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.