came to mind.  She died a few years ago of liver failure.   I remembered how this friend couldn’t go more than 30 minutes without a smoke.  When some of us took a road trip and were jammed into a hotel room, it was more than she could handle.   She had to step out often for a stiff drink.  I remembered her pain and the relief she turned to during that time.  It helped me understand Tim’s actions as he remembered the death of his ex-wife. 

“We went to the shell shop she loved to frequent.  I put my feet all over the mat on the floor.  I wanted to step where her feet had walked.” 

Shaking.  Suffering. Loss remembered.  

As the flight continued, I tried to give these two the space they needed. Tim pulled out a movie player and put on a flick from the 80’s for comfort food:  Dirty Dancing.    I stared out my window and listened to my ipod.  Snow capped volcanoes formed a line with Mt. Shasta.  One peak went directly under our plane.  I marveled at the pure white top and radial pattern of powdered sugar that ran down the pine ravines. 

“ I will open up my heart,

Search me in the deepest part,

And I will stand in cleansing fire

Of you my Purifier,

Of you my Purifier.”

                Thus sang Michael W. Smith from his Worship album. 

Man, can I do that?  Can I stand and let my heart be purified like the snow below me?  My sister was doing it.  This hurting man and his daughter were doing it.  Whether or not we welcome it, shaking comes.

“Turbulence,” Tim informed me.  “More turbulence.”  The plane jolted a few times.  “Ping!”  The light lit above our heads. Confidence came with the captain’s voice over the intercom:  “Please return to your seats.    We are experiencing turbulence.  The seatbelt light is turned on.  Please make sure you are strapped in.” 

Tim hastily closed up his movie in anticipation.  I was strapped in.  Was I ready to face the turbulence in my sister’s life?  I wondered what I would see when I got to her home.  She had been very ill--so ill that she had been flown to the Mayo Clinic by our father to try and get answers a couple weeks before.  She found none, and in fact encountered more hardship from reactions to meds-mixed-with-meds.  Jo had lost 30 pounds and ended up in the E.R.  

She was thrilled that I was coming though, and happily met me at Sea-Tac, a warm coat ready to be shared with her Pacific Island sister. In the week that followed, I would follow my sister to wherever a life-with-shaking would take her:  to doctor appointments, sitting by her on the bed while she rocked back and forth in pain, learning just the right spot to rub up under her skull, super hard, to bring her pain down a notch. 

It was not easy. When her pain   reached Level Nine after she took a bath, she cried out for me to bring in her clothes from the bathroom, and then kept crying while her husband prepared to give her the pain-killing shot.  Many people were offering suggestions for help and treatments---some welcomed and not-so-welcomed.  Shakily, exhausted from three years of three-four hour stints of sleep per night, Jo and her husband move forward, clinging to each other, their close family, and to the hope that God is good and that this “will not be unto death.” 

I do what I can, bringing cold wash cloths, cleaning a bit, gardening some, and just being with Jo in her shaking.  She is suffering, driving errands that need to happen, but with her hand pressed tightly over her right eye.  She tirelessly teaches her youngest son his math, and helps Jacob with his paper for Bellevue College.  She teams up with Rich to make the killer-scratch mac and cheese our mom used to make, and then asks if I want to join her in bed to write and read while Rich sets  up Caleb’s new sound system.  “It will be fun!” She says with a twinkle in her eye.  I join her, until she turns over and sleeps, exhausted.  Glad to see her drift off asleep, I turn the light off, happy to see an end—however short-lived--to the turbulence.   

Having Church at Walmart

                                                               Feb. 17, 2013

Today I had church at Walmart. Mind you there was no singing, nor did we bow down to the god of materialism, but there were elements of real church happening. 

It started in the make-up aisle.  Actually, a bunch of stuff happened in that section.  I noticed a woman had a great collection of herbs in her shopping cart.  I complimented her on her healthy purchases. “Thanks!” she said, “They are a birthday gift for my neighbor.”  What a cool idea, I thought.  I would love to try that some time to cheer up my neighbor. 

While I was pondering this, that very neighbor walked by!  She is a sweet, older lady who works at Walmart.  “Sarah, is that you?” 

          “Hi Kris, I thought that was you!  How are you?” 

I found out Sarah (name changed) wasn't doing so great.   “I’m really suffering from anxiety.”  Sarah is suffering from more than that.  Cancer has taken her hair in the last year, and has left her on meds that make her shaky. 

I listened and tried to sympathize, though inwardly I was thinking if I had cancer I could be anxious as well.  When she said, “It just seems there’s no kicking this anxiety,” I decided there was something we could do.

Right there in front of the L’oreal section, Sarah and I had ministry time.  We bowed our heads and prayed one of my sixty-second prayers.  “Thank you sooo much, Sarah smiled.”  I asked if she was drinking coffee.  I found out that she drinks de-caf regularly, and suggested that if she is having anxiety attacks to maybe just do herbal stuff.  De-caf still has a percentage of caffeine in it. 

As Sarah went on to stocking her shelf, I got about five feet away and ran into Jo.  Because I champion for the local school where her sons attended, she always has a big smile for me. I told her how we’d attended the Robotics Club’s demo yesterday at Kealakehe High.    I also mentioned that this plus the speech and debate club, and the United Nations club just might woo our son Evan there in a couple years.     Jo pointed out that the public high school has so many Advanced Placement classes and unique offerings that the smaller private school simply does not have.  “God will make it clear to you, though, what you are to do.  It can be different for each child.  If you really seek Him on where your sons attend school, you can’t lose.”

Wow.  Major encouragement for me right there next to the cotton balls.  

Before Jo could move on, Phillip and his son Daniel stopped for a chat.  Kindergartner Daniel was happily scrolling through a game on his new Kindle while his papa added things around him in the cart.  “I’m happy that he has this Kindle and can do all of these computer things, but I don’t like how he downloads games without asking me.”

“Ah,” the elder Jo piped up.  “Like anything, the Kindle is just another opportunity for parents to be the parents.  It’s ultimately up to us what they watch and play.”  OK.  A word of exhortation and parenting message right there near the mascara section.

I gathered my boys from the toy section and picked out a birthday card with Jo Jo  for a classmate.  We ran into a few more friends with whom we smiled or high-fived or hugged. 

As we got in line at the check stand, Daniel and his family were in front of us.  “We’re making a smoothie,” Daniel told me.  He pointed to a bag of carrots.  “My sweetheart makes especially healthy ones.  You know the lawyer on campus?”

“You mean Diane, who does the all the VISA stuff?”

“Yeah, he said in his Brazilian accent. “She is ill.  We are making her a special drink.”

There’s body ministry.  I could tell by Daniel’s face that this was serious.  I made a mental note to pray for this woman as well.    My boys unloaded our shopping cart and cheerfully carried out my heavy bags to the car.  Youth were now serving as we rounded out the end of our “Walmart church service.”   

I climbed in the car next to my sleeping husband (Is that another parallel?  Sleeping husbands in church??)  and told him I felt refreshed and encouraged.  I’d just come from church inside Walmart.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As we filed out of the sanctuary of our Living Hope Church a couple Sundays ago, our pastor called out, “Now it’s time for real church!  Let’s go get some refreshments in the garden!”   At the “real church,” we ate snacks, hugged on friends, prayed with people if we felt led, and received encouragement from each other.   Aside from the eating part, that’s pretty much what happened in the make-up section at Walmart.

CLOTHED IN KINDNESS

                                                                                Jan. 27, 2013   

Wonderful time with Jo and Rich  at a great Thai restaurant

When I returned from three exceptional weeks with family and friends in the Northwest this Christmas, I felt cloaked in the love of my family.  Their smiles and words were fresh in my mind, their hugs still impressed on my shoulders, and their prayers were etched in my spirit.       

I don’t think the benefits of a trip out of town to visit family—even when the town you’re leaving is a desirable spot in Hawaii—can be accurately portrayed.  As I read some scriptures about “clothing yourself,” I want to share my reflections.

In Colossians 3:12-14, Paul says, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.”  This is talking about clothing myself, which I yearn to do.  However, on this time back home, I feel as if I’ve been draped by others’ kindness, gentleness, and love.   I felt it in:

 My sister cheerfully making room for us “to play with cousins” for a week despite her intense headaches. 

We love John!  

·        

Lots of good play time with "the cousins" at the Family Fun Ctr in Tukwila

·         My dad and step-mom, Beth, scouring closets to clothe our boys with winter clothes when an unexpected snow storm (and power outage) hit.    Beth found warmer gear for Jo Jo and all of us.  Dad cranked up the generator, served hot drinks, and took us out to dinner and a movie.  

Great fun with Grandpa and Grandma Beth, eating well, catching up, playing Scrabble, going out for snowball fights and walks in the snow!

Look out, Ev!!

·         The special breakfast my friend, Tani, made for me, draping me with a soft blanket as we sat on the couch and pored over pictures.  I am so blessed by Tani's long-term friendship!

     The apple crisp my college roommate, Julie cooked up for our family on a cold night at her Greenlake Guest House.

How fun to see Julie and Blayne's B and B, the only one on Greenlake! Reminisced about sharing January b.days 1 day apart as former roomies.

·          At my mother’s, I felt clothed in love when she served up fabulous candle-lit meals for us despite only days from leaving herself for another trip to Uganda.   This Hawaii-acclimatized daughter lived in Mom’s fleece sweats while home for the holidays in 2 feet of snow at the Methow Valley Ranch See the ranch here.  

What a treat to join Pete, Tammy, Claire , and Bobo for a longer visit at Grandma's!

Alaskan Uncle Pete shows da boyz how sledding is done in the "balmy weather" of 32 degrees!

I     I cannot forget Fetta and Jackie Johnson, who as usual, said, "Mi casa es su casa" while we were home in Portland.  What a break it is for us to stay with these dear friends, for our boys to have down time, and just to have our own space to relax.

Jackie  demonstrates his new recliner in the basement they recently remodeled.  Fetta, as usual, is cracking a joke in the background.

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·         I also felt kindness in the full spread of food prepared by my old waitressing/teacher buddy Jennifer Arns as she hosted a gathering of our friends in the Portland area. 

Sooo wonderful connecting to old college friends and church friends from when we were "young adults." Thank you, Jennifer and Craig Arns!

  It was more than hospitality.  Leaving was a gathering-up of things and bringing with.  Like some overflowing cornucopia from Thanksgiving, my luggage and arms were stuffed with love.

·         

•     My dad and step-mom’s birthday gift was far beyond what I’d expected.  I asked for a bottle of light refreshing perfume from L’Occitane See link to the Citrus Verbena fragrance. .  Instead I received the delux set with the body cream and the shower gel.  (I don’t do perfume.  Due to having a husband with scent allergies, I haven’t worn perfume for years.  But here was a scent that he can handle, so I’m drenching myself in it, and smothering my skin in it as I bathe!)
•       My sister decided she didn’t need a beautiful sleeveless dress anymore, which would be perfect for nicer events in Hawaii.  I wore it to church my first Sunday home, along with the Bolo leather shoes that didn’t quite fit my sister. 

•         My mom decided to not just give me one beaded necklace from Uganda, but another matching set of beautifully carved necklace and bracelet.  

•         My friend Gayle Nelson gave me “just some earrings,” which turned out to be about a dozen hand-made pairs and a necklace she had created. 

Old Portland buddies Robin Clark, Julie Pietila, and Gayle Nelson outside of the Alameda Brew Pub, where we caught up with our hubbies over lunch.

 Gayle suggested I give some earrings away. I ended up giving some to some Salvation Army friends who later gave me cultural earrings for my birthday. 

Sooo great to run into Freddy and Kiko in town, to visit a Marshallese store with them, and then receive this special gift of traditional earrings from Kiko for my b.day

I carry this love with me. I am wrapped in it (literally now in January, we sleep under a gorgeous hand-made quilt from my step-mom, Beth).  I want to reflect this love to those around me.  I want to be quick to offer a meal, or some earrings, or a hug or a real-time prayer. 

I love the context of the passage in Colossians:  “Bear with each other…. Forgive whatever grievance you have against one another… Forgive as the Lord forgave you, and above all of these virtues, PUT ON love.” 

God, show me how to put you on.  Show me how to individualize gifts or cards or acts of service for each person in my path that needs an extra touch from you.  Help me to bear with one another and to be bound in unity in the community in which I work.  “Over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”(v. 14)

Now, as my friends and family go back to their jobs in the freezing NW half an ocean away,  

(See photo of teachers and students gathered around flag/courtyard for early morning singing at Cedar Tree Classical Christian School where I used to teach and our kids attended.) and as I come back to “the rock,” and swimming outdoors and gaining my color back—I smile.  

Back home, on a "high surf" day at End of the World Beach

 I am warmed again, by the gifts from home, from the tangible markers of my Father’s love for me. 

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace.  And be thankful” (v. 15). 

Gladly. 

The Power of a Playing Parent

“For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose.  Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a wicked and deprived generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life…”Phil. 2:13-16a

I’ve been thinking lately about soccer and our involvement with our kids in this sport.  I suppose a title could be:

The Power of a Playing Parent

When you sign your son or daughter up for AYSO (American Youth Soccer Organization), it really is as if you are playing.  You could just drop them off and disappear for the two practices a week, but with younger kids that is discouraged.  So, if you are on the premises, you may as well participate. You could sit there and complain about having to go to all of those games, or you could be an encouragement on the sideline.  I want to always be an active parent on the side line of soccer.  I want to cheer loudly when Jo Jo gets the ball, and take notice when he’s even close to getting the ball. When he makes a good play, I want to let the world know, “That’s my kid that just did that assist!”  Though my son may not be a star, I want to cheer him on like he is one.

What I realized this last week-end is that when we go to the games and cheer on our team, we are a shining force.  Even if they lose, they feel like winners when the parents go nuts when any of them does a great corner kick, or save, or head.  I want to be a star in the way I shine on that sideline.  I want to jump in and do the flagging, or fill out the game card, or organize snacks as the Team Mom. 

And how much more of a chance to do that here on this island. 

After a few seasons here in Kona AYSO, you recognize kids and the coaches.  If you don’t get out of the way, you just may get talked into being a coach.  It happened to me two years ago.  I showed up at a parent volunteer meeting saying I wanted to be an assistant coach for the U-8 (under age eight) team.  I somehow walked out being the head coach of Evan’s U-12 team.  Yep. I ended up forever drafted into the kids’ Hall of Fame here in Kona.   I still remember each of those boys’ names.  To this day when I run into Ezra’s mom at Target, or Justin at the theater, or Tui at the Easter Sunrise service I am “coach” to them.

The thing is, that happens even when you’re not coaching.  By just being present, you learn the name of all ten kids on your kid’s team.  You know who is best for taking penalty kicks, and who you don’t want to put in as goalie.  You also get to know the parents. 

This last weekend at the giant end-of-season party, I saw so much cheering by the parents, I figured the lines were fuzzy, and we were just cheering on all of our kids at once.  When Team Dynomite donned their cylinder cardboard crackers, I was cheering.  My husband was shooting photos.  When the Blue Angels strolled out with 3-D cardboard airplanes tied over their shoulders, we were all in wonder.  Every boy that has played on our sons' teams in the past was cheered on by name when his team banner walked by.   I daresay the parents were having as much fun as the kids.

There were some parents who came late, grumbled about the loud music, or sat in their lawn chairs the whole time.  Yet others circulated, thumped coaches on the back, laughed at the kids’ antics, and enjoyed each other.  “For it is God who works in you to will and to act for His good pleasure.”

As I walked around the giant soccer field under the lights that evening, I thought, “Wow.  Half of Kona is here.”  I knew there was a Coffee Festival going on with a parade, but it seemed that half of the working class people of Kona were at that soccer field.  What a chance for impact!  What an opportunity to shine!

I saw many YWAM friends shining like stars that evening, holding out life.  Two dads stood around and got to know an artist dad who crafted the aforementioned Blue Angels get-up.  Moms combined their artistic ability to create the team banner, and pooled their money to secure a Mahalo gift for the coach.  Though we may have been on opposite sides of the field during the season, we were all at the same potluck at the end:  feasting, photographing, and dancing.

My first end-of-soccer dance party, I stood on the side and watched the parents and kids dance. My second year, I wandered in to the mix, trying out a few moves.  This last weekend, I was alongside my son’s coach, attempting  Zumba.  A YWAMer mom was on my left and later one on my right.  I noticed one mom in particular going crazy out there, blond curls bouncing, as she tried to keep up with her U-6 son.  “I’m out here because my son asked me to be his dance partner.”  I recognized her later as someone from my church. 

One coach stood on the side of the dance circle, a lei around his neck.  At his U-14 girls’ urging, he jumped into the dance circle and launched into his best robot dance.  Who was this guy?  The assistant pastor of Living HopeChurch. 

I believe there is more to this than meets the eye.  The whole of AYSO happens from volunteers.  But more than that, friendships are forged.  I have a new running partner, a mom who recently went through a divorce and who has just started attending church again.   Over increased years in this sport, we have galvanized friendships with parents. We know their names.  Something of light and life has rubbed off by the power of parents in the game. 

Palau #3 and last: Big Fish in a Small Pond

PALAU: BIG FISH IN A SMALL POND                                                                         8/6/12

“I think you’re going to like Poulsbo, Kris.  It’s a chance for you to be a big fish in a small town.” I was in sixth grade.  We were moving from the growing suburb of Bellevue, Washington to the very small town of Poulsbo.  How true my dad was.  Within a few years, I was able to land decent roles in the school plays in high school, and to get playing time on the basketball team and varsity track team, and serve as a student body officer.  I probably would have been lost in the crowd at Bellevue High School. 

My father’s words float out to me now as I sit a few degrees above the Equator in the tiny island nation of Palau.  The population of this whole country is about twice the size of Poulsbo today. Each day something happens that is “big-fish-ish.”  For a middle-aged American on a five-week mission in Palau to improve education, I’m getting more than I bargained for. 

One reason for this is there is no elitism.  There are no gated communities, no Streets of Dreams or “the” neighborhoods to get into.  My first hint was our neighbors in Airai, the state just north of the most-populated area, Koror State, where I teach each day.  We live in the nice home of a YWAM friend named Jacqui.  We have three neighbors.  One is Jacqui’s sister.  No surprise in this community-oriented culture to have family nearby.  The other two neighbors were a surprise:  one is a senator, the other, the Minister of Interior.  What?!  There is no way a senator and member of the cabinet would be living on my street in the U.S.  This is like living on Downing Street in London. 

After the conversations I’ve had in the last 24 hours, it's also like being a graduate of Harvard.  And Yale.   It seems that nothing is exempt for us.  No part of this country or society, no matter how big or small, is unavailable to us.  We aren’t a big fish in a small pond.  We are a rowboat in a mud puddle.  Any place I want to jump off this ship is open-game.  I can’t believe it.  Two weeks ago, a visit to my friend Fuana’s company BBQ became a chance to meet the President and his VP, stopping by on their campaign tour. 

I’m finding that “with great privilege comes great responsibility,” as King Henry says to his son in one of my favorite chick-flicks, Ever After.  I can essentially be a super-hero here.  I can use any talent or connection for good, or for evil.  For the benefit of a large number of people, or for myself.  I hope I am choosing well.  

Recently, I was invited to speak at a women’s prayer breakfast. I told them of what happened when we gathered people to pray for the local high schools in the Portland area and in Hawaii, and how they, too, could see statistical change as they pray and care about their local schools.  After my short talk, the woman next to me struck up a conversation.  We decided to pray together when they encouraged us to find a partner.  This woman was going through a struggle, stemming from trying to re-group after the assassination of her father.  Who was her father?  The former president of Palau! 

Another woman greeted me warmly.  I asked Chen what her line of work was.  Chen’s answer was a long one:  “I own a lounge in town, and a flower shop.  I also provide oxygen tanks to the local hospitals.”  The woman next to Chen added that she owns a hotel as well, and a restaurant, and a gas company.  I asked Chen which business she liked the best.  “The dress shop.”  Dress shop?  She didn’t mention that one.  That became the inspiration for her going-away gift for me.  I have loaned her one of my dresses, and she will have her speedy Chinese dress-maker fashion me a dress before I leave in less than a week.  Unreal. 

We decided to visit the capitol buildings, which are only six years old and fashioned after our capitol in D.C.  I was hoping we could get a tour of the inside.  We did.  We met the security guy, who readily gave us a tour of the interior, took us up above the senate, and through the electrical room to the outside of the dome.  From that vantage point, we had a clear view of miles in every direction, and were able to pray for the Palauns, that their government would make just laws and decisions.

Our boys wanted to see a crocodile.  Fuana knew of a YWAM friend who owned one that he’d caught as a baby.   The croc is now huge, as is the gentleman’s influence:  he currently is a senator in his northern state!

Around this time, I grabbed lunch at our favorite internet café in Palau.  An American gentleman in his 60’s sat near me, reading a book about Catholicism in Palau.  When my favorite waitress struck up a conversation with me about an article I wrote in the paper—honoring the owner of a local laundry business—his curiosity was piqued.  He could tell I wasn’t a tourist.   When the waitress let me know that this laundrywoman had a large brain tumor, I was hit with compassion.  “We ought to send some people her way to pray for her!” 

“That’s exactly what she needs!” added the gentleman.  I learned that this man, also, was on-loan from America for a month in a volunteer teaching capacity. 

“Do you mind if I join you?”  I nodded.  This kind-hearted gentleman had retired from teaching in San Francisco to set out to use his giftings for greater purposes in the Pacific.  We exchanged notes.  He had just spent his second summer teaching the Chukese math (on another Micronesian island), and I was finishing up my last week teaching teachers from Palau and Yap here in Palau.  Through his connection with various Catholic missions, Bob Scavullo had come to the same conclusions I had about several aspects of the culture, diet and long-term health of these islanders. 

I told Bob of my desire to help Marshallese in Kona.  I’d been working with them for about a year, had been doing research on their situation, and longed to enable them to navigate American ways more successfully.  By the time we were finished with our conversation, Bob had told me about a Chukese man who works for the University of Hawaii in Hilo (the other side of the Big Island where we live) to specifically help Pacific Islanders get into and succeed in college.  He told me about a retired priest who spent 30+ years working in the Marshall Islands, and about the American Ambassador, whom he’d been playing phone-tag with. 

“Email me and I’ll try to connect you with these folks,” Bob offered.

I couldn’t believe it.  Would I ever have access to a senator, daughter of a president (much less meeting the current one), or a US Ambassador back in America?  I don’t think so!  

But the next day would prove access to a whole different form of greatness.  I had just finished teaching at Emmaus High School, and was emptying the garbage in the parking lot of the attached church.  One of the pastors, the husband of one of my teachers, recognized me and invited me inside.  A luncheon had just started for all of the deacons and pastors in the area.  Feeling a nudge to put off my agenda and accept his invite, I greeted a few people I recognized.  Leah, the pastor’s wife, introduced me to “the oldest pastor’s wife in Palau.” I pulled up a chair with this old saint to hear what she had to share.

I found out that not only did Lydia teach for years at Emmaus High School, but she helped translate a “quick form”of the New Testament into Palauan!  It took her years of working on it as part of a group from the Bible Society of Australia.   The quick form was completed in 2004.

On the way out of the luncheon, another older woman greeted me warmly. She thanked me for coming to Palau.  “I’ve heard such wonderful stories of you and your family and about your husband’s teachings since arriving here,” Taio smiled.  I was looking at the oldest sister of a total of ten related to YWAM Kona counselor Linda Subris.  Taio is married to Pastor Billy, the present pastor of Koror Evangelical church.  Taio and Linda’s father translated the whole NewTestament into Palauan.  Mr. Subris worked with a missionary from Germany in the 60’s and 70’s to accomplish this feat.  Though lacking the fanfare and the following of the President and Vice President whom I’d met earlier, these two women were part of a spiritual legacy that far out-shone any heads of state. 

As I move toward our last day in this small country, I have a new perspective on being a “big ship” when I stand next to these spiritual giants. 

To see fabulous photos Randy took in Palau, click here.

Palau Blog #2: Seeing Palau Well

PALAU, I SEE YOU WELL                                                            July 24, 2012

Steve Saint is a hero of ours.  His father, Nate, was one of the five missionaries martyred by the Waodani Indians of the Amazon in the 1950’s.  We have met Steve and heve heard him speak. Steve spends his life advocating for the Waodani, to “teach them to fish” by inventing ways for them to learn practical skills such as dentistry. One of the things Steve likes to quote is what the Waodani people say when they understand someone and respect them.  It is “I see you well.”  I am starting to see Palau well. 

As our plane flew over one of the islands of Palau before we landed, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  One road, curving like a snake, spread over every contour of the land, with little houses lighting up the night like pin-pricks: a long diamond necklace.  There is one main street, and a handful of roads.  There are no traffic signals in this country. What I saw from the plane is what I see up-close now, what I drive on, and live in each day. 

We turn down a small road that leads to Emmaus High School for the teacher training. By the size and bumpiness of the coral-based road, I’ll assume it’s just a meager little road for a couple houses and the school.  Nope.  The road leads to a successful wood-carving school, one of the only home-grown industries alive and well on this island.  The school has a huge, beautifully carved wooden sign, no walls, and about a dozen long benches at equally-long tables, with boys bending over differently-shaped creations-in-progress.  My friend Fuana tells me that her former boss’ husband runs this school.  I am surprised, until I remember that in a country of 22,000, everybody almost literally knows everybody else. 

The little corrugated tin-roof box past the carving school is a shop.  It’s like so many other shops along the road in Palau:  family-run, tiny, full of everything including the lime powder and leaves to mix with the beetlenut for chewing, and is busy even late at night due to the sale of alcohol.  Continue past the shop and you may brake for a rooster, a pack of dogs, and a pack of boys.  Even at 10 at night after my evening class, I will see droves of young teen-age boys.  Cars will come from nowhere to pass me, driving in a swervy fashion to eek around the speed bumps while still avoiding ever-present culverts to catch the rain.  Somehow all of us avoid hitting the boys on the road. 

After a week here, I ventured driving to my night class on my own.  This is because the home where we are staying is in the next state of Airir, about 20 minutes’ drive down the road from the school in the state of Koror.  Most of the cars are imported from Japan.  Like mine, they have a steering wheel on the right, and a speedometer with kilometers in a land that was most-recently taken over by America.  So, when the speed limit signs say 20, I have figured out that going about 40 (kms) is a safe bet.  It was tough at first to drive, but now I’m getting used to it. The first two nights I drove in, I almost took out two dogs and one pedestrian dressed in black.    I was a bit shaken as I had to step hard on the breaks as I rounded one of the many turns and found a dog in the middle of the road. 

I can’t figure it out, it’s almost like the sacred cows in India, but the dogs seem to rule the road.   Cars slow and swerve to let the mama dog and her babies keep playing on the edge of the lane.   I have wondered aloud why the dogs do not play in the yards of their masters.  But then I realize that the dogs aren’t really part of a family.  Like the teenage boys, they fit more on the streets than in a nice home.  There are no sidewalks in this land, only those angled-culverts, so it’s not very pedestrian-friendly.  For that reason, when someone wants to cross the road to, say, go to the local shop, he must dart across between the cars.   Because most people really do drive 20 (some drive 15), I see how they think they have time to slowly cross the street.  

I see now, though, that driving is new.  Some women don’t drive here at all.  Some villages had no roads until recently.  The girls’ boarding school was only accessible by boat until six years ago.

We have been told July is a rainier season.  It is not “the rainy season,” as it rains heavily all year, but it especially pours in July, the second of which we chose to arrive—which became the third somewhere in the air.  Because of the high humidity and temperature at our vantage point six degrees above the equator (SE of the Philippines) it can be hard to see at times.  Mists appear on the roads, probably related to the swampy taro fields.   Your windshield may suddenly fog up and become quite difficult to unfog.  Upon getting out of your car, it is common to find your glasses suddenly steamed-up as you go from air-con to the tropics of Palau in July. 

In order for my teacher-training to work—which is based on multiplication as local leaders step up and hand it off to other teachers—there has to be a solid infrastructure of educators who are solid Christians in the community.   Thankfully, we have that in Palau.  I have just trained six women and men who are now running with this Educating for Life training for a crowd three times that size, drawing from neighboring villages and even a couple teachers from the remote Anguar State.    I am convinced that God is forging a strong net for these fishing-people to carry a broader, stronger, biblical education model unlike they’ve ever seen. 

Fuana is the local facilitator who will continue the 9 months of training for the 18-24 teachers.  Incredibly good with people, Fuana has taught writing in a couple different high schools, but currently works as the HR director for the Public Utilities Commission and writes her own column for the paper. She is a strong communicator and a mother of one daughter.  She reminds me of me. 

Seoni is the principal of the 80 year-old boys’ boarding school, Emmaus High.  A Tongan YWAMer, he is humble about how he got the job, and is eager to see his teachers come to see the Lord as their Master Teacher on a daily basis.  Seoni is honest about some of the paradigms that need to shift in his head to embrace this new teaching, even at a Christian school. 

Benita is the counselor of one of the two Catholic schools in town.  She carries so much authority, that she has heard the principal say, “What should we do?” with difficult situations, and then, “I’ll do whatever you think is best.”  

This is a matriarchal society, but none of these ladies lord their power at home or in the work-place. 

Leigh is a humble, Filippina who is married to the pastor of the Evangelical church in town.  This seems to be a hugely-attended church of local people, with a large Palauan service and very small English service.  Leigh teaches kindergarten for Emmaus, and admitted to me that up until three years ago, she had a great fear of white people.  She tells me almost daily that I am “pulling her up higher” as a Christian and as a mom.  I video-interviewed Leigh the other day to find out her thoughts on this training.  She said that while doing the dishes the night before, she was about to get angry at her two small kids.  Then, my face flashed before her mind, and she realized, “I can never treat my kids the same again” after what she learned about the value of a child.

Arlene is the secretary at the Evangelical church, and is busy planning a youth retreat this weekend, where Randy will speak.  Arlene desires to apply this teaching to their Sunday School program, to engage kids more and hopefully, see less behavior problems.  She is stepping up in leadership and has a gracious way as she teaches the local teachers in the second phase of training.  People in the community are talking about how this woman’s confidence has grown through this training. We all see a gift of teaching in her.

Regina (Rehina) is amazing.  A retired teacher, she hails from the remote island of Anguar (whom I wrote about in my last blog; she wants Randy to come to Anguar and photograph the sunsets).  She has been one who has calmed down troubled teen-agers,  coaxing a knife out of one’s hand in the corner of her classroom.  Last night, Regina did not come to class as she had a fish hook stuck in her thumb.  Her husband is a fisherman, and she caught one of his hooks, necessitating a trip to the E.R. 

Please pray for these courageous teachers. I see them well and am pleased to be passing on not only skills but a biblical worldview for them to multiply to teachers from all over this area, that all adults here may see Palauan children well.  

Palau #1: The Rhythm of Palau

THE NATION OF PALAU  IS LIKE A  PERFECTLY-BALANCED TOP.  It spins and spins, balancing naturally, and then starts to wobble. It rights itself and keeps going.  It may slow at times, but everything evens out and…it works.  It keeps going.

Since 1918 Palau has been in a game of Tag out in the Pacific, a plane-ride southeast of the Philippines and west of Guam.  Whichever nation has thought it could get something from this friendly, “Rock Island” nation has done so.  In 1885, Spain claimed it as part of the Caroline Islands.  In 1899, Germany bought Palau from the Spaniards.  Germany had been awarded trade and mining rights in 1885.  In 1901 steamships from Germany began to arrive on Angaur, mining phosphates using local and Chinese workers.

A friend of mine named Rehine (Regina), relative of  Pelauan YWAMer Linda Subris, just returned from an outreach on Anguar. They are still trying to re-balance after that German mining. Bombs were shot off to open up the rock for better phosphate access.   The Germans brought monkeys to the island, concluding if they didn’t come out of the holes in the rock, then they knew it wasn’t safe for humans.  The monkeys survived.  The only problem is, the monkeys were never eradicated.  Now, over a century later, those few monkeys have multiplied and spread to two other regions of Anguar.  They’re ruining their crops, digging up anything the locals plant.  The people plant starts upside down, as they know that a monkey will come after them and dig it up and “plant it,” putting it in now-right-side up.  Houses are pillaged by the primates, fridges are opened, and containers of food emptied.  The frantic folks finally have permission to shoot the monkeys in a too-late attempt to limit their numbers. 

The pay the land owners were given from the Germans for leaving gaping holes in their land and forever-fixing it with monkeys?  Farm equipment.  Yes, they gave them one hoe for one hole.  I know this because it is Rehin’s relatives who own the land.  They did not know that the farm tools were not valuable.  They trusted the white Europeans.  In her visit last week, Rehin found that the local believers at Anguar harbored unforgiveness towards the Germans. In God’s mercy, he provided four Germans on her Impact Team that traveled to love on this lesser-known island of Palau.  With gentle prodding, one of the Germans, a pastor, stood up one day for all the Germans who had taken advantage of the Palauans at Anguar, and said he was sorry.  “Gezuindheidt for putting up with what my grandfathers did to your grandfathers.  Please forgive my people.  We want you to be blessed, to recover and bounce back from this, and to thrive.” 

They received this humble apology. And their hearts were changed. Though a dozen children were expected at the VBS that week, twice that amount came, necessitating a call back to the Koror church office for more certificates.  As Rehin was turning to leave on the boat back to Koror, a woman grabbed her hand.  She was shaking.  She put a note in the hand of Rehin, that said she had been planning to commit suicide.  Rehin looked at the woman and had compassion for her like Christ did (Mt 9:36).  Rehin hugged her, prayed with her, and spoke hope into her life.  The woman stopped shaking and chose life. 

As I climb in the Japanese-made automobile to teach my evening session to the local Palauan teachers, I glance at my watch:  18 minutes should be enough time—if the stray dogs aren’t bad tonight.  The dogs are bad though.  I almost hit two en route to Emmaus High School where we gather.  I swerve to miss one pedestrian, in black, running across the curvy road in front of my white-boxed car.  Thankfully, I miss both.  I slow, and re-balance myself on the right side of the road while driving from the right side of the car. 

On the way home, it is pouring again—another deluge in this rainy season of July—and I am grateful, as I can balance my way home on curvy roads with killer potholes—and no dogs out in the rain. Cars come and go from side roads, and never seem to honk or slam on their brakes.  They just do this islander-adjustment-dance, like a top spinning, until all is upright again.    

As I finish up one of the last sessions training local teachers, I learn of a bias in  “Belau.” It’s towards Americans.  After the Spanish gave it to the Germans, the Japanese took it over in 1914, until the Americans “rescued” them after heavily bombing Koror* as part of the War in the Pacific in 1944.  As Fuana tells me, one man looked out his window and asked, “Which flag is it today?”  But they’ve bounced back.  They honor any American who comes to teach, assuming they must be smarter and wiser and richer.  The teachers wonder aloud how they can teach their own as I step aside and allow Fuana to assume leadership.  “How will they listen to us?”  We will do the dance and I will shift from trainer to coach on the side. The Palauans will lead their own people.

*Palau Dive Sites, History, and Culture  Compiled by Gunther Deichmann, Kevin Davidson, and Ethan Daniels, Dream Time Publishing, Manila, Philippines 2007.