It is in giving that we receive

Jireh Home is the main project of the Jireh Community Service Soceity (JCSS).   Various churches and companies across the region support and/or sponsor Jireh Home in some way, whether it be monetary, food or other donations.  And through incredible connections, God always provides. 

This Christmas season, Jireh Home brought back 17 kids from their Kampungs (rural villages) in order to receive donations and be involved in various Christmas activities.  Everyday for a week, we met with a group of visitors.  

There was the Chinese congregation who brought their Sunday School students to give presents and play games with out kids.   I sat on the bench at the edge of the crowd, trying to fade into the white wall behind me, which is possibly the only place I could remain unnoticed.   But as the Sunday School kids handed out their wrapped presents, I received at least four, that I latter redistributed for the kids to take home to their friends and family in rural Malaysia.  It is in giving that we receive. 

There was a group of people from a local restaurant who brought the kids each a new personalized, embroidered Jireh Home shirt in an unfortunately see through yellow.   The kids pulled the shirts on with smiles and sang songs as a thank you.  After handing out some snacks, the visitors mostly talked amongst themselves, until they asked me to come over and take pictures with each of them individually.   They didn’t talk to most of the wardens, or interact with the kids.  But it is in giving that we receive.

There was the group from a hotel in a well-known mall.  The employees came in a large charter bus and wheeled in boxes and boxes of donations, including the best study books, a Christmas tree and classy decorations.   Then the orang putih (white person) CEO showed up in a fancy car.   They helped the kids put up and decorate the tree together and recorded the kids singing with their IPhones.   They were very friendly and excited to be a part of Jireh Home.  In a little speech, the CEO said with his nice French accent, I do believe it is in giving that we receive.

There was the night we spent at Ming Garden Hotel.  We were welcome at the door by Santa and Mrs. Claus and treated to a Christmas feast, complete with turkey and baked potatoes.  I excitedly taught the kids how to eat both foods that remind me so much of the States.  After our feast, the kids and hotel staff decorated cupcakes together with delicious white chocolate frosting.  We took hundreds of pictures together before lighting the Hotel’s Christmas tree and listening to carolers dressed as Mrs. Claus.  The kids each got to take at least three cupcakes home and a bag full of incredibly nice gifts.  It is in giving that we receive. 

In the States, this is common in our churches, in our lives.   Its something I have never questioned.  Of course I need to be generous.  I have.  I am one of the Chinese Sunday School students who brought at least three gifts to give to the unfortunate children.  I am one of the restaurant employees who has handed out food to someone without engaging or interacting.  I am one of the hotel employees with a fancy phone.  One of the Ming Garden staff who knows how to eat the food the kids had never tried, who knows all the words to the popular Christmas carols in English.

I have.

But here, I am someone who is receiving.  Someone who doesn't have.  I have received so many little gifts from so many generous, kind and well-intentioned visitors.  I have received delicious, huge meals of Western food, food that makes me think of Christmas dinner with my family.  I have received extra attention -for being white- and awe for being here in Tuaran, teaching English to the kids. 

And I’m learning that most times, receiving is hard.  Sometimes, its hard to genuinely welcome another group of people to this place with so many unseen things to give.   Sometimes its hard to take pictures with strangers, to talk with people who think they know how to raise our kids, to watch as our kids sing and clap while the visitors talk on.  But the kids and staff happily and gracefully receive regardless of the visitors, regardless of the donation.   In this season of giving, I am learning to receive humbly in ways I could never imagine. 

A Willing Heart

It was Sunday morning, 7:00 am.  I sat on the bed in Rebecca’s room, hoping to get the chance to use the bathroom before church.  One high school youth member came out, and another went in, after a small fight with the other three remaining girls.  I brushed my teeth in the bedroom, grabbed my music books and decided just to go to the church next door to play through the hymns before the 8 am service.

That’s correct.  I was visiting Tenom, the small town in the mountains where Rebecca, a YAGM and good friend, lives and works.  Part of the reason I visited was simply to assist in the youth choir rehearsals on Friday and Saturday.  I had no idea that would mean I would be singing Christmas carols in Chinese, teaching kids how to play melodions in Malay (little keyboards that played by blowing air into them), or accompanying a whole rehearsal, as I did on Saturday.  I also had no idea it would mean being a song leader for the women’s Christmas celebration ceremony, or the pianist at the service on Sunday morning.  But it’s generally pretty hard for me to say no when people ask me to do something, and I was there to help.

So I get to the church and use the bathroom there.  Then I try to find a hymnal.  There are three or four on the bookshelf in the back of the sanctuary.  I chose the familiar looking one, even though it’s mostly Chinese.  Maybe some hymns have Malay translations.  I find each of the five hymns and start playing.  They don’t quite seem right.  A man shows up with a list of the hymns and the names don’t match.  We realize I have the wrong hymnal.  Perfect.

It’s now 7:45 and I start sight-reading through five unfamiliar hymns with words only in Malay.  I’m crabby, hungry, feeling pretty grimy, and not really sure what I am supposed to do.  When do I play prelude?  How long?  There’s no bulletin?  How will I know when and what to play?

I’ve played enough church services in the States to know how things work, and have a routine with new churches.  I ask the pastor some questions about hymn introductions, prelude, offering, communion and then look through the bulletin very closely.  How can I function when my brain isn’t working fast enough to process a Malay conversation and there’s no bulletin?

The pastors, a very nice Chinese couple, come in and inform me I need to play the prelude after the bell rings.  One question answered.  The bells rings and I start the prelude Pastor Lucy requested I play, a relatively difficult hymn arrangement I usually avoid.  Less than half way through, the leader begins to speak, welcoming everyone to church.  Surprised, I find a chord to end on and quickly stop.  Lesson learned:  keep it short. 

As the service proceeds I only manage to make one large timing error, starting a hymn during what I think is the Apostle’s Creed.   Instead of celebrating the accomplishment of only one mistake in half a service I mostly don’t understand, I am more crabby and upset.  And then comes the sermon.   Thankfully the piano bench is against the wall, so I can sit back and just relax. 

Pastor Lucy begins to talk about Mary and four characteristics she has.  I can’t remember them all, but I do know the second one was a humble, willing heart.   As I relax behind the piano, not trying to understand, I hear my name.   And my brain kicks into gear. I realize I am an example in the sermon.  Yes, Pastor Lucy used me as an example of somebody with a heart willing and open to serve when asked.   Reality check.

I suddenly become more attentive.  More aware that this might be the first and only time a white person who can speak a little Malay plays piano for their service, and that my crabby attitude at the piano in the front of the room, is probably obvious to the people in the very last pew. 

In my head I laughed at the irony of it all.  Here I am musically accompanying a church congregation who has let me walk alongside them (accompany them)  in their daily meetings, practices and gatherings for four days.  Who has invited me to accompany them by sharing the gift I have been given in so many different ways.   And I was crabby, simply because I hadn’t eaten, didn’t get to wash my face in the morning and didn’t have any details about or control over the service I was leading.

I am learning I have very little control in accompaniment.   The only requirement is a humble and willing heart, somebody willing to share their life with me, and the mysterious work of the Holy Spirit to bring us together. 

New Songs

“Sing to the LORD a new song.”

Psalm 96:1

I prefer to sing old songs – my favorite ones that are a part of who I am.  The ones that hold memories of good times and relationships with people who mean so much to me.   Even now, as I write this I’m listening to the familiar Maslanka 9, reminding me of people and experiences so close to my heart.  The old songs give me a sense of everything God placed in my life to prepare me to be right here right now.

And perhaps it is human nature to gravitate towards the songs we know how to sing.  The ones that make us feel content, at home.  The ones we know all the words to and can’t possible mess up.  But what happens to our hearts when we don’t worship the Lord in new ways?  What happens when we only sing the songs we know make our hearts content?  When those songs become stale, boring, meaningless? 

This past week YAGM Malaysia was on retreat in Singapore and Kuala Lumpur.  For church on Sunday morning we went to Queenstown Lutheran Church.  We walked in during a quiet organ prelude, and as the service continued, we sang familiar hymns and traditional liturgy with an organist.  It was almost as if I was back at my home church, or sitting in the band at Boe Chapel while the brass added fanfare to “This is the Feast.”  In the states, growing up, the liturgy was boring, making the churches services too long.  It was a collection of old songs I was proud to sing from memory at a young age. 

However, in Singapore the liturgy was a new song.  A breath of fresh air in the huge variety of Malaysian worship experiences.  Because here in Malaysia, there is no such thing as a typical worship service.  Most Sundays in Tuaran, it’s just Jireh Home and another family or two at the little church building where the Bahasa Melayu congregation worships.  Our kids lead the songs and psalm reading at the beginning of the service and a pastor preaches.   Far from typical, this past Sunday, we went to a 45^th anniversary celebration of the Anglican Church Tuaran, featuring dancers with tambourines and flags at the front of the crowded sanctuary while we sang.  The BCCM, our partner church in Sabah, 130^th anniversary celebration was another example of diverse worship.  All of the YAGMs went before our retreat and the ceremony featured speeches, many different song/dance presentations and a large section of traditional dancing to modern praise music.  Sing to the Lord a new song. 

So I am here, literally learning new songs in new languages (or making up what I think the words are – I’m particularly good at Chinese songs….).  And I wonder if I am actually singing a new song, or just mimicking my friends around me?  Are my new songs full of worship or an attempt at survival in an unknown church culture?

 My life here is completely different.  As I figure out who I am here, who God has made me to be in this place, I am working to sing a new song with my life.  A song based on old melodies and familiar harmonies with completely different musicians.  It’s a song of community, relationships, love and exploring life together.  A song of complete praise and thanks to the God who connects us all.  

Bus Connections

As I become slightly more competent in both cultural norms and my Malay skills, I have been taking the opportunity to venture on my own to pekan (town).  To get to pekan, I could take the 45 minute walk, which would be less than pleasant in the morning heat, ride my mostly broken bike, or ask to see when people at Jireh Home are going.   But instead I've been taking the bus in from the bus stop very close to my house, as I did a couple of times with Lebiana and Kisa when I first got to Jireh Home.

Bus is a liberal description of the transport I normally receive.  Instead of the color coded minibuses in KK or the large coach buses that take people across Sabah, my bus is whatever car or van stops to pick me up.   One time, a neighbor picked me up as I was walking to the bus stop.  We had a very nice conversation in English and she dropped me off with a promise to pick me up again sometime.  This would never be okay in the States.  But stranger danger is definitely not a thing here.  So I sit at the bus stop and wait.  Sometimes I wait for 2 minutes and sometimes I wait for 15 or 20 minutes.  As a result, I've gotten pretty good at the snake game on my handphone.  But eventually a van will flash its lights, I'll stand up and squeeze  past the few other people into the back row.

If I get enough stares from the person sitting next to me (likely as I am very white here), I'll ask, "Apa Khabar?" (How are you?) And if they continue the conversation, we talk about what I am doing here, how long I've been here and where I'm from.  Usually my new friend will tell me I am incredibly clever to speak Malay at least twice in the conversation, which is a nice constant self-esteem boost.  By the time we reach town we part and will likely run into each other again sometime.

However, my favorite part of taking the bus is the ride home.  The vans to my part of Tuaran leave from in front of a little convenience store, where the drivers and other locals sit and chat.  People looking to ride the van stand around and chat as well, because the van won't leave until it is full.  This past week, one of the drivers recognized me and asked if I wanted to go to Jireh Home.  I told him I was actually going to rumah saya (my house), which was before Taman Sinar Jaya (Jireh Home's subdivision),  by the rumah biru (blue house, an incredibly helpful landmark for my dirt road home).  And then I got in the van and waited.  Even though it was hotter in the bus, I didn't want to miss the unspoken signal to get in.

A couple of minutes later, a lady and her four year old daughter sat next to me and we started talking about her daughter and our lives.  It was a simple conversation, but it was all in Malay and easier for me than I expected.  When the van stopped at her house, she to me to come to her house if I ever need help, then followed her running daughter down their driveway.

And that is why I love the bus.  Because it is another way to be connected in town, to learn about life in Malaysia outside of Jireh Home, to recognize faces in the community.  It's likely I won't see that particular woman and her adorable daughter for a while, but the fact that they were brave enough to engage in conversation with the clear foreigner made my day.  And if I do ever need help along the road home, I know exactly where do stop.

Sabah, where the sweat confuses the tears

We were hiking up the stairs to STS.  It was towards the end of orientation, and we were talking about Agnes Newton Keith's books about Sabah.  The first book in the series is called,  The Land Below the Wind, a description of Sabah still commonly used.  As we made it to the top the stairs very hot, sweaty and tired, Ashley thought, "Sabah, where the sweat confuses the tears," was a more appropriate description.   While it might seem a little intense, its something I've been thinking about the past few weeks.

Two weeks ago on Friday, I took an adventure to the secondary school.  As per usual, I had no idea where I was going or why, but I was told to be ready around 7:30.  So the staff picked me up and we went to the secondary school for what I found out was a ceremony to wish the Form 3 (maybe about 9th grade in the states) students taking the PMR good luck.  From what I understand the PMR is a standardized test with results that affect the students' futures.  As we walked through the school complex, each of the kids from Jireh Home called out to me from their classrooms.  I'm sure they were incredibly disruptive, but the familiarity was wonderful.  We got to the room at least an hour early and sat to wait.  The ceremony included a speech from one of the Jireh Home boys, and concluded with all of the parents forming a line to shake each student's hand.  Somehow, I was the first female, and each girl took my hand, some pressing it to their foreheads, tears in their eyes.  Then the one girl from Jireh Home in Form 3 approached me sobbing and gave me a huge hug.  As my eyes filled with tears for her and her incredibly stressed classmates, I was grateful for the sweat dripping down my face, confusing the sympathetic tears. 

The next night, Jireh Home had a farewell dinner for Brother Pascal, the Swiss volunteer who has been here for nine months.  The girls and boys each presented entertainment in the form of songs or dances  and then some students shared impromtu thank you speeches in English.  One boy could quite articulate his thoughts and just said thanks and hurried across the room for a hug.  A couple of the girls choked back tears.  Once again, I was thankful for the constant sweat to confuse the tears that wouldn't stay away. 

And last week Tuesday, Brother Pascal, my guide for my first month here left for the airport.  He came in and gave each girl a hug, many two, and walked across the street to the boys house, ready to leave.  The girls followed slowly. Everyone cried.  The older girls kept an arm around the younger girls, who didn't care to be tough, to hold back their emotions.  It will be hard for me to forget the sound of the youngest girl's sobs as she walked home across the street, led by one of her sisters here. That afternoon, there was no need for the sweat to confuse the tears, as we already felt Brother Pascal's absence. 

As often as I try to hide my tears, afraid to be lumped as in the same category as  my lovely mom, who cries at everything,  I am grateful for the emotion.  I am thankful I am feeling, beginning to understand deeper cultural practices, and sympathizing with the daily life of the kids, each of whom has an experience that runs much deeper than the smiles, games and silly broken conversations in Manglish.  And as I watched the kids say goodbye to Brother Pascal, the sweat confusing the threat of tears, I felt so blessed to have about ten more months to get to know each of them and this place in a more meaningful way.

Circles

It was almost 10 pm.  I was exhausted and hid in the living room from the girls who were diligently studying in the dining room playing FlowFree on my iPod.  Lillyiana (one of the younger girls) came to help me play, frequently making things worse.  But just like everyone else she needs love, needs someone to want her, to choose to spend time with her.

It had been a long, full day.  My morning routine with an empty house was thrown off by Pastor Repeih's day off.  I was tired after a wonderful weekend in KK with the YAGMS, and spent the morning of preparing a likely overly ambitious week of English lessons and chatting with Pascal.  The afternoon included a ride into Tuaran, the expected English class, and a jog with the girls to the falling apart playground at the entrance to the subdivision.  After playing silly games on the see-saw and being pushed on the swing by one of the younger girls, Kisa and I talked about boys and relationships while the girls went home to shower before dinner.  After dinner Lebiana gave me a back rub and we discussed body image and then I laid on the floor with Kisa, discussing the finer details of English grammar as the Jireh Home orchestra rehearsed outside.  So many activities, so much love, so much sharing.

But then the long day didn't matter anymore.  The girls began to sleepily fill the living room and we sat on the floor in a circle.  Pastor Repeih talked to them in Malay, telling them to keep studying, to keep trying hard.  I had the opportunity to make an announcement and declined.  Then the girls sang and we joined hands to pray, my fingers intertwined with the tiny delicate hand of Sufiana and the sure hand of Ratiah, who leaned her head, exhausted and heavy on my shoulder.

We prayed out loud all at once, my English murmurs hidden yet intertwined with the girl's prayers in Malay.  After a while we feel silent while Pastor Repeih finished.  Lissa began Doa Bapa Kami (the Lord's Prayer) and we were done.  The girls headed upstairs to bed with sincere wishes of "sleep tight" and "goodnight Sister Kelly."  I promised Sufiana I would go jogging with her the next morning at 6:15 and followed Pastor Repeih home, still dazed from such pure love, the complete acceptance of a circle of people, each with hard stories and different experiences, joined together in prayer.

All I could do was thank God for the small hands to keep me grounded as I experienced something so much larger than myself.

Observing Daily Life

"I applied my heart to what I observed and learned a lesson from what I saw." 

Proverbs 24:32

How often do you simply observe?  Can you say that in your day, you can remember a specific detail and describe it without placing your natural biases?  What do you do with observations?  

Everyday at Jireh Home is something different.  I know that every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday I will teach an hour of English, either to primary school students or secondary school students.  The rest of my time I originally considered time to support the staff and students with the things I can give.  My observations, however, have been teaching me otherwise.  

In class,  I see smiling faces, blank stares into space, girls, boys, young and old, eager and bored students in both classes.  I hear the calls of "Saya, saya (me, me)" of one student ready to answer, the giggles as I mistakenly switched two boys names for the whole class without knowing it, the constant refrains of various pop songs with not quite perfect lyrics, and excited cries of "Go Fish," one of the kid's favorite games from brother Jacob three years ago.  

I hear the horses who belong to our neighbors, the crickets and frogs in the yard,  the constant Malay around the house that I can almost understand.  I taste rice, sour/spicy mango mix my friend Lebiana made for dinner, chicken cooked with the bones in, small, whole fried fish, lots of Milo, and a little bit of peanut butter as a daily reminder of home.  

I smell the water that builds up in the gutters after the daily rain, the fried eggs we had for dinner last night, the swamp-like puddles in our dirt road driveway as I walk home.  I feel the mud squish under my feet, the hands of the younger girls as we walk around the block before dinner, hugs from the girls, the flower I was given before I went home today, the cool breeze from the fan in the living room and the constant stares from curious people in town.  

And those observations barely scratch the surface.  I also see 31 kids of all ages from incredibly different and likely what we would consider "tough" backgrounds take care of each other.  I watch them work together to ensure the house is clean, sing songs in Chinese, Malay or English for visitors, do each other's hair, race down the street in the neighborhood, find puppies in the field across the street, boss each other around, fight, and share chairs when there are so many available less then ten steps away.  I laugh as the younger girls quickly do as the older ones ask, bringing them their backpacks, pouring their tea for minum patang (afternoon drink), and moving if they occupy a desirable location.   I see the some of the older students in class I (primary school English I teach) sitting at the table with the younger ones, mostly helping them understand.   I watch as the younger girls protectively bonded around one of their roommates who was having a rough week;  as the older girls gathered to talk, debrief, gossip and giggle in rapid Malay during their evening free time.  And I hear so many welcoming and inviting calls of Sister, that sometimes I forget my name is actually Kelly. 

I am included in this community, this place where people take care of each other simply because that is what they do.  The kids offer me their loot from town, chopped mango with some sort of sauce that makes it quite sour or even spicy.  They constantly include me in their games, trying not to laugh too hard as I clumsily jump over a knee high rope they gracefully leap when its higher than their heads.  The girls make my normally boring ponytail into something exciting, and consider it a treat to have me sit at the table with them while they study.  The boys gently kick the soccer ball my way after showing off and are patient enough to explain the basic rules of takraw (volleyball using only your feet  and head).  And the staff spoil me completely, almost always serving me food, constantly checking to see if I am hungry, thirsty or tired, doing my laundry for me during my first week there, and buying me things from favorite places in Tuaran.  In return, I don't laugh with them when they make fun of the habits I didn't know I had - the noises I make when I understand, the face I make when I'm confused, my incredibly short, bitten finger nails, and my constant inability to get out of bed at normal Sabah time (6 am) to go jogging with Pastor Repeih.    

The acceptance, love and care of in this place forms the truest sense of community, a real and unique family.  I have been learning that in community, sometimes it is best to receive rather than give, to do nothing rather than help, and to be taught rather than teach.    

Beauty

"It is sunset now, and there is nothing left in the world but beauty.  I am too small for such beauty.  I only know that I give thanks to the blazing, clouded sky, the tossed up black tropical islands, and the oily, resting seas for existing until I could see them.  There is nothing in me great enough for this, but all of me that is gives thanks"

written about Sabah from Land Below the Wind by Agnes Newton Keith


Last week Sunday, I was the last of our YAGM group to leave STS.  Rommy, the driver here at Jireh Home came to get me and my excessive amount of luggage around 6 and we drove the 45 minutes to Tuaran discussing families, jobs and favorite things using the vocabulary we have in common.  As we approached my new home, the sun was setting, casting vivid colors over the green, lush landscape.  I stared in awe at the beauty of this place that is my home.

Some of the primary school students had a short holiday Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and invited me to go jogging with them Wednesday morning at 6 am.  As we have been constantly encouraged to say yes to every invitation, I set my alarm and got up with Pastor Repeih (the woman I am living with who also works at Jireh Home), and took a leisurely jog/walk to the house to meet the four young girls.  Pastor Repeih pointed to our left and said Kinabalu, and there it was, Mt. Kinabalu, looming in the distance.   Majestic, but hidden during the day.   I stared in awe at the beauty of this place that is my home.

This past Sunday was Malaysia Day.  Pastor Repeih invited me to go to KK for a thing that afternoon.  I was tired, overwhelmed by constant Malay and was hoping to taking the afternoon to myself, alone, likely on the internet.  But I said yes, it was an invitation.  Driving back to KK, I was thrilled to be going somewhere, excited to possibly see other YAGMs, and completely clueless about what was going on.  We sat in the stadium in KK having arrived almost 2 hours early as the sun shone through the clouds a little too much for comfort.  What once was an empty stadium, was suddenly filled with Malaysian Christians, who came to bless the nation in their year of jubilee.  The sun set over the mountains during the presentation of many different types of cultural dances, giving the celebrations a gorgeous background.  Then at exactly 7, they (so so many people) blew the Shofars (ram's horns) to welcome in the Spirit and the worship began.  I was overwhelmed by the commotion, the passionate and joyful worship featuring dancers with flags and tambourines, about 100 Malaysian flags, and at least 100 Sabah Flags.  The mayor of KK lead the blessing of the nation with over 100 of the city's pastors and people flooded the field, united together to pray.  As I watched, I stood in awe at the beauty of this place, the richness of its traditions and faith, the passion and pride of its people.

This is my home.

Exhaustion and Amazement

Sunday morning I stood and sang as the mostly Chinese congregation clapped with seemingly no sense of time in worship.  The music was surprising familiar, a welcomed comfort after two weeks of complete unknown.

It turns out, adjusting is hard.  Adjusting is accepting the insecurity that we know nothing.  Its acknowledging that we have no idea where we are going to eat, how to get around town, what people are saying almost all the time, and that everything we wear and do may be violating so many unwritten, cultural norms.  Its hard not to be paralyzed by this insecurity.  Hard to constantly observe people in a non-creepy way.  Hard to let the observations stay neutral observations while trying to figure out how I fit into this place.  Hard to not be right, or even to not know what is right in most every situation. Its an exhausting process.

Opposing that exhaustion is amazement at so many small surprises.  It's the shock on the local waitress's face as I manage to properly eat a full Chinese meal using chopsticks with my site supervisor; the excitement of the doorwomen as I say a simple, "Terima Kasih, Selemat malam," leaving a restaurant; the laughter of a Malaysian peer at the mall as I ask "Di mana Food Court?" covered in sweat after spending four hours wandering through KK.  I'm amazed at the beauty of the island beaches, towering lush mountains, and the fog and clouds that roll in before a heavy rain.  The teen who translated the entire service for us at a Malay speaking church and then took us to lunch and out for ice cream just because.  I'm amazed by the market vendors who struggled with us in Malay, working together to lean more about each other. The joy of delicious steamed chocolate cake from our incredibly loving language teacher, Ibu Laura, and the constant welcome and blessings from the students at STS, despite the fact we likely did so many things wrong.  And I'm amazed at the seven other young adults willing to be grown, change and molded by this place and the support, guidance and love of Peter, our country coordinator.

And now, I am finally here, at my site.  Despite only spending a full day here, I continue to be amazed.   Amazed by the openness and excitement of the people who were once mystery friends. Amazed by the staff at Jireh Home who encourage me constantly to not be shy, while sharing their lives and daily routine with me, despite desperately missing last year's volunteer.  I am amazed by the 31 students who live there, giving me little hugs each time they pass by and eagerly helping me learn more Malay.

As I reflect on these small surprises, I know God is the source of all of my amazement, the reason I am here.  The constant in my world that is currently very much so upside down and backwards from what it would be if I had simply went straight to graduate school.   So my prayer this morning as I continue the exhausting process of adjustment and observation is Psalm 62:5-6,

"Yes, my soul, find rest in God; 

my hope comes from him.

Truly he is my rock and my salvation; 

he is my fortress, I will not be shaken." 

I am praying that as this places completely shakes my world view, I am able to continue to find strength, courage and grounding in God's grace and love.    

Home?

Last week Wednesday my orientation roommates and I dragged our bags around the corner to the next dorm over on a sleepy U of Chicago campus. We left our bags outside with some of the group already there and went to turn in our keys.  This simple task defined my day as the lady at the front desk said, "Have a safe trip home." My breath caught in my chest as I mumbled thanks and hurried outside where we began to laugh, which seems to be the easiest response to all things overwhelming.

We left the country last week for a completely differet home.  Our eighteen hours on a plane did not bring us to the familiar, comfortable known place that formed us in many different ways.  Instead our day of travel brought us to the complete unknown of the North Coast of Borneo.  The past week of orientation has been full of laughter as we navigate the unfamilar: trying to eat rice with chopsticks, learning Malay, handwashing our laundry with a little too much soap,  and chilling at the base of the mountain. Aside from the laughter, we have also started discussing what it means to be associated with the Christian church in a Muslim country, how the Malaysian government interacts and regulates religion, and how that affects the many different ethnic groups who call Malaysia home.

Amongst the deep conversations on our orientation mini-retreat we've also been spending the mornings hiking through the jungle at the base of Mt. Kinabalu, which was an incredible adventure. On our way up to the mountains we stopped for lunch in Tuaran, the town I will be placed in, for the local noodle dish. Catching a brief glimpse of the place I hope to call home for a year allowed me to remember that perhaps home actually is where  the heart is. Maybe my trip home is more of an ongoing search to find myself amoung the others of rich and complex new communities.

Radical Love

I gave the sermon this past week at my home church and a couple of people asked if I would have it somewhere - so here it is!

As you have likely heard I am preparing to spend a full year in Malaysia with the program Young Adults in Global missions, which we call YAGM.  What is YAGM?   Its a group of 57 young adults going out to accompany the local people.  As a pianist I am used to accompanying people.  Whether it be the picky soloist or the sleepy congregation, I have learned much from my musical accompaniment, working to listen attentively, adjust quickly and humble myself completely to the whims and desires of a different person.   Accompaniment as a model of mission focuses on walking alongside the people we are serving.  Similar to musical accompaniment, I will be learning to open my heart and listen fully in a different culture, adjusting and humbling myself to new perspectives and a completely different way of life.    The ELCA's mission model of accompaniment removes the line between "us" and "them" in order to more fully serve the local community exactly where they are...

...  I will be working at Jireh Home.   Jireh home is a children's home for kids from rural and impoverished parts of Malaysia without access to education in their villages.  The kids come to live at Jireh Home and go to school in Tuaran.  My job then is to provide after school mentoring with some conversational english tutoring.  But most importantly my job is to love.  

Saying that my most important job for a year is to love some likely adorable children in tropical Malaysia seems like a pretty good deal.  But I've spent a lot of time this past year thinking about what it means to love as Christ calls us.  The reading from 1 John 4:7 says, "This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his  Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins."   In John 15:13, Jesus says, "No greater love has one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends."  In order to love we are told to lay down our lives, to give completely of ourselves for someone else's benefit. Basing our concept of love on Jesus' sacrifice  is radical, completely countercultural.  

As I worked to love radically on campus this past year, I found myself consistently drained, constantly frustrated and honestly a little bitter.  How can I keep loving the person who doesn't respond or reciprocate?  The friend who only knows how to complain about every possible thing?   How can I love the people who walk too slow when I'm late, who don't listen to or follow directions, who are just plain annoying seemingly all the time?  As I became more and more exhausted I started to wonder how I could love myself when I apparently couldn't love anybody else.    And it was then, that I read a devotional on Matthew 5: 14-16.  The verses read “You are the light of the world.  A city on a hill cannot be hidden.  Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl.  Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”  And the commentary on the verse reminded me that it is absolutely impossible for a lamp to shine if it is not plugged in. As imperfect humans, we can not shine for Christ without a direct connection.  I cannot shine by loving radically if I am not plugged in to God’s love.  I’ve learned that plugging in for me means spending time with God, in his word.  Without that, I have no energy source, nothing to drive me or refill me.  Without the radical love of the Father, I am useless in loving others.  

But just because I feel God’s love the most while spending quiet time with Him, doesn’t mean that is how you experience God and are most effectively in relationship with Him.  And I challenge you to think about when you feel most connected with God and make that thing a priority at least once this week.  Perhaps it is going for a run, allowing your thoughts and prayers to drive your feet.  It could be listening to or playing music that resonates deeply, talking  with a friend or family member who knows your heart, or reading the Bible or a thought provoking book.  And if what you try doesn’t work, pick something else for the next time, whether it be the next day or the next week.   I truely believe it’s important to understand how you feel the closest to God, to be plugged into His powerful love in order to love radically as we are called.  

In the process of becoming plugged into God’s love, It took me quite a while to realize how much He actually loves me, a fact I’ve known since I was tiny.  Jesus loves me was probably the first song I could sing.  However, it is one thing to know you are loved and another to comprehend and feel that love.  But once you do, there is nothing more to do than to shine, sharing it with every person you encounter.  When I started to understand that the of the creator of the world loved me because of the things I considered my fears, failures and insecurities, I began to understand how to love others for exactly who they were. Understanding and accepting where others are in their lives made it easier for me to love them radically.  As I began to walk deeper into real and honest relationships, I realized it was much harder for me to receive love than to share love.  It is so much easier for me to notice when other people need encouragement or care than it is for me to be completely vulnerable.  And as I spend the year accompanying the Malaysian people, I expect I will learn exactly what it means to be loved in places of vulnerability.   

I am leaving a a week for a country I know very little about.  I know one phrase in Malay from emails from my country coordinator, but I don’t know what it actually means.  I am certain I am going to need a lot of help from my team, the staff at the Jireh Home, and likely the children I am serving in order to function in Malaysia.  But in order to get help, I will have to ask.  As I learn the language and various cultural and societal norms, I have to be open in vulnerability and joyful in humility, realizing that growth happens exponentially when you are uncomfortable.

I am going to Malaysia for the year to love radically.  But you don’t have to travel to a developing country to shine with God’s radical love. There are people everywhere, likely many in your life that need radical love more than ever.

I wasn’t planning on going abroad to serve. Taking a year off was not in my plans. Living or studying abroad was something I would have liked to do, but not high priority.  It was a something completely in God’s hands that came up last fall, after finishing the grad school application process. It was something I ignored until God had put so many things in my way I couldn’t ignore it anymore.  Then there were so many reasons not to go – to miss a year seems like so long, with so many things happening in my family and friend’s lives.  Despite all of the reasons to not go, I knew it was where I was supposed to be, something I had to do.  At that point, I was excited to feel so passionately called to something.  However, when I started hearing back from grad schools about interviews and offers, the once intense pull I felt towards serving abroad decreased significantly.   After all, I had a plan, it was working out and I knew I could serve by loving at any of the grad schools I was interviewing at.  Was it necessary to go abroad when I am certain there are plenty of people doing nerdy science that have never experienced radical love?    But in my prayer time, I realized I needed to completely accept God's love and learn learn to be vulnerable and accept love from other people.   And it is in service and vulnerability that we learn to humble ourselves, letting God open and mold our hearts to the needs of a community.  It is in that relationship with new communities we are stretched and changed and grown to be more like the person God created us to be.  It is in loving radically that we see God in others and shine brightly for him.  For me, without taking the risk of the complete unknown, I could have maintained a lot fo control in my life.  But surrendering that control has already been an amazing process.

So my challenge for you is to be constantly plugged in.  Then love radically.  Love radically in your home.  Love radically at work.  Love radically at church, in your neighborhood and to those people who seem more annoying than describable.   I am spending a year in Malaysia, living to love radically and to be loved in vulnerability.  I pray you are able to spend your year plugged in, loving radically in your communities because He first loved us.   

The Adventure Begins

As you may know, I am spending this next year in Malaysia with the ELCA's program Young Adults in Global Mission (YAGM). The YAGM program sends young adults (19-29) to nine different countries across the globe as missionaries to accompany the community they are serving for a full year in their life.  Accompanying means walking alongside the community, learning, growing and loving with them.   I am excited to serve at Jireh Home in Tuaran, in the state of Sabah.  I am doing after school mentoring for the kids who live there, tutoring conversational english and possibly music and/or science. 

YAGM orientation in Chicago begins on August 15th, and we depart for our countries on August 22.  After arrival in Malaysia we will have about two weeks of orientation as a group (there are eight of us) before going to our placement sites!  As the summer quickly comes to a close, I am thankful for the time I've had at home this summer and the ability that gave me to visit with so many friends in so many different places.