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.