The Big Move

 Sometimes I get stuck in my constant need for comfort.  And for me, that doesn’t necessarily mean having material things, it means that feeling that you know what’s going on.  I honestly have no idea what it means that I need comfort, but end up doing things like spending a year in Malaysia and planning to move to the east coast for grad school.  I guess that just goes to show how awesome God is, and how much bigger my life is than myself.

So.  I’ve been thinking about my need for comfort and stability lately, because of the big move.  Pastor and I moved from our little country houseto a big house down the street from Jireh Home.  And for me, the process was essentially the five stages of grief compressed into a week.  Once we finally got the keys, I assumed we would have a month – things move slowly here.  I didn’t pack until I absolutely had to, and made sure each of the staff knew how crabby and angsty I felt about the big move.

From my previous point of view, I was leaving my safe space for the past eight months.  The place I could do my really weird American things like watch lots of TV shows and laugh loudly to myself.  My walls were filled with cards, pictures and quality drawings from my non-artistic friends.  Our landlord updated my bed from a mattress on wood to two real twin beds.  IT HAD AIR CON.

Everyone kept telling me the big move was worth it because we would be closer to Jireh Home.  My angsty self was not so happy about that.  I absolutely love my kids, but if they have constant access to my house all the time (the Jireh Home library is on the ground floor and we live upstairs), where is my precious space?

As I was mopeing around, one of my friends told me to get it together because he was going to come help me move my stuff in the afternoon.  And after two weeks I will admit that I do in fact, love my new house.  Yeap.  I spent a week worrying, another week being angsty and a morning packing angrily and I love it.  Except the lack of the instant cool of the air con.  Memang panas (hot).

The big move was good for me.  As much as I love comfort and stability, the new house forced me to re-evaluate my habits and routines here.  It forced growth in a place I thought I had already grown into.  Why was I so crabby about the situation, so afraid to grow?  I don’t know.  I guess I like to rest in the things I know.  But maybe sometimes, those known things, the comfort of routines, air con and space, completely block out God.  Instead of resting in only God’s grace, I rested in the comfort of routines and organization, predictable children and good friends.  Through the big move, I’m learning that the real excitement comes from trusting in the unknown constant of grace and love.   

Rotten Bananas

Last weekend, I went to Tamu (the market) after church with two of my friends.  We had dropped two of the boys off to buy shoes, and while we waited for them, we walked through Tamu.  While there is a market everyday in town, the Sunday market is my favorite.  As we walked, we sipped fresh sugar cane juice and I asked questions.   We didn’t buy much, as we eat most of our meals at Jireh Home, but my housemate bought some really brown bananas.  I smiled and laughed to myself.  Sometimes people here do the strangest things. 

That afternoon, my housemate left to spend the night with her sister.  So the bananas sat, getting older and older by the second.  I was honestly a little afraid to touch them, assuming they were too soft to open.  I didn’t really want to deal with the mess of squished banana all over the table.  But come Monday morning, I knew I should at least eat one.  My housemate clearly intended to share the bananas, and I had clearly spent the last 12 hours not eating them.  

So I grabbed one off the bunch before walking to work.  And as I peeled back the nasty brown skin, there was not a single bruise on the inside.  Of course it was perfectly sweet and delicious.  This time I laughed out loud.  Who am I to question the local fruit? Since when do I know anything about buying fresh things from the market?  Of course my housemate knew what she was doing.

The rest of the day, I couldn’t help but contemplate the problem of the seemingly rotten bananas and my inability to trust my housemate’s judgment.   Easter has come and gone with little celebration.  Our Easter church service was nothing special.  Nobody dressed up.  There was no extra music, no extra food, no family gatherings.  While we didn’t celebrate, I have been thinking a lot about transformation.  About the transformation of death into life, of the hopeless people into people of hope, of all things ugly into unique beauty.  And I thought I understood.  I thought I was making progress.  The list of things I am thankful for grows daily, filling itself with the moments I smile and the moments I sigh with frustration.  I trust that God is using all things for his plan, and that His grace is in all things, especially the moments where I feel I am in over my head.

But then I avoided the bananas because they were ugly, because they looked bruised and brown, inedible.  Because I didn’t trust that my housemate would pick out good things for us to eat.  Sometimes reality checks come from unexpected places.  And I am thankful that as I continue to grow here, learning to trust in thanksgiving, I am walking with a community who constantly reminds me how valued I am and a God who always gives incredible gifts of grace.  

Bopping through Sabah

Mt. Kinabalu over the rice paddies in Kota Belud on the road north to Kudat

One of my favorite things to do here is ride along with my friends to go places.  In most places, you would say, “go for a drive.”  But here I like to think of it as bopping through Sabah.  For me, driving evokes images of mostly up-kept, two lane highways, and a consistent speed.   But even the main roads between major cities in Sabah, the roads are mostly two lanes of questionable condition through the mountains.    And the road is lined with little Kampungs (villages) every now and then, which means groups of school children walk home; pick up trucks full of people stop like buses; and large farm animals graze the grass next to the road.  But it also means that semi-trucks with gas, or other materials are trucking slowly up and down the hills.

And so yesterday, I bopped north through Sabah to take one of my friends and her niece and nephew to the boat launch in Kudat to return to Kampung for a funeral.  We were in a hurry, trying to get them there before the last ferry left.  But you can’t really bop through the mountains of Sabah quickly.  There was the jam at one major roundabout, the line of cars behind the semi attempting to make it up the mountain, the seemingly endless spots of broken road that forced us to slow down.  And at some points, Sufiana, one of our youngest girls, and I were literally bopping.  Sitting just in front of the back wheels, every time we hit any sort of pothole, we flew.   We didn't make the ferry, but some other family members where there to greet us and spend the night to wait for the next morning's early ferry. 

We took our time on our way home.  And sitting in the front seat, it was amazing how much smoother the ride was.  But part of the beauty of bopping through Sabah is the time spent together in the car.  It took us around 6 hours to get to Kudat and back, and sitting with the same people in the car for that long forces conversation.  I gained courage as time past, asking more meaningful questions, learning more and more about life here and sharing more and more about life in the States.   Perhaps there is something holy about time separated from the rest of the world?  Something holy about broken people driving along broken roads, healing together in real, honest and challenging conversations. 

Productivity?

Its amazing how little work I do when I go to work.  Most Mondays, I start the morning off at Jireh Home around 9:30 with a list of things I need to do for the week.  First I list the people I should respond to for letters/emails, which is getting quite long.  Then I normally make a shopping list of things I need to buy in town – usually peanut butter, maybe some stamps, bread if I’m feeling ambitious.  After the things I need, I go over English plans, and figure out what work I need to do for that.   Normally I’m a few days ahead for English class, so by the time I’m done with my need for control, one of my friends on staff will invite me to do something.

So I spend the rest of the morning usually lying on the ground in the living room watching some sort of movie, playing scrabble, or just sitting.  Yeap.  I go to work to lay on the floor for at least two hours before someone decides they are hungry.  And then after lunch we sleep for an hour before English class.  And I always pull out my notebook or a book to pretend I am going to write a letter, or postcards, or read deep, intelligent things.  But I never do any of that.  Instead I am just surprisingly present in the moment. 

I always tell myself I will get stuff ready to go to town early in the week.  I will have the English papers ready to copy, the letters/postcards addressed and stamped, the shopping list finalized and memorized, the pizza hut coupon secure in my wallet.   But when my friends decide they need to go to town, nothing is ever ready.  I just grab some money and follow them, eager to see where we end up.

Yesterday, when I was hoping to plan most of next week’s English class, I took a detour to town and we spent an hour hanging out at KFC, eating so much really good fried chicken, singing to music from my friend’s fancy new phone, and laughing so much.  Nothing got checked off of my list.  But we laughed, giggled, talked about boys and had fun.  Perhaps productivity has nothing to do with the number of things you check off your list. 

Here in Sabah, I don’t worry about the things I am supposed to be doing.  I don’t worry about the letters I don’t write, the birthday postcards that are literally two months late, the English class planned with no details.   And I’m learning that’s okay. I’m learning that my best English classes happen when I read the kid’s moods and plan while we correct homework.  I’m learning that everyone back home still loves me despite the constant lack of communication.   And I’m learning that living a full life has nothing to do with checking things off a full list.  I’m learning to let go of all control of my day.  Learning that it is best to leave the details to the One who always knows what is best for me.

Broken

Sometimes I forget the kids have a past.  I forget they aren't all smiles and hugs.  That their families, teachers and Kampungs may have hurt them.  And its when I learned how true this is for two members of my family here, my heart broke.  Literally shattered in two pieces, or maybe even just a million little fragments.

I know the real stories of two people of the forty at Jireh Home.  Of the things that  haunt their hearts   And it was something I wanted to know.  One of my goals at the the beginning of the year was to hear each kid's story in whatever language they wanted to tell it in.  Knowing just two, that is the absolute last thing I want.   Perhaps ignorance is actually bliss.

This place, this home, this family, is a safe place.  The kids arrive here anonymous to each other.  For the young ones, maybe they can forget whatever may have scarred them amongst the love and camaraderie of a huge, inclusive, loving family.  The older ones, well I don't know.  Their problems manifest in the clothes they wear, the studying they don't do, the moodiness.

Some of the girls and I:  Broken souls healing together

To think that this could have happened, and probably did happen to more of the precious kids here.  That they could be so deeply scarred.  To think, to know that, just breaks my heart.  Into pieces.  And I pray that we can find grace together.  That somehow, we can find true peace and love together in God's daily gifts of joy.

I am learning wait patiently for the Holy Spirit to use that grace, peace and love we find together to sew our broken hearts and souls back together.

Chinese New Year - Gong Xi Fa Cai!

A traditional lion dance at one of the Chinese temples we vistied

My first ever Chinese New Year celebrations.  I wore my red dress, packed specifically for a holiday I knew nothing about.  And here I am, what seems like endless honey mandarins later and lots of angpau richer, finished with day 1 of two weeks of celebrations. 

Here in Sabah, Chinese New Year is bigger than Christmas.  Because my Western self didn't know what to look for, I had figured the completely red shops in the beginning of January were remnant of Christmas.  The lanterns everywhere were a nice touch of festiveness. 

And then I was informed by one of my kids that it was for Chinese New Year.  Duh. 

It was right after that when the kids started learning new Chinese songs,  and we had an afternoon of intense gotong-royong (team work - aka clean every inch of the property).  Then Jireh home was ready for the New Year.  

Angpau!

As visitors came for the holidays, we accumulated boxes and boxes of mandarin oranges, a sign of good fortune or prosperity or luck?  (I'm still unsure of the actual meaning of a lot of the traditions)  For a while, I ate at least four of them a day.  The visitors also brought angpau, which is money in a little red envelope given to single people/kids/elderly.  In a naive move, I tried to pass my first angpau to one of the kids who was still waiting to receive some.  They thought I was crazy and refused to accept.  While I definitely received a lot of angpau, the kids make bank over Chinese New Year and are so excited to go into town and spend some of it!

Then there was the reunion dinner.  I was invited to my neighbor's/landlord's house on New Year's Eve for what I thought was a party.  But instead it was just a dinner, where the whole family - all five of the grown children and thier kids had dinner.  But it was a feast.  The long table was full of traditional delicacies that I was given generous portions of.  I don't remember any names or descriptions, but I was pleasantly surprised at how good even the weirdest looking things were.  After crashing the famiy dinner, I pulled an orang putih (white person) and went to bed early, instead of staying up late with the neighbors.  I was exhausted because Jireh Home spent the day at the beach with a group of visitors. 

Beach day activities - Orang Sabah style introductions

I learned from one of the young men in the group that they all graduated from the same high school in KK, most of them in the same class.  Now they are from all over the region, but were home for the holidays and wanted to do some charity work.  So some how they found Jireh Home, and planned an elaborate morning of activities at the beach.  As the six groups of staff and students raced to complete all of the stations they set up around the beach, I got sunburned, making my face a seasonally appropriate shade of red...  But it was a really fun day.  We went back to Jireh Home for lunch together, ate KFC, sang and danced together.  If I'm not mistaken, some of the group even cried when they left.  I'm working on counting the visitors as the blessing they truly are for us here, instead of questioning their motives.  This beach day made that incredibly easy to do. 

Chinese New Year dinner with some of the girls

So on this, the first day of Chinese New Year, we (Jireh Home), were the guests of honor at a neighbor's house for dinner.  They served so many delicious things.  Buy my favorite by far was homemade pizza.  So we feasted in our best red clothes with new friends, looking forward to the next three days of school holidays.  

Kenapa dia mati?

Tuhan Yesus-kan?  Kenapa dia mati?

The question came from our youngest little girl, Vivi.  She has yet to start school due to some serious miscommunication problems with various schools in town.  So instead, she hangs out with us in the morning.  She is pure kid: pure joy, pure curiosity, and pure mayhem.  Its really easy to get frustrated with her – this is her first time out of her rural village and living with 34 siblings who love to pick on her is probably not the easiest.   But as annoying as her constant questions in Malay and constant need to touch me and anything I am doing, she is a breath of fresh air.

She’s not afraid to main bola (play soccer) with the younger boys, and is often found pushing them around.  She is blissfully ignorant, and for a while was convinced that our little town Tuaran was KK.  She still calls town “Tuaran KK”.  Goodness.

The arrival of new brothers and sisters has been a blessing.  With a new, younger headstrong student, Lillyana isn’t constantly being yelled at.  Instead, she is speaking lots of English, and doing things she is supposed to be doing.  And of course fighting with Vivi.  But the improvement in her English and especially her participation in class is incredible. 

That brings us back to Vivi’s question this morning.  “That’s Jesus right?   Why did he die?’  I was at a complete loss to answer in any sort of understandable Malay.  And English wasn’t an option.  So I said he died for everyone, and tried to say something about love, but I don’t know if I used the right word.  As per usual, she laughed loudly at my stammering, and Auntie called her into the kitchen to help.  Kenapa dia mati?  Dia mati untuk manusia kerana kasih.  He died for all humans because of love.    And I can’t get the question out of my mind.  Because Christianity, worship, and fellowship is such a huge part of Jireh Home, I assumed all of the kids already knew the basics.  Jesus died for me because he loves me.  He is God’s son sent to save us. 

In the gust of fresh air that is Vivi, I am reminded that Jesus is more than the basics, more than the answers to seemingly simple questions   That the gospel is confusing and complicated, hard to understand.  And I am reminded that my life is about embracing that mystery and living it out in every possible way.  Learning to understand that sacrificial love from a completely different context.