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. 

Grace

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about grace.  Its been an interesting week, full of changes as the kids start school.  And I’ve been exhausted, trying to process my time in Kampung (rural village) for Christmas and trying to plan a coherent English curriculum.  In the midst of everything going on in my head, I have made some considerable mistakes.   But in all of the moments I feel inadequate, my family here has showed me inordinate amounts of grace, showing me perhaps God’s hardest gift for me to receive.

So many little things go astray on a daily basis, mostly due to miscommunication.  And we’ve learned to laugh and move on, mutually improving our control of each other’s language.  But this week, for some reason, the mishaps on my part seemed unsurpassable.

On Thursday night, after singing pop songs with the kids for an hour and a half in English class, I was feeling mildly ignored during the evening exercise/play break.   So I figured it was probably best to go home and rest, instead of being crabby at Jireh Home.  On my walk home, I sent a text message to what was very obviously the wrong person – one of my friends on staff who had been pretty moody.  As I realized the error, I freaked out, but came up with an honest and polite explanation hoping to pacify things until we could talk Friday morning.  

The next morning, instead of things being strained and awkward as I expected, my friend told me why she was so moody and so many other things in her life she had been thinking about.  Instead of creating unnecessary tension, I received the most incredible grace, complete forgiveness and understanding and a deeper friendship.   And I had done absolutely nothing to deserve that, except make a mistake.

This past Saturday, we had some local visitors scheduled to come around 2 pm.  So the boys drifted over from their house across the street to the patio area where we gather around 2:30.  At maybe 3:15 some of the younger girls were sick of playing cards (speed has been the biggest hit here lately), and started running around the house.  So I decided we were going to play games.  In the midst of playing freeze tag I stepped in some dog poop in the yard from one of the many neighborhood dogs.   If it had been any of the kids who stepped in dog poop, we would still be laughing at them today.  But instead, the small group of boys around me pretended not to notice while I put my gross sandals by the door in the corner.  Realizing my embarrassment, they gracefully pretended the smell wasn’t my fault when we gathered on the patio for the visitors. 

Then, Sunday morning, I missed church.  That may not sound like a huge deal, but here, if you are a Christian, you go to church on Sunday.   And I didn’t wake up in time on Sunday morning, because I set the alarm on my iPod for the wrong day.   To make matters worse, I had talked all of the girls and my good friends on staff into wearing dresses to church, because I really wanted to wear mine.  So here I was, at 8 am on Sunday morning, sitting on my bed in despair as the church service started in town, which would take about 30 minutes to get to.   And I realized I was feeling pretty sick.  As Uncle Pat would say, “Double Whammy.”

So I spent the day in bed, mostly sleeping all afternoon.  I expected to wake up to a couple of unhappy text messages from my friends.   But I didn’t get any passive or sarcastic texts from my friends.  Instead, when Pastor came home to shower, she took me into town to dinner and bought me whatever food I would like.  Then we went to Jireh Home for extra fellowship where everyone was just relieved to see me.  I was preparing to wear my dress on Monday to make up for the absence, or to promise the kids I would wear it next week all by myself.  Or do something to somehow repay my friends for the mistake of setting the wrong alarm.  Instead, I was greeted with smiles, hugs and excitement to dress up again next week. I did nothing to earn the affection, but simply received the grace of my family as I snuggled with one of the smaller girls during fellowship. 

Grace upon grace.  As much as I participate in Jireh Home’s receiving, I still have no idea what it means to simply open my hands and heart and receive simple forgiveness and grace from my family here.  And I am learning to raise my hands and receive the best gift ever, responding only with constant gratitude. 

Jireh Home New Year's Eve

New Year’s Eve was one of those really good days.  The days where on my walk home, I can’t believe how wonderful, blessed and full my life here is.

It started like any of the other days of holiday, except all the kids were back.  I took the morning to myself, and made it to Jireh Home for some tasty lunch, always one of my daily goals.  After lunch we played some cards, napped for a really long time, and then had minum petang.  For minum petang we had some really tasty sugar rolls that were donated.  And then somehow, I ended up playing soccer with one of our youngest boys.  Fizlee is now nine and is a scrapper.  He is tough and wants to be one of the older boys so badly.  So he wanted me to try to score a goal on him.   Our one-on-one football game turned into five-on-five, with some of the older boys joining in.  And I scored multiple goals on some of the best goalkeepers at Jireh Home.  Granted we were playing with only one goald in our tiny front yard.  But still. 

I was pretty disgusting after football, so I hurried home to shower.  I got back to Jireh Home just in time for dinner, which we all ate together as the start of our New Year’s Eve celebration.  As the night progressed we sang and danced to some of the kids favorite camp type songs (in Malay of course) and played so many games.  I discovered how difficult it is to explain camp games to the students.  So we played modified versions of Stuck in the Mud, Sharks and Minnows, and a few others.  The biggest hit was definitely Duck, Duck, Goose. 

After the games and worship, it was maybe around 10:30, way past my usual bedtime here.  But the staff brought out many two liters of soda, 3 pitchers of coffee, and a couple pitchers of milo. Then they brought out special biscuits and candy. I couldn’t help but laugh at the familiarity – so many snacks and drinks – just like in the States.    After we feasted and the kids regained some energy, it was almost 11:30 and Pastor still wanted to go over the rules.  So we quickly read the rules for Jireh Home behavior – study hard, no dating, especially no dating other students at Jireh Home, no handphones, listen to the staff, etc…  The kids were losing steam quickly, until the fireworks started going off.   Just after midnight, we grabbed hands and prayed in the New Year.  It was the strangest yet the best thing, to be praying in English completely connected to my huge, quirky family praying in Malay, while fireworks exploded in the sky. As I finished I opened my eyes to see many of the younger students gazing up in awe at the displays.  We closed with the Lord’s Prayer.  Then the fun began.

Somehow Pastor Repieh found a box of fireworks.  She decided I should be in charge of them.  But the instructions on the box were written in very poor/sketchy English and I am not much of a pyro.  So I gave them one by one to Abang Jovline, and he lit them quickly and threw them to the front yard where they exploded with a flash of light and a bang.  After the fireworks, there was still a lot of coffee left.  So the kids played rock, paper, scissors to decide who had to drink a cup of coffee.   As the pitchers emptied, two of the older boys had a race to see who could drink the remaining four or five glasses the quickest.   Meanwhile, Fizlee, our little scrapper, threw his coffee up in the gutter.   At around 1 am, when the caffeine buzz hit the kids, Pastor and I headed home to sleep.  We walked under a bright, almost full moon and a clear, star filled sky down the little dirt road to our house, climbing through the gate and into bed.