My Refrigerator

It's almost New Year's - my least favorite holiday next to Sweetest Day. The pressure for profundity is overwhelming so I celebrate John Denver's birthday because I loved him and he fills me up with joy.

So, in honor of John Denver, I'm thinking about the things I love this new year and there is no greater place to look than my refrigerator. We do not have a tidy refrigerator. Pictures and magnets are scattered all over even though Kirt makes an attempt at keeping them tidy.

I love the pictures of family and friends who remind me on a regular basis that we are not alone. Even when dinner is late and the refrigerator seems bare, there are folks who surround us with their love and help us stay sane.

I really love my magnets. Since most of them are gifts, they reveal the fact that my friends love me as my twisted, little self. There is a bumper sticker that says, "Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite." That is my favorite line when I am hot at cribbage.

The others are also filled with pithy wisdom:
"I haven't had my coffee yet, don't make me kill you"
"You can't scare me, I have children"
"Spoiler alert: Everybody dies"

and one of the greatest insight into my loves:
"I love poetry, long walks on the beach and poking dead things with a stick"

I do love poetry; I just bought a collection of Mary Oliver poems.

I love long walks anywhere, but beaches are fabulous.

And there is something lovely about chasing one of your children around with a dead critter. That is slightly different than poking it, but directly related. I have been caught inspecting dead varmints and scat, if truth be told, with sticks. May I never be too busy or grown up to stop being curious.

My list of loves would be long and weird, but that is what makes it feel like such a blessed life.  I fall in love so easily. If it is beautiful or disgusting, complex or simple, scary or comforting, then a part of me has been brought to life that was dormant. I don't need New Year's to think about starting new, nearly every time I open my eyes, ears, nose, mouth or hands I am startled by a new love.

Blinded by the Light

I try not to wince in the sunshine. I realize that it is a bad habit we develop in Southeast Alaska on these few sunny days. We look like a group of vampires exposed to the destructive power of ultraviolet rays.

I'm fine once I'm out in it. Everything is overwhelmingly sharp and amazingly beautiful. I just need to practice the initial reaction of walking into such brilliance.

It does make me think in this season of light and darkness that light can be just as blinding and discombobulating as darkness. I hike and ski well enough in the dark. I've figured out ways to navigate and my other senses are so much sharper.

But, I have managed to run into trees or step over my boots in creeks on sunny days because I am looking at how breathtaking Mt. McGinnis is. I've had to do double takes of what is real because the reflections in Mendenhall Lake are so crisp that they turn the world upside down. The light pulls me out of paying attention to what is in front of me, the details surrounding me.

I appreciate the light, but it would kill me if we had to live in it all the time (I seem to remember a cribbage game that lasted till 3 am this past summer because we could still see to peg). I can't sustain that kind of life so I suppose I appreciate the tension of light and darkness. When it comes down to it, I appreciate the cloudy days where I can see where I'm going and stay focused on what is right there in front of me.

I'm thankful for the beautiful day today, for the extra 16 seconds of daylight. I'm thankful for Jesus the light in the midst of the darkness. He doesn't make the darkness go away, but gives us enough gray to make us pay attention to what is around us and grapple together figuring out what love and forgiveness look like in this mess.

Elf Pig

Every night when I walk,
I pass an illuminated pig in an elf costume. I think it is weird. I'm sure if someone saw me standing there in Kirt's bright orange camo jacket and light-up ball cap the scene gets even weirder, but I can't quite figure out the connection between an elf pig and Christmas. The fact that today is the beginning of Hanukah is not completely lost on me either. I'm thinking there is something down right sacrilege there.

So I spent a good part of the walk thinking about the pig and trying to work out the cramp in my butt from sitting on the most uncomfortable bleachers at the second middle school concert. Tis the season for concerts. I'm up to 4.5 hours of joyful noise. I actually do enjoy it. One of my gifts is being slightly tone deaf so it all sounds pretty wonderful to me.

It's fabulous to see my kids and the kids from the neighborhood playing or singing. I love all the hugs following. But, my favorite part of the concert season is the sense of good will in the audience. You can feel every single parent, grandparent, cousin, aunt, and uncle wishing them well, especially during solos. We all kind of hold our breath together sending every good vibe that we can to the clearly shaken adolescent.

Something similar happens in our church with musicians. We had some lovely music this past Sunday the second time around. One of my favorite folks played a fabulous piece on his harmonica and the first time it didn't quite work, but we all encouraged another go and he hit it right on. We burst into spontaneous applause even though we just had the talk about music being an offering where "amen" is more appropriate than applause, but what the heck. We all held our breath and wished him success with every inch of our beings.

I wonder why I don't do that more often. There is a warning in scripture against the evil eye; it often gets translated as envy. The evil eye is when you curse someone's good fortune or wish them ill. I feel this way sometimes when I see cute crafts or baking projects on Facebook. Nothing too horrible. Just maybe that their gorgeous decoupage spells out a dirty word in the mirror or that the amazing Frozen cupcakes taste like sand. I catch myself hoping that women who can match their clothes and walk in high heels have something hanging out of their noses. Sorry.

But, the elf pig has brought me back to my senses. I wish them all well. That's not actually related to the pig at all, but it got me thinking and a bit more aware of my own brokenness. So I suppose I should be thankful for the elf pig and wish him well even if I don't understand him. I'm going to start thinking about the dinosaur in a Santa costume next.

Christmas Cards Are Better Than Santa

I love sending and getting Christmas cards. It's one of my absolute most favorite things about this whole season. Electronic ones do not have the same flurry of excitement to them - sorry. I love dashing to the mailbox, seeing pictures, pretty cards and getting notes from folks that I might not have seen or heard from for an entire year. The weird thing is that even if I forget your birthday or to keep in touch, I still appreciate the gift you have been in my life and wonder how life is going.

And I love writing our Christmas letter. Mainly it's because I'm a dork, but I love thinking through a theme for our year and condensing all of our adventures onto one page (Christmas letters should never be more than one page - it's in the Bible).

More than all the presents and almost as much as the pilgrimage to find a tree, writing to loved ones, reminding myself and them that they have touched my life, prepares my heart for singing Silent Night. I know that Christmas is twelve days and it's not really all about Silent Night, but for me in that moment of singing and seeing all those beloved people lit up in the dark with tears of sadness and peace streaming down faces is Christmas.

Everything is always a bit more beautiful and peaceful by candlelight, especially with a good soundtrack. Folks who have had a difficult year, folks who have made my year difficult; people I know and those I don't all look like angels. The coming of Christ is reflected so brilliantly in all those faces.

In Eastern Orthodox tradition, all congregational members are buried to face the east so they may be the first to witness the second coming of Christ, but the priest is buried facing west so he may see the glory of God reflected in the eyes of his parishioners as he always has.

I suppose I am a maniac about cards because I want folks who have been a part of my life to know that I am thankful for the glimpse of Christ I saw in them (and it's fun to brag about the kids).

Robed

I am thankful for albs. I'm even more thankful for cinctures (the rope that goes around) because it is just a fun word to say.

White robes are helpful in so many ways. I had trouble sleeping the night before my first Sunday back. Our identities have so many layers and nobody has called me pastor for three months. I almost forgot what that means. I'm certainly not the most well-behaved person or the most confident in my faith, but somehow God and the church have called me to live out the good news in word and deed. This happens in worship through proclamation and presiding at communion, but that also sets the rhythm for all of life.

So I'm thinking about what it means to live out the good news and hold that as the core of my identity. That's not easy for me. The lists have already started. Organizing and being at the center of community activities are already on those lists. It feels good to be needed and that's what I have to keep in check.

I don't want to stop doing things that I love, but I do need to avoid finding my worth in completing long lists. I lived in abundant love, laughter, and beauty during sabbatical. Those all seem essential to the good news. We also stumbled through some moments of forgiveness, honesty, and pain, which also seem essential to living in good news. Great tables were laid with an abundance of food and variety of people.

There was one moment at the DimSum restaurant with our Chinese friends who owned our apartment and some of their Australian friends where they asked me lots of questions about what it meant to be a pastor. It was a pretty foreign concept to them all, but I talked about how I accompany folks and look for grace and love in the midst of their lives. At the end of our meal, they asked me to do a blessing. In the midst of chicken feet and donuts, I gave thanks for a feast with friends and God's presence among us. It felt kind of lame, but how profound can you get when the Chinese ladies are getting a little anxious to clean your table?

I don't know what that has to do with anything, except it was one of those many awkward pastor moments where I felt inadequate and slightly pathetic.

I fail at living in good news or always being a good pastor (whatever that means), but I rock at putting on my new and truly white robe. I get to put that on every Sunday symbolically for all of us. Robed in white, washed, made new. Like the freshly fallen snow makes everything look so clean and new, I get to act out the good news of what God has done not what I'm doing.

Sensuality of SmartWools

I know I am home when I start my morning by donning SmartWools. There is something comforting and lovely about living in sweaters and warm socks. I feel most myself when I am wrapped in fleece and wool. We are happy to be home with the rain, the crisp air, fabulous friends, our animals and wonderful hikes.

But, maybe there is a little part of me that misses skimpy dresses and sun kissed skin. I don't get to dress in little dresses very often for a whole host of reasons and there is a part of me that misses having so much skin exposed to the elements.

It was the sensuality of the Russian Orthodox liturgy that drew me back into the faith as a recent college graduate many years ago. The smells, tastes and sounds of the worship made me experience the presence of God even when I didn't understand what I meant by "God". In much the same way, the sensuality of Malaysia drew me back into a life that burst with smells, tastes, and sounds.

It was not just my skin that tingled with exposure to sun and ocean breezes, but my taste buds exploded with the flavorful food, my nose was met with sometimes repulsive and sometimes pleasing scents, and my ears were filled with the Muslim call to prayer, the vendors wooing us, and the waves crashing. I felt incredibly alive.

That's not to say that I don't feel alive normally, but it is a lot easier to forget about the succulent scents of dinner when you are just trying to get everyone fed and on to the next activity. It is easy to ooze into frumpiness when I'm happy to not smell bad and have coffee in my cup. Too often in my life, comfort trumps consciousness, to do lists beat serendipitous gifts, and autopilot takes over living.

Sanity is important to me and I need my rituals, lists, and quick dinners to keep us all rolling, but I also need to remember the God we worship is a fleshy god. We worship a God who dwells deeply in this world waking us up to abundant life. The more I disconnect from this world, the more I insulate myself from the God who delights and weeps with us.

So I breathe, pray, sing, delight in my socks and the fact that every inch of my body is covered and cozy. I walk, laugh, play games, and use hot sauce. I'll always run the risk of turning my to-do lists and comfort into idols, but I trust God to keep calling me to repent. I trust God to keep calling me back into the world to be raw and alive, to delight and weep, to love exposed and unprotected.

Freedom

Love is taking the risk to give freely of yourself. 

Thank you Rev. Peter Ray for stating that so succinctly in the sermon today. It’s not a radical notion, but I suppose I haven’t put it in the context of the Parable of the Talents before. I especially appreciated the question about what would have been the landowner’s response if the first two had failed. Would the landowner have congratulated the one who buried his talent in the ground? Probably not. I agree that the ones who took the risk would still have been extolled even if they failed. 

Sometimes I think I live my life a bit too freely and I could save myself some pain if I had a few more defenses. I laugh too loudly for polite company, I weep till my nose runs, and I don’t know how to protect myself from hard good-byes let alone rejection. Imagining manipulative techniques to feel some control over life and clinging to safety are always tempting whispers in my brain and heart.

Then, I remember what love is and why I follow Jesus who failed miserably at playing safely. Love is not only taking the risk to give freely of myself, but it is filling those around me with a sense of boldness that they too can live in that kind of freedom. That almost seems more challenging. It’s one thing for me to wreck and burn, but to watch those I adore live boldly is scarier than snot. But, it definitely keeps life exciting.

I can’t say we’ve had any major eureka moments over sabbatical. I still love my life, my family, my vocation, and living in Juneau (we miss mountains and water). No major life changes on the horizon for me, but I got to dwell in abundant freedom and joy for several months. I think that puts me in a different place as we prepare to return to schedules, duties, and responsibilities. How do I live in the tension of duty and delight? How do I keep loving and risking when my energy wanes and playing it safe is so tempting?

Welcoming When You Know Too Much

Malaysia was an excellent experience in welcoming the stranger. The country is incredibly hospitable. I appreciated most how folks could walk us through new rituals, foods, and directions without making us feel like idiots. There is a fine balance between guiding people into the church's rituals and hovering around so they feel like preschoolers.

And now for something completely different . . .

Goofy family at Old Man's Cave

This time in Ohio is not only about visiting family, but observing how we offer hospitality to those we know intimately. I've always served congregations in small towns where folks often know too much about each other. They have watched each other since childhood and everyone has their category of one another that is hard to break out of.

There are scandals in small towns that everyone knows and it makes it hard for folks to return to church. People have expressed concerns that parishioners will whisper or stare. I'm tempted to tell them that won't happen, but I know people a bit too well. We do whisper and stare. We know too much and fill in the blanks when we don't know.

I don't know what hospitality looks like when you know the sordid details of a divorce, death, or disease.  Some people want to talk about it, some want to be distracted, and some want to disappear. I do know that no one likes to be stared at or talked about behind his or her back.

One of the orientation lessons they teach at Bartlett Hospital is called the Platinum Rule (sorry Jesus it does replace the Golden Rule for them). The Platinum Rule is "treat others as they wish to be treated." In other words, ask her what she would like. Ask him if he wants to talk about the divorce or go for a walk to get his mind off of it. It is awkward, but how you deal with a problem may not translate to what someone else needs in the midst of crisis.

I also learn about love in the midst of family. We have a ton of relatives here and we don't always approach life the same. My mom used to always say, "You have to love them, you share blood." True for the church too. Sometimes our differences are vast, but we have to figure out what love looks like because we all share blood too.

Home

I will probably always call Grove City, Ohio "home". This is where I run into my cousins in the store and know the buildings by the names of what they were twenty years ago. This is where I know the stories in the cemetery and am known as "Ike and Shelah's daughter."

We are "home" for a couple of weeks with some nasty jet lag (we want to sleep from 3-5 pm and stay awake from 3-5 am) and we are freezing our booties off. I knew we were in trouble on our last day in Malaysia when the kids were swimming in the 80 degree pool and jumped out because it was too cold. These are children who will jump into 50 degree water when the air temperature hits 70.

Folks in Malaysia were shocked that we live so far away from family. We love living in Alaska and I don't think my allergies would ever allow me to live in the Midwest again, but there are times that I wonder about what makes a place your home.

I don't know the answer to that. It seems like it has something to do with the place where you are known, a place where you can have adventures, and a place where you are loved. The longing for home is a definite theme through scripture. Establishing a home can be hard in the transient and isolated culture that we have become.

One of the videos we watched in preparation for sabbatical was about how the church needs to cross cultures and one of the most controversial episodes was the one about staying put. The video bid us to stay where we are and invest in the community where we live instead of always longing for the next great place. Something to think about.

Being away has definitely given us a new perspective and appreciation for our homes and our communities in Juneau, in Ohio, and in the USA.

What We Will Miss (And Not)

It is our last night in Malaysia and then we time travel tomorrow to regain the day that we lost. I'm not even close to being able to process all we've learned and the ways we have changed, but we did work on a list of things that we will miss and things that we won't miss.

Things we will miss:

Leaf Monkeys

Food stalls with fresh naan and curry

Satay grills

Fresh fruit that we've never seen before

Dim Sum

Afternoon rainstorms with lightning

Hanging out with the kids

The call to prayer (but not the one at 5:30 am)

Taking the bus

Walking the hill

Swimming and playing ping pong

Warm water to swim in

All the sounds of birds, cicadas, and frogs

Our friends

Sunsets

Having a small apartment to clean 

Long Beach food stalls

Haggling at the night market

Talking to the guards

The smell of spices

All the beautiful shades of people

The mix of religions

The shrines set-up in the most random places

Sophia naming all the stray cats and dogs

Celebrating all the holidays for all the religions

Things we will not miss:

The smells of:

Fish paste

Sewer

Cigarette Smoke

Exhaust

Having to remember toilet paper

Several other things around public toilets

Dangerous driving choices

Standing still and sweating

Fear of cutting through the grass and getting bitten by a snake

Stray cats and dogs who seem a bit scary and unpredictable

What an amazing gift for us all! 

Family

One of the reasons we chose to take a sabbatical right now is because Hannah is thirteen. Thirteen seems to be the time where you start establishing what kind of character you will have. There are several adolescents who show up in scripture around this age:
Jesus in the temple at age twelve
Mary the mother of Jesus would most likely have been early teens
Salome who asks for John's head on a silver platter was a young teen
and the girl whom Jesus raises from the dead was twelve

We know how some of these stories turn out and some we can only guess, but they are pivotal years for all.

I just finished Nadia Bolz-Weber's Pastrix and was struck by several insights into our conversation about welcoming, but one quote spoke to these years, "Everyone has their own middle school horror story. It's a trial by fire, and the person we will become can usually be traced back to seventh grade."

The fact that Hannah can start driving the end of this school year is also a huge reality check.

All of the kids are much more confident than when we arrived. They order strange foods from the stalls and pay for them, they can haggle with the best of them (Elijah has actually perfected this fine art), and they are willing to start conversations with strangers. This openness to conversation has been one of my favorite developments to watch. They were playing with a native Malay boy, a girl from India, and a Moroccan Muslim girl in the pool tonight.

In the beginning of our time, they wouldn't have ventured to meet new kids, but now we know how fascinating and fun people can be. It is scary to step out and start conversation, but that openness to relationship and possibility makes life way more interesting.

I feel better going into these years after our little family huddle. We've also started working on defining some of our family values. This is such an important process for churches that it makes sense for families too. Some of the values that we've started to outline:

Being healthy: eating food, drinking water, working out, swimming, playing, sports, sleeping; faith & spirituality, laughter, playing together
Doing our best
Having adventures: going places, trying new things, not being too cautious
No whining  (I didn't even put this - it was the girls)
Caring for community: helping others, inviting and friendly, generous, service & citizenship
Healthy relationships: take responsibility & ask for forgiveness, talk to each other, non-judgmental, don't grab, be a team & work together, tone down reactions, supportive & encouraging, truthful, sharing.

What a blessing and a gift to have this time together.

Swastikas

As we get ready to leave, we have spent some time talking about our first impressions. I remember our first night arriving in Penang. It had been a long bus ride and we were ready for a place that we could call home for a while. I stared out the window hungry for something that felt familiar when we passed the "Red Swastika Society" with a huge swastika on the face.

If you can't have comforting, then slightly disturbing and farcical is second best. We have since encountered swastikas everywhere. There have been multiple history lessons in our home about World War II after the initial shock when Sophie mentioned what a cool symbol it was and wondered if there were earrings. Finally, we looked up what the swastika symbol means and why we keep seeing it in temples and other places.

So it is an ancient symbol that means a lot of important things to Hindus and Buddhists. Here's the best summary that I found:
In Loving Ganesha, Satguru Sivaya Subramaniyaswami, founder of Hinduism Today, explains the significance of the swastika to Hindus: "The swastika's right-angled arms reflect the fact that the path toward our objectives is often not straight, but takes unexpected turns. They denote also the indirect way in which Divinity is reached--through intuition and not by intellect. Symbolically, the swastika's cross is said to represent God and creation. The four bent arms stand for the four human aims, called purushartha: righteousness, dharma; wealth, artha; love, kama; and liberation, moksha. This is a potent emblem of Sanatana Dharma, the eternal truth. It also represents the world wheel, eternally changing around a fixed center, God. The swastika is regarded as a symbol of the muladhara chakra, the center of consciousness at the base of the spine, and in some yoga schools with the manipura chakra at the navel, the center of the microcosmic sun (Surya). Hindus use the swastika to mark the opening pages of account books, thresholds, doors and offerings. No ceremony or sacrifice is considered complete without it, for it is believed to have the power to ward off misfortune and negative forces."

That's actually some pretty interesting symbolism that Tillich and Jung would even appreciate. The swastika is as central to many Eastern religions as the cross is to Christianity.

I can't imagine what it is like to have a symbol that holds so much of one's heart twisted and corrupted with such evil. The swastika is illegal and Germany and I can't imagine folks in the US doing backflips over a building bearing one. Yet, it brings great comfort to millions.

I don't know if a religion can exist without its essential symbols and I don't know if symbols can be reclaimed after they have been corrupted. There are times that it is hard to keep dusting off the cross after folks have stood in its shadow preaching hate and violence. We have to keep proclaiming the symbol as one of infinite love and forgiveness in the face of evil and death.

I'm not sure that I will ever be able to see the thousands of swastikas in some temples without grimacing, but I am thankful to learn about the depth of meaning in the swastika before it was distorted.

Pave Paradise

We are going to stop finding remote areas to wander through. Once a week, we cut through the village filled with tiny streets, kids, animals, beautiful flowers, and unique homes. It's one of our favorite shortcuts because it feels like real and vibrant life.

Last week, when we cut through, we stopped and talked to a man in his yard who told us that developers were in the process of razing the entire village. Hundreds of homes will be leveled and a condominium complex for vacationers will go up. Sure enough, as we walked on, bulldozers had already destroyed five homes.

Today, we were walking on a lovely trail through the jungle filled with monkeys, flowers, and the fresh water supply. We met a group of men at the bottom who told us to appreciate it now because the developer (their boss) was going to plow it under and put up some apartments. It really put a damper on our walk.

I realize that there are great complexities and ironies in life. The fact that we are staying in an apartment building as vacationers is not lost on me (even though I assuage some guilt knowing most of the residents here are full-time).  People have a right to own and develop land. People need places to live, work, and relax. I don't want to stand here wagging my head in someone else's land, but it led to lots of conversations in our family.

How much development is needed? How do we tread lightly and make sure there is enough for everyone? How is Juneau handling the balance between wilderness and development? There aren't easy answers, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I was sad. It just feels like something is being lost that will be greatly missed.

I don't know how you balance it, but watching the oldest jungles in the world collapse under a bulldozer leaves one a bit breathless.

Random Religion

We stepped inside a church for the first time yesterday. It was a Catholic church built in 1845. We stepped in and affirmed our baptisms from the waters held in a 100 year old shell. Then, we got kicked out. I didn't dunk my head or anything, but a fellow came running up the aisle saying, "I lock now" so we left. Sophie and I had a lovely conversation about how good it was to be in the midst of the church even when we get kicked out, but I was slightly disturbed by the "Shazam Jesus" as my friend Whitney called him.

I've worshiped in many churches in Africa where Jesus and we were the only white people. How fascinating to have the incarnational God in the image of a colonial power. I'll have to walk through Shepherd of the Valley to look at Jesus on our walls and see what we are communicating because I don't pay that much attention.

We have spent quite a bit of time in other places of worship. We've been in mosques, temples, and shrines. My favorite experience was in the Burmese Buddhist temple the night they were inducting new monks. Kirt became best buds with one of the monks while we explored. There was a stage with serious music equipment and a fog machine. That wasn't expected. As we have wandered through the different places of worship, it is hard to miss the overarching theme that light conquers darkness.  Other than that, there are lots of major differences.

I sat with a young Muslim girl at a bus stop the other day and she was telling me how much she loved living in Malaysia because they celebrate everyone's holidays. Last weekend was Eid Al-Adha (the Muslim festival of sacrifice to remember Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Ishmael). Next weekend is Diwali, the Hindu festival of light and new year. As Wikipedia says, "The festival spiritually signifies the victory of light over darkness, knowledge over ignorance, good over evil, and hope over despair."  We've been here for the Chinese Moon Cake festival and the Dragon King festival, but I don't think kids got out of school for those.

My young friend talked about going to her friends' houses to celebrate the different days with them and how much she loved that. I think she hit on something as we begin thinking of building bridges with other cultures and religions. We don't have to whitewash everything to a pasty white, but somehow we can remain who we are and receive and offer hospitality. Be a guest and open your home to guests. That's how we get to know and love each other in all our similarities and differences. A fog machine helps too.

Monkey Voiceover

I am going to start a crusade for snow monkeys in Juneau. I'm just not sure that I can continue a joyful life without monkeys. I don't want the scary monkeys who snatched a baby four years ago and dropped her off a roof. Those cause me great concern, but we love watching a family of spectacled leaf monkeys at the beach. The could be the cutest things since Monchichi. They look like they are wearing little glasses and choose leaves over human garbage.

The best aspect of watching these Harry Potter monkeys is coming up with commentary. I'm sure there are researchers out there who can watch monkeys without doing voiceovers, but I'm not sure there are many other people. "Hey Bob, can you get this itch on my butt?" "Hey Louie, you have got to try these leaves!" It's addictive. I love watching the moms and little ones. I've said everything she is thinking when they are hanging off of her while she is trying to do something.

But monkeys probably aren't thinking anything like I imagine (except mom monkeys when her kids are hanging on her - I think that's universal annoyance across the entire animal kingdom). People who study monkeys probably want to slap folks like me who try to make monkeys in my image.

I realized as I was speaking for the monkeys, that I do it for people too. I make way too many assumptions of what people are thinking or I have running dialogues in my head where I guess what he or she would say. That's not helpful.

There are many times as strangers and guests here that we have no choice but to listen, mainly because we have no clue what we are doing. We have to let people tell their stories, give their impressions, offer their help because there aren't enough hours in the day to research all that information on the computer. Ignorance makes me listen. Arrogance leads to the assumptions that we know what others think, feel or would say.

It's still fun to do monkey voices, but I am going to try to let everyone else speak for him or herself.

Blind Spots

Here is an interesting thing about being a relaxed observer in a foreign country - you get to see yourself in a whole new light. It's almost like going to the theater where you can be caught off guard  seeing your blind spots revealed.

I was prepared to see a different perspective on news. We have lived near Canadian media long enough to know that the rest of the world sees us as Americans differently than we see ourselves. I was surprised to see a headline on the TV at one of the restaurants recently read "US bombs Islam." I won't lie - we aren't following the news, but I did need to look it up after that lead-in. An interesting interpretation of what is happening in the Middle East.

But, where I got called out was with our taxi driver. We took a long trip to the orang utan rehab center with a driver. People become relaxed about their prejudices when they think they have a sympathetic audience, especially taxi drivers. He started bashing the Chinese and how they are only out for money, and they clog up the streets, and they should go back home. We mumbled things about how lovely our hostess was, who happened to be Chinese, but I did not want to upset the man who held our lives in his hand in Malaysian traffic.

We got home and I started on a little sermon about how disheartening that was in a land claiming to be a melting pot to hear such blatant discrimination. And here is why you have to love family. Sophie pipes up with a, "Mom, sometimes you sound like that about the Mormons." Smack.

I don't mean to, but she is right. If I am in a safe and somewhat sympathetic setting, I might not be the most affirming person. Eek. And that's what I sound like to my kid. Mea Culpa. Thank you taxi driver for a good smack.

Jumping Fish

I'm pretty sure the guy with the jumping fish on the bus gave me pink eye. Actually, I know there is no correlation, but the fact that one minute I was watching a man trying to capture his fish on the windowsill and the next my eye started twitching seems like more than a coincidence.

The buses are amazingly clean and air-conditioned so it is unusual to have living creatures squirming nearby. I'm not sure what he was doing with tiny fish in a jar - could have been lunch-but we shared an awkward giggle and I moved over a bit. Then my eye started oozing nastiness. He probably went home and told his family about this crazy lady next to him with an oozing eye.

Folks have asked about how we are doing health wise. Not that I'm superstitious, but I didn't want to announce to the universe that we have not had any adverse reactions to food and we all have been healthy in fear of jinxing us. Now that I'm typing this through one eye with the other resembling a Rocky repercussion, I feel free in saying that overall we are coping well with the food and new germs. Kirt hasn't taken one antacid since we've been here and the food is good and spicy. I took a nice tumble down the hill showing off my walking skills. Nothing is sexier than a short skirt and two bloody knees. Sophie got her jellyfish stings and there have been a few other maladies cured by drinking more water, but now that we know we can get antibiotics from the corner market for six bucks we are set for anything.

I am struck, luckily not in my good eye, by how much conversation revolves around ailments. Just as I try to avoid talking about how busy I am, I try to avoid talking about my aches and pains. I try to remember that I am more interesting than whatever is bugging me. I have more going on in my life and mind than reminders of impermanence in my body.

Not that looking through one eye isn't distracting from everything else that I do. The kids are trying to talk me into an eyepatch; that's what we get for watching too many Marvel movies with Nick Fury. I can't go swimming or appear in public. Malaysians are so kind they would surround me with way too much attention and care.

But, I still enjoyed some amazing curry and naan for breakfast along with a piece of lemon poppyseed cake. I'll curl up with Dostoevsky soon and enjoy an afternoon on the couch trying to make out Russian names through my good eye until the steroids and antibiotics kick in.

I like cats

My fondness for cats has grown in direct proportion to my disdain for rats. I am not naturally a cat person, but I am willing to compromise now that I realize their crucial role in keeping the rats at bay. I am willing to look into those pleading eyes that seem to be everywhere with some sympathy and speak a few sweet words now that I realize they can take down a rat that is nearly their same size.

That got me thinking about the million compromises that we make in the course of a day and in our lives. I watch the kids continually gathering the necessary votes, compromising what they want this night to get it another night, and figuring out how to be in relationship without the use of duct tape.

The word compromise has taken a beating in some of the current political climate and I would say in the narcissistic leaning of our culture. The word compromise comes from the Latin compromittere. Com means to come together and promittere is promise.  The promises that allow us to be together.

Being in relationship means compromising and making sacrifices. I've watched not only the kids make tons of compromises, but Kirt and I too. One of the things I remember from some book Walt Wangerin wrote was his advice not to think about all the things you sacrifice in a marriage as a sacrifice for the other person. Instead, one should think about the relationship as an entity in itself that you make sacrifices for. It can lead you to a certain martyrdom in relationships when you feel like you are always making sacrifices for the other person, but there are things that must be let go of and held on to for the sake of the relationship.

There are compromises that can't be made without losing the essence of your self, but those are actually easier than the millions that slowly erode your being. I started meeting with a spiritual director in Michigan because I felt fried. Trying to juggle being married, a pastor, and a mom of three small children left me at the end of the day realizing that I hadn't done one thing I wanted to the whole day.

I will always be thankful to her, even though I thought some of the stuff was a little hokey, but she commanded me to go for a walk everyday. I had to do this simple thing to hold onto a part of myself in the midst of all the compromises and relationships. It was where I got grounded and somehow reconnected to myself and often God. Compromise is essential, but figuring out what keeps us grounded is equally crucial.

It's been healing for us to have this time where our greatest compromises revolve around where to eat, what movie to watch, or how to get to our favorite beach. I can quip about cats and rats, but I know that I need this time to prepare for the next stage of our lives when compromises will start to get pretty complex.

Clouds

I could spend hours watching clouds. We had a beautiful afternoon at the beach. The kids played hard and I just lay there watching the clouds go by. I'd like to say that I had profound thoughts, but it didn't get any deeper than dinosaur, turtle, sleeping devil . .  .

There are times in the midst of being a pastor, a mom, a wife, a taxi driver, and activities coordinator that I imagine taking out my brain full of schedules and details to let it soak in a hot bath for a bit. That's some of what this time has been - a nice hot bath for my brain.

I'd make a pathetic Buddhist so this hasn't been a time of self-emptying and clearing. I don't meditate, but I do get a little space to wander around my head. It's almost as fun as grandpa's barn full of antiques, strange tools, and contraptions. Meal time has been filled with stories of our grandparents, parents and childhood. I only felt old telling the kids that the first time I used a computer was as a senior in college. They gasped.

My dreams have been vivid and I have even had to spend some time with those dusty thoughts and memories that get pushed aside when sermons, dinners, and schedules demand attention. It's not always the most pleasant experience, a bit like finding a dead mouse in the midst of the wrenches and whiskey jugs.

But it is a lovely taste of grace to let them all waft by and transform into something new like the clouds overhead.

Counting Our Days

Sundays tend to bring a bit of longing for home with them. We are not part of a worshiping community here, but we are faithfully doing our daily prayer. If you are looking for a good resource for a daily prayer discipline, then we are enjoying Peter Scazzero's Daily Office.

Even if we did find a church, Sundays would still probably bring some homesickness for us. The community of faith at SOV is not our family necessarily, but more like a completion of our own identities.

But, other than those fleeting moments, we are completely present in this adventure and balancing rest with recreation. We are close to a halfway point and Hannah has counted our days. Counting is a necessity. There are still orang utans and elephants to see. The snake temple and reclining Buddha are also on our list. We are still figuring out what food tickles our palate and which ones make us gag.

Thinking about counting our days, makes me think of Dr. Walter Bouman. He was my dear mentor, professor and friend. When he was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he wrote one of the most profound reflections I have read.

“So teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.” 

I’m counting. I’m counting. The surgeon said I have six to nine months. A month later, the oncologist said I have six to nine months. I asked him when to start counting, April 1 or May 1? ‘‘A quibble,” he replied. 


I think of the good things that come with having a date with death, like no more flossing. I experienced far more anguish when my beloved St. Louis Cardinals lost the World Series in four straight games! But even when the Cardinals lose, my greatest source of encouragement is the Christian story of God, into which I was baptized in July 1929. I have bet my living, and now I’m called to bet my dying, that Jesus—not death—will have the last word.

One of the great gifts of sabbatical is that it is a good reminder that the world does perfectly well without me. My hope is not in my own industry or even how well I organize my time. There is no way to suck out all the marrow of life - I'm sorry Thoreau it almost leads to greater despair to try.

We count our days and gain a wise heart when we love the folks around us, make strangers into friends, eat well, laugh and cry hard without the looming fear of death sucking the meaning out of those moments.

There were a couple of moments on the night bus when I looked out the fogged up windshield into the pitch dark as we weaved around cliffs and curves, and the thought crossed my mind that this is how people meet their end. That would have been a bummer, b
ut we all meet our end at some point. We're not taking unnecessary risks, but we are trying to live with the bet that Jesus - not death - will have the last word.

Beautiful

The many different shades of skin is striking here. I'm not sure that we have ever been anywhere besides Cuba with such a variety of skin hues. Being here opens my eyes to how narrowly we define what is beautiful.

The advertisements on the bus, the TV, and billboards reflect the wide range of beauty in this country. I hadn't realized how engrained the tiny, white girl image is in the American psyche as the epitome of beauty until I was surrounded by advertisements with Malay women, Arabic women, Chinese and Indian women. Some of them are wearing hijab, some are modestly dressed, and a few scantily clad but they are selling fashion, perfume, and all the same things as the US. They are all beautiful women, but none of them fit into just one category of beauty.

What did surprise me were all the advertisements for massages and pedicures. Those advertisements all feature white women. We have also seen skin-whitening lotion advertised. For a place with so many shades, it is surprising to see pale skin showing up anywhere.

I'm relatively aware of white privilege and how that gets played out in many different ways, but it doesn't feel the same here. There is a funny indifference to Americans here, at least so far in our experience. There are many Australians and Europeans, but folks are surprised to hear we are from the US, especially when we say Alaska.

A Way Around Rules

I wonder if there is something in our nature that loves making rules and then figuring out a way around them. There were two things that caught my eye in the last couple of days that made me think about this. One was watching termites and snails and the other was watching a woman in a full burkha with the most beautiful henna tattoos on her feet.

Rules are great; I'm all for them. They bring order, set boundaries, and inspire a certain level of trust in a community. But, as soon as I set a rule or learn about a rule, I start to push back against it and think of a way around it. I'm not necessarily disobedient, but I enjoy pushing some limits to see how far things will stretch.

As we were hiking through the jungle, we all stopped in our tracks to watch a train of termites crossing the path. It seems to me that the rule of nature would be to take the shortest path between two points, which we all know is a straight line. These termites were traveling in a wavy pattern that was pretty, but seemed impractical. The snails were doing the same. Of all God's creatures, snails should be the ones who are going for the shortest route, but they were doing calligraphy in the sand. I'm sure there is some great science behind their movements outside the lines, but it is not self-evident. Perhaps life in its basest form likes to take the scenic route, the one that moves outside the rules.

Hannah and I got a pedicure - not the best idea with sunburnt feet. While we were sitting there, a young woman in a full burkha and her husband came in to put their feet in the fish tank. We're still trying to figure out why fish eat the dead skin off your feet.  Regardless, her feet were beautiful. The one part of her body that was allowed to be seen by everyone around was covered with amazing henna art. Even in the midst of something that appears so confining, the human spirit seems to push the rules.

Can't help but hear Luther's quote, "sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly." Somehow we have to learn how to live graciously in the tension of rules and taking the scenic route.

Intimidating

There is a part of me that wonders if it is right for the dominant group to make exclusive statements of truth. I’m struck by how intimidating those statements are when you are not in the majority. 

We pass many mosques on our walks and bus rides, but there are also the shrines, temples, and churches that spot the area as well. We’re in no position from our time here to make any major review, but since this is my first time spending a good chunk of time in a non-Christian nation I need to be honest about my emotional reaction to what I observe.

Many of the mosques have a banner out front that reads, “The only true faith in Allah’s sight is Islam.” Malaysia has some intimidating official policies around Islam since it is the official religion of the federation and all native Malays are legally-presumed to be Muslim. The ones we have noticed are ones like the most recent controversy over the use of the word Allah for God. Only Muslims may use that word, even though it is the generic word for God in Arabic and used by Christians also. You are not allowed to bring any t-shirt or article of clothing that has quotes from the Quran on it nor anything that says anything derogatory about Islam or the Malaysian federation.

I’m listening to the call to prayer that is amplified throughout the city five times a day right now as I write this. There are sights, sounds and smells from all the places of worship but the call to prayer definitely penetrates all parts of the city.

But, it is not the official policy or the amplified prayer that is unsettling, it is the subtle stuff like banners that declare Islam as the only true faith. Is it possible to be dominant without making exclusive claims to truth? I worry that those exclusive claims can justify all kinds of actions in the name of fixing or saving someone who is lead astray. Those exclusive claims may be dandy for folks who do not hold the power of the state, but once the state and an exclusive religion are combined, then non-majority folks should probably be afraid.

How do folks from other cultures and religions experience the Christian dominated USA? I’m guessing there is a mix of feeling intimidated and incredibly homesick. 

Flashbacks

I keep having flashbacks to Tanzania. Kirt and I started our marriage in a little house at Makumira Seminary outside Arusha, Tanzania. When things feel difficult and strange here, we tell the kids about  Tanzania and the mouse poop that dropped from the cracks in the ceilings, the rats that ran between my feet while I cooked, the laundry that had to be scrubbed by hand, and the heat that never let up.

Sometimes I think we have such a healthy marriage because it was so rough in the beginning. There weren't any computers, internet, or cell phones yet. When we wanted to talk to folks at home, we had to write a letter giving them a time to call, hike to the Dik Dik hotel at the designated time, and hope that the country's phone lines were functioning. I had to type my papers on a manual typewriter and that was a good exercise in swearing. Getting food was an adventure. Mama Namsi would lead me through the rice paddies filled with snakes, take the harassment for being with a white woman, and remind me to only use one hand to steady my basket on my head or the men would lift my skirt.

I started giggling on the clean, air conditioned Malaysian bus folks thought might be uncomfortable for us when they urged us to take taxis. I remembered being crammed into the buses headed to Arusha where folks were hanging off the outside and goats and chickens were as welcome on board as everyone else. The only time I ever smacked someone was on one of those buses and I surprised both of us.

I will always be thankful to Dr. Leland Elhard for pushing me into that experience. He knew that things came easily for me and if I was going to make it as a pastor, then I needed to know discomfort and difficulty. I needed to know what it felt like to keep moving when I just wanted to curl up in a safe little ball or at least go home.

Malaysia is a walk in the park compared to Tanzania, but the rats in Georgetown last night did make us watch our step a little closer.

Ten things I've learned so far

We are close to completing our first week in Malaysia. Many people asked us why we chose Malaysia. Some of it was randomness, but mainly we chose Malaysia because it is known for its hospitality to a variety of people. That has definitely proven true so far.

But, this seemed like a good moment to reflect on what I have learned so far:

1.  I will probably never get a body massage or body scrub from a man with only a few teeth sitting in front of a hand painted sign.

2. The Muslim call to prayer amplified throughout the town is beautiful as the sun is setting, but less so at 6 am.

3. Monkeys are cute at the zoo, but much more intimidating on the street.

4. I love food and we chose well coming here. The food has been absolutely amazing and diverse even when we have no idea what we are getting.

5. Grab the toilet paper on the wall before you go into the stall with the hole in the ground.

6. Sandals that fit when it was 50 degrees do not necessarily fit when it is 90.

7. Alaska could market to the burkha wearing crowd because wearing all black from head to toe seems more reasonable in our climate.

8. Do not swim at low tide when the water cools because the jellyfish come out and Sophia can attest that their sting does hurt.

9. Public displays of affection and gum are no-nos.

10. I still can't figure out which way to look for oncoming traffic and I'm not sure why motorcycles don't have to follow any traffic rules. I have learned to look carefully both ways and then cross swiftly.

Proud Moment

I had a wonderful parental moment when my thirteen year old Hannah took the lead in the confusing train station in Kuala Lumpur.  She knew what she was looking for and confidently led us to it through the crazy crowds.

When I think of the qualities that I desire for my children, bravery is one of the top. I have tried to train myself as a parent not to say “be careful.” That’s not easy.  There is something so natural about trying to make bubbles around the ones we love and imagining that if they are full of care then they can dodge all that comes their way.  I’m afraid that is a great way to raise cowards.

I want my children to get hurt, to know enough suffering so they can be resilient through it and not destroyed.  I want them to take risks so they know what if feels like to be alive.  And I want them to make good choices.  Those are the words that they often leave the house hearing, “Make good choices” and my other favorite phrase is, “Remember choices have consequences.” 

I don’t want them to be full of care and try to live life safely.  I want them to be wise, brave and compassionate. Sometimes I think the church tries to be safe and careful when we are called to be wise, brave, and compassionate.

Outside Dominance

I am thankful that the creepy looking monkeys at Batu Caves did not attack.  They were cute from a distance, but then they looked at us with a certain malicious glint in their eyes and Kirt said he was not stopping to take their picture.

Batu Caves is a temple for Hindus.  I’m not going to pretend like I remember much about Hinduism other than the phenomenal amount of gods and the wild, lively stories about their interactions with each other and humanity.  I loved the smell of incense and sound of chanting that filled he day.  Hindus are vegetarian so all the restaurants were vegetarian.  We went into one and the “waiter” was so gracious.  He helped me order and made me not feel like an idiot. He even brought us extra napkins. We noticed none of the tables filled with Hindus needed extra napkins. 

Batu Caves was an experience of gracious hospitality.  We were totally out of our element with no clue of what the right thing to do was and folks helped us out, smiled kindly, and guided us through the maze of another culture and religion. 

I can’t say that is true about the dominant religion of Islam. We just haven’t interacted enough yet. It is fascinating to be in a Muslim nation where that underlies all the rhythms of the nation regardless of individual beliefs.  We have seen everything from burkhas to short shorts, but there is an expectation of modesty. There are also rules. Rules that are clearly defined in pictures with a big red x through them, but also some that are unspoken. 

Coming out of a nation where Christianity is the rhythm, it is fascinating to be in a place where we are outside the dominant rhythm. That was some of the point and we are definitely experiencing it..

I also have to admit that I have to break two of my greatest habits - coffee and pointing.  We were excited to finally find coffee bags that contained 70% beans, the other 30% was sugar, salt, butter and margarine.  All the other options taste like International Choice with double sugar. There is just something wrong with the universe. Might just have to switch to tea. 

It is a rude gesture to point with your pointer finger here. Who knew how much pointing I did? I’m working on pointing with my thumb, but that is not coming easily.

Chaos

Blog on Saturday, August 30

Two things have gotten me thinking about what a false construct time is.  The first is the fact that we have jumped forward 16 hours.  Sixteen hours of life lost. The second was trying to figure out if we could have sake for breakfast in Hong Kong because it was Friday night Juneau time.

I read a book on physics called something like Beautiful Universe and it gave me the most disturbed sleep ever. It was quantum physics where the nature of reality is pulled apart and what we thought was definite is truly relative to perspective. Of course there is way more to it than that, but it made my brain hurt.  The random ordering of chaos and all the improbabilities of existence gave me nightmares. 

So we have time, with minutes, hours, and zones so we can feel a bit in control.  I’m sure there are historical reasons for it too, but I just finished watching Captain America where he battles HYDRA.  HYDRA is always seeking to create world peace through control and order in the midst of chaos.  That normally means many mass funerals for perceived trouble makers. As the head of HYDRA says, “HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom.” Peace through control.  But, Captain America has a rousing speech about the gifts of freedom and vulnerability.  Yes, it makes the world more chaotic and painful, but that is the price of freedom.  That stuff comes right out of Dostoevsky.

Feeling vulnerable and chaotic. That’s probably good for me because I like my reality well-ordered.  If we think of God as the “foundation of being” like Tillich instead of the “puppeteer of all that happens” like so much current Christian thought, then I think there is probably some communion with God experienced in vulnerability and chaos.

Learning to Waste Time

I want to waste time. This is not going to be easy for me because I am incredibly task oriented.  There is no feeling in this world as wonderful as crossing something off my list.

I have a book on my shelf by Marva Dawn called Worship: A Royal Waste of Time. I won’t say that I’ve read the whole thing, but I was struck by the quote, “The churches’ worship provides opportunities for us to enjoy God’s presence in corporate ways that take us out of time and into the eternal purposes of God’s kingdom.”  I don’t think this is just true of worship, but also the rhythm of sabbath.  

So I'm making time to deliberately waste.  When I think of wasting time, I’m not thinking about distractions like the next Facebook quiz.  I really do think those are a pathetic waste of time. 

I need to waste time like Marva describes worship: being in the presence of God, myself and others, being taken out of time, and hanging out with the eternal purposes of God’s kingdom.  Wasting time in my mind means letting go of my agenda and tasks to delight or grieve or dream or sleep in the midst of whatever is happening around me at that moment. I need to take a break from a life focussed on accomplishing the next mission and just have a life.