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.  

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.