There and Back Again

Ok. So I've been back in Massachusetts for almost a month now. It's been really good to be back. I've made some observations that I'd like to share. Here are a few things about my re-entry adjustment:

Things That Are Nice About Being Back:

Fast Internet. I can watch streaming video. I've watched like 4 hours of SNL sketches and a few episodes of The Office.

Family: It's been really nice to spend time with family and old friends. It's crazy to be only an hour's drive from the house I grew up in.

English: Do you realize that most people here speak my mother tongue? It's such a shock to say something and have it understood right away. I was taken totally by surprise when I was taking the bus from NYC to Northampton and the lady sitting near the bathroom told me there was someone in the bathroom and he was in there a long time. And I understood it all...

Real Doctors: I've gone to see several doctors and been tested for everything you can think of. Their offices are so clean! They even let you go into your own examining room. And when you tell them something about how you're feeling, they actually listen.

Clean Restrooms: It is so nice to go into a public restroom and be able to breath without a scented tissue over my face. You probably think they're nasty, but they are so, so clean! I could go into a lot of detail about how much cleaner these public bathrooms are, but I'll leave it at that.

Restrooms Everywhere: Seriously. I can drink coffee, tea, and water all day and almost never have to worry. Every restaurant, coffee shop, gas station, and public building has a bathroom. And they're free! And clean!

Tap Water: Did you know you can drink water out of the tap here?? Not only that, but you can also rinse out your coffee cup and make hot chocolate in it without drying the mug out first.

A Few Things That Are Hard To Adjust To:

Crossing the Street: These laws about yielding to pedestrians are just annoying. I'm used to crossing 4 lane streets lane by lane. I've waited at the yellow line for as long as 5 minutes before, with trucks and buses driving by on both sides. I like to step out into the street and calculate the velocity of the vehicles and the trajectory of our respective paths. It's actually a lot more confusing here when cars actually stop to let you go. I think they're going to make the turn, but they stop mid-stream and yield to me. In my confusion I skip a few beats, and now everyone's late. If you'd just kept driving, you could be down the road by now, and I'd have made it to the other side.

Central Heating: It's cold outside and hot inside. What the heck? You're not supposed to wear a T-shirt inside in the winter. For the last 3 years, I spent my winters bundled in multiple layers of long-underwear and fleeces. When I was indoors, I wrapped myself in a fleece blanket like a strapless wraparound prom dress over the rest of my clothes. When I was outside, the sun was shining enough that just the 2 layers of long undies, fleece top and fleece jacket were enough to keep me warm. Here I can wear a T-shirt indoors, but I need a thick winter coat and hat and gloves outside. It's really hard to adjust to the temperature changes I undergo in the course of just a few minutes.

Expensive: Everything here is wicked expensive. Since when is a cup of coffee $1.70? I'm spending $20 on what used to cost me 3. Or $10 on what used to be 25 cents. My monthly rent for a room in a boarding house is more than 6 months rent for my 3 bedroom apartment in Asia, which had a utility room, kitchen, bathroom, and little sun room type deal. And that included landscaping for the outside.

Nifty Things I Forgot About:

Leaves: The floor of the woods is covered in brown leaves that fell off the trees. I forgot about that space of time between Fall and the first snowfall when there are brown leaves everywhere. The landscape has a neat tint of gray and brown. It's kind of a depressing color scheme, but it's kind of neat, too.

Fallen Trees: In the woods around here, sometimes trees fall over and uproot themselves. The roots end up forming this neat little round dirt wall. It's really kind of cool. You don't see that everywhere.

Stones: There are a lot of rocks around here. Big ones. There are huge ones by the sides of the roads. And stone walls everywhere. They're pretty cool, too.

Cranberries: Cranberries are like the best ... They're not very common worldwide, you know. You should be more thankful for cranberries.

another new one

i got some new photos of my hand and cast. i'll post them here with just a few comments, since it's hard to type left-handed...


the crowd in the examination room - there's no such thing as privacy here.


here's my friend who taught the doctor how to make a proper splint. she has a bachelors degree.


the re-wrapping: 2 friends and 2 teachers from the school accompanied me to the hospital. in addition to the 4 of them and the 3 onlookers in this picture, there were several other patients and patients' family members watching from the door. so, if you include me, the doctor and the nurse, there were 15 or so people present for this event...


the doctor tied the new splint on with cheap gauze.


the next day, my friend re-wrapped it with this fun black spongy tape. now it looks like a real cast, even though it isn't.

Casting Director

As promised, my Athletic Training friend - a.k.a MacGyver - helped me with my broken hand problem. She fashioned a new cast out of cardboard from a yogurt box and various medical tapes and wraps. This cast is about 4 pounds lighter than the old one and it actually stays in place! And, its small enough that I was finally able to take that borrowed Savannah t-shirt off and take a bath!

Its good to have friends with skillzz.

Also, I'm becoming increasingly thankful for this whole situation. God has opened up a lot of opportunities through it. I've bee able to spend lots of time with a certain local friend (she's been helping me by cooking and cleaning, etc), and she's been bringing friends and family with her. So I've had plenty of company, and lots of chance to talk about JC...

Hazards

You may remember me saying that I wouldn't bring my dogs to the hospitals here, but this week I needed to go myself. Let's just say there was an incident.

I hurt my hand. At first I was pretty sure it wasn't broken, but as the day worn on, I thought I should probably do something. So, against my better judgment, I got a local friend to help me get an x-ray. Luckily, it was after hours, so even though the staff was still rude and gruff, I didn't have to wait in line.

Turns out, I fractured a bone in my right hand. Thankfully, it's not severe, so I didn't need them to work any magic. They just gave me this cast.

Keep in mind, this is a fracture...


As you can see, we're dealing with top notch medical facilities here...


I'm supposed to wear this for one week, but I'm pretty sure it won't last that long. Then I need another x-ray. And then, maybe three or four more weeks in the cast. Luckily, I have an American friend here who studied athletic training, so she will be able to help me recover despite the doctor's lack of skill.

This could be a very frustrating situation, but I've been able to laugh with friends about this whole "incident".

Why I'm Thankful for Space Mountain

I used to be a roller coaster fanatic. It started when my family used to go to Disney World in the winter. We'd pack into the truck camper and drive 3 days to Florida, spend some time at the theme parks, do some camping, and drive back. I remember Thunder Mountain was my favorite, but my big brothers loved Space Mountain. As I got taller, I graduated to the big-kid realm and got to try a ride on the roller-coaster in the dark. Soon I graduated to the kind that had loops, double loops, or enormous drops - the ones that made you feel like you had a concussion...

So, why am I thankful for Space Mountain? From a young age we took these trips year after year, and the combined effects of the days in the camper on the way to Florida, the rides on the Tea Cups, Mr Toad's Wild Ride, and eventually the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror result in the happy fact that I do not generally suffer from motion sickness.

I just got back from a 6 day road trip in a area where most people do not regularly ride in vehicles. They get around on foot or horses in the mountains, only occasionally traveling into the city on buses. And when they ride those buses on winding roads, they get car sick.

The first leg of my journey - last Thursday - was a 15 hour bus ride. We road in one of those "comfortable" buses. It had air-conditioning (which the driver never turned on) so the windows didn't open. The seats are set up high so luggage can be stowed beneath - you know the kind of bus I'm talking about. Well, it's a recipe for disaster on mountain roads with a car-sick population.


The roads wind up and down one mountain after another. The bus sways back and forth, and the high seats only serve to magnify the swaying effect for the passengers. The windows don't open so there's no fresh air, and the driver doesn't run the air conditioner, so it's stinking and hot.

And then the symphony begins.

Passengers holding plastic bags in front of their faces quietly release their stomach discomfort. I'm always amazed at how quietly these people puke. They'll wake you up with the noise of their spitting, but puking is discreet. During one particularly winding stretch of road, I count the sound of 12 people vomiting into their plastic bags. After a while the smell, sound and heat get to me, and I have to admit I feel a little queasy myself. So I turn on my mp3 player to drown out the noise, and look out the window. Within a few minutes I feel fine again, thanking God that my father packed us into a truck camper and brought us to play on roller coasters...

Long and Winding Road

I posted this piece elsewhere a while ago, but I thought I'd put it on this blog for you guys. A few months ago, I traveled out to a friend's village and had a really good, but really hard experience. It's a privilege to experience firsthand what goes into spreading the Good News in the far corners of the earth. There are all kinds of obstacles along the way, but the joy of telling people about our Father and Savior outweighs the frustration of those obstacles...

As you read this, maybe you can think about how you can pray for the Unreached Peoples in remote areas like this, and for those who have been sent to share with them...

Let’s start with The Road.

There are two roads that lead to my friend’s area. The first one takes about 9 hours, and most of it is really dangerous. Rock-slides are common. Sometimes streams cross the road. Switchbacks carry you up one mountain, down the other side, and up the next. Last time we went that way, and it took 3 hours to go 30km. The benefit of taking this road is that it drops you off right at her village. All you have to do is hike about 10 minutes down to the river, cross the river on a raft, and walk uphill about 20 minutes, and you’re there.

The second road takes about 7 hours. It’s not the best road. Right now they’re doing a lot of work on it, so it’s covered in potholes and other obstructions. There are long stretches where there is no road. There aren’t as many places where you think you’ll fall off the side of the mountain or be covered in a rockslide, but it’s not much more comfortable that the first road. This road only takes you to the first village in this area. It’s 4 hour walk to my friend’s house from there – and it’s all downhill. (That means on the way out it’s all uphill.)

Here, you can see a switchback road carved into the side of the distant mountain. Follow the road all the way to the bottom of the valley, and cross the river, and you are at my friend's village. This photo was taken during our return hike, about 3 1/2 hours after we started walking. It was far. It felt farther.

So, this time we are taking the cheaper route – Road 2. Round trip for 2 people will cost us less than $20.

The truck carries cargo to and from the villages. This time we are carrying a truckload of shingles, a few sheets of greenhouse plastic, some chickens, and some other building materials. I know because I have to hide in the back of the truck for a while. This route passes through a touristy area where non-locals are expected to pay a huge fee just to use the road. I will never pass as a local, so the locals stuff me in the back with the chickens and rice and smuggle me through.

We set out rather late this time. It's 4:30 pm before we leave the city. That means we expect to arrive in the first village around 2am. There are 8 of us stuffed into the cab. 4 in back, 4 in front at different angles. The man next to me didn’t sleep last night, so he keeps nodding off, his big cowboy hat hitting me in the head. At one point, I lean forward and nap with my head on my knees. I wake to find his head on my kidney, hat squished to the side.

Its 11:30pm. We have been traveling along terribly bumpy road for several hours. The truck ascends to a bald mountaintop to find the road is blocked with piles of gravel and sand. In the morning I will walk and count 102 piles. With the darkness and unfamiliar road, the driver doesn’t know what to do. We can’t go forward, it’s too dark to turn around, and it’s unclear whether we can bypass the blockage. The engine is off now, and people are trying to get comfortable for a night’s sleep in the truck.

I’m closest to the door, the wind howling outside. My friend’s village is low near the river, so it’s warm there. I’m wearing only a t-shirt and light fleece. We are now stopped on top of a high mountain. My tailbone hurts, I’m cold and can’t find a comfortable position in the cramped cab. I sleep restlessly, spending at least 20 minutes of each hour awake. I anxiously long for the first light of morning.

When morning comes, we find our way around the gravel piles and are off again. We expected to arrive in the village at 2am; we arrive at noon. My friend’s grandparents live in the first village, so we go there for a quick lunch before making our descent on foot. I am famished from the night in the truck and the morning without breakfast. Being poor, our elderly hosts can offer us nothing but noodles with fried egg and pig fat. It’s not enough for my padded American bones, I dread the long walk ahead of me.

We set out down the mountain on foot. Happily, I find that the first few hours aren’t so bad. The trail is not so steep, the weather is nice, my legs are a little tired but I can walk. After 3 hours things change. It is steeper down here, and the trail is gravel and sand. I fall about 5 times, once into a pile of horse manure. Finally, at about 5pm we arrive at my friend’s house. Again, I am famished and craving something substantial. What do we eat? Pig fat, fried eggs, rice, and some half-decent beef with too much fat attached.

Thankfully, I get to spend an entire week in the village before having to endure another long travel day back. When the time does come to return to the city, we set out early to avoid the heat of the sun. The entirely uphill walk is much harder than I expected, perhaps because I have eaten pig fat and rice almost exclusively for several days. The last hour or two of our hike, I find I can hardly put one foot in front of the other. It’s hot, I’m malnourished, and I’m not in the best shape.

Again, at her grandparents’ house in the first village, we eat fried eggs and pig fat. This time on rice, not noodles. I sneak my snickers and granola bars while my friend washes her grandfather’s clothes. At about 5pm, we pack into a police officer’s jeep and prepare for the long road back to the city.

There’s a forest fire blocking the road, so the driver takes a short cut. I’m certain this road has not been driven on in years. Small pine trees are growing in the middle. Our driver drives far too fast, and my neck hurts from holding my head up on the bumpy road. After a few miles, the driver adjusts his mirror to watch me while he drives. I pretend not to notice.

5 hours later, I arrive at my apartment and take a much needed shower, dream about what I will eat for breakfast the next morning, and rest my weary head on my familiar pillow.

I'm Not Crazy, I'm Spiritual

A few blogs ago, I wrote about a book called "Saint's Everlasting Rest," by Richard Baxter. He talks a lot about the discipline of meditation. I was really challenged by everything he wrote.

Another thing he encourages is to be disciplined in soliloquy. I nodded in agreement, but wasn't sure what that word meant. I remember learning that word while studying Shakespeare in high school, but the exact definition escaped me. So today I looked it up. Here's the definition I found on the internet:

1.	an utterance or discourse by a person who is talking to himself or herself or is disregardful of or oblivious to any hearers present.

2.	the act of talking while or as if alone.

I do this all the time! (So much so that I once called my sister by my name)

So basically, all I have to do is turn my already constant soliloquy into fruitful soliloquy. Like preaching sermons to myself.

Really, though, this is a hugely encouraging thing for me. I have read a lot about Christian meditation and prayer and fasting and all the other spiritual disciplines, but I don't think I've ever come across soliloquy as a spiritual discipline before. (maybe I'm reading the wrong books) But it really does make a lot of sense to spend time reminding yourself of what you know about God and yourself and eternity. It's a good idea to preach a sermon to yourself now and then.

So, Self, let's get to it!

Five Hours from Freedom to Freezer

Some of you will think I'm really cool after reading this post. Others will think I'm a loser for thinking making soup from scratch is special. Especially after 2 1/2 years in a developing nation.

I've been wanting to try my hand at chicken soup from scratch since I first arrived over here. I just never got up the gumption to start the project. Part of the problem is that my kitchen lacks adequate counter space. Another problem is that the counters in my kitchen are really low - like up to the middle of my upper leg - and it kills my back to work too long on anything in there.

But today I finally got started on this. I went down to the vegetable market and bought some veggies - carrots, tomatoes, garlic, onion, cilantro - and the main ingredient, fresh chicken. I was surprised how hard it was to get the chicken. I grew up on a farm, I know a little about the realities of birth and death. But it was hard for me to walk into the chicken area of the market and sentence an innocent hen to death.

When I was little, I used to go talk to my grandmother's chickens when I was sad.
I thought they cared. Then one day, one of my tears fell to the ground
and they all rushed toward it as if it were food.
That's when I realized they didn't care. They just wanted a snack.

For $5 I got a 4 pound chicken, which the lady kindly killed, bled, de-feathered, and beheaded for me. (I got teased a lot about the beheading. "The head's the best part! Don't waste it!" They really like the heads, and since there's only one per chicken, it's kind of a delicacy - usually a treat for the kids.) I took it home, hanging by its feet in a plastic bag to catch what was left of the blood.

I never thought I'd draw so much attention carrying a dead chicken home. I see people carrying dead and live chickens all the time. But apparently if a foreigner does it, it's an event worth calling everyone's attention to. The flirtatious gate-guard at my apartment complex exclaimed, "You killed a chicken! Are you going to invite me to dinner?"

If it looks creepy with the feet attached,
imagine it with its head on...

Anyway, I got it home. The cat was very curious about the stench of death I brought into our home. I removed the skin, cut the feet and wings off, and put feet, wings, and body into a pot. I added the veggies and tomatoes, filled the pot with water, and let it all boil for an hour or so. (I read that having all this stuff together gets a lot of flavor and nutrients into the water.)

It's really alarming to see how small chicken breast is on a real chicken...
I can't even begin to guess how unhealthy those two-pound
chicken breasts on the shelves of American supermarkets are.

I removed the meat from the skeleton and skimmed the fat (which there was hardly any of) from the broth. After chopping the meat up, I divided all the broth and meat into 3 freezer bags. (I did taste the broth, and it was ridiculously good. I didn't expect it to come out this good) Now, on those days when I have no idea what to eat, and am tired of instant noodles or fried potatoes, I can grab this frozen broth, throw in some veggies, and have myself some chicken soup.

Facing Fears

This might not have actually happened.

This is a memory from when I was very young, maybe 5 or 6. It might be one of those things where I invented the memory as I grew up.

My oldest brother came home from the Marines for a visit. My bedroom was off the dining room. Lying in bed, I was listening in on the conversation he was having with my parents. He told a bunch of stories from his experiences in the military. One story would change my life forever…

Here’s how I remember it.

A private was standing at attention. A spider crawled in his ear as he was standing there. Because he was at attention, he couldn’t move to swat the thing away. In his ear, this poisonous spider bit him, and he died right there.
(My guess is that my young imagination converted a real story into a really terrifying one.)

That night, after hearing that story, I couldn’t sleep. Overwhelmed by a fear of spiders crawling in my ears, I tossed and turned. Finally, I grabbed my baby blanket from the foot of my bed, made a bonnet with it, and tied it around my chin to cover my ears. For several nights, I slept with this blanket over my ears. To this day, I cannot sleep if my ears are uncovered. I’ll pull the blankets over my head even in the hottest weather. One reason I’ve let my hair grow so long is so that I can pull it over my ears when blankets aren’t available.

This is one of my biggest irrational fears. Bugs crawling in my ears while I sleep.

In the village this weekend, I slept in a kind of gross bed in a storage room with only 3 walls. The fourth wall was a curtain blowing in the cold high-altitude night air. It was dark when I went to bed, but I could see in the dim light that the pillow had a film of dirty dust on it. I pulled my long hair forward to cover the pillow so my face wouldn’t touch it, and pulled some more hair over my right ear, which would face upward as I lay on my left side on the hard bed.

At 5 a.m. I was awakened by what sounded like a moth flapping against the wall over our heads. It sounded very strange, and didn’t stop. I pulled a little more hair over my head to keep the moth out of my ear. After 10 minutes or so, I felt that the sound was really peculiar. Maybe it was my friend’s breathing? She had a cold and we were sharing a small twin-sized bed. The sound was irregular and too loud to be anything I could think of. Finally, I put my index finger over the opening of my ear. The sound was louder with my ear blocked….

Worst fear realized.

For a few minutes, I tried to get it out. I tapped my ear, tipped my head. I imagined a moth with big wings burrowing deeper in to my ear canal as it struggled. I imagined going to a local hospital to have an unsanitary and unskilled doctor try to pull the thing out of my ear. Horrifying images flashed through my mind as I lay there in the dark trying not to panic. Dead insects in my ear, ear infections, deafness.

Finally, I woke up my bed-mate. She instructed me. Tilt your head, and beat on it. She stuck her long pinky-nail in my ear. But the sound of the insect’s struggles continued. Finally, she told me to just turn over and sleep with that ear facing down. “It will go downward like it would if it were burrowing in soil.” I turned over, and paid close attention for any sensation of an insect walking out of my ear.

An hour later, I got out of bed. I did not sleep at all from the time I discovered the bug in my ear until it was time to get up and hit the road. After turning over, I did not hear the bug again, but I never sensed his departure.

In the morning around the breakfast fire, people were discussing their own experiences with these blanket bugs that crawl in your ears while you sleep. They imitated the sound it makes in your ear as it struggles. They told stories of how they’d gotten theirs out. Some used flashlights to lure them out. Some tapped their ears. Some tilted their heads. My biggest fear was a commonplace experience for them.

This is what we go through to get the Good News out to people...

Holy Sanitation!

This may seem like a very unladylike topic. But one thing I’ve learned living in a developing nation is that it is easy to lose all concept of propriety in your home country when you cross into a place that’s not so germ conscious as America. Poop is part of life; we really just need to accept it.

Bear with me. This has a spiritual point.

I’ve been to a lot of places over here and have seen very few sanitary facilities. Public bathrooms never provide toilet paper, so I have taken to carrying scented tissues with me. Why scented? So I can cover my nose. I could go into detail, but doing so might offend your sensitivities. Lets just say it wouldn’t be a bad idea to bleach the soles of your shoes after you leave the bathroom. And never, under any circumstances, do you want to touch the wall. If you can avoid it, don’t touch the door (if there is one) to the stall (if there is one).

What might be more appalling than the state of the bathrooms here is the state of the non-bathrooms. Everyday I see several children going potty on the sidewalk, or off the curb, or even on the floors of stores or restaurants. One and two. Two gets swept up, one gets left to dry, or maybe spread around with a towel.

My recent trips to villages have been interesting too. The last few village homes I’ve stayed at had no outhouses. Villages rarely have plumbing. I’m usually grateful for an outhouse with at least one wall. But in these places, when I asked where the toilet was, they pointed to an area and said, “Find a place over there.” “Over there” is out of the way of foot traffic, but dogs and other animals roam freely back there. (One morning I was surprised when I stood up and saw a large brown cow to my right. Didn’t see her at first…) And take my word for it, dogs will eat just about anything given the opportunity.

As you can imagine, this would be germaphobe’s nightmare. Not to mention the public health department. It’s easy to criticize, or make jokes and belittle these people for their lack of attention to sanitation. I often have to swallow the criticism and remind myself that I’m here to show them Christ’s love and not belittle them with my scientific understanding of disease prevention. I repeat to myself the anti-culture-shock mantra “not bad, just different.”

But I wonder about this topic. You know, when God first brought his people out of Egypt to make a nation through which he would reveal himself to the world, he gave them a bunch of laws, some of which seem silly to us today. He told them what to eat and what not to eat. He told them how to dress themselves. To be true to scripture, all of these laws were meant to set the Israelites apart as the Lord’s, to make them clean and holy because they were his, and to remind them that he was the Lord. But if you look at some of those laws, you can see that God was teaching them how to take care of themselves.

I’m not really in a position to speak with authority on this, but I’m pretty sure if you looked at the food laws in the Old Testament, you’d find that a lot of the forbidden foods are actually bad for our health. God was instructing the Israelites on eating healthy when he told them to stay away from pork (high in cholesterol and filled with trichinosis).

And then buried in the book of Deuteronomy there’s a little bit of instruction about poop: “Designate a place outside the camp where you can go to relieve yourself. As part of your equipment have something to dig with, and when you relieve yourself, dig a hole and cover up your excrement. (Deut 23:12-13)”

The reason God gives for this practice is in the next verse. He wants them to keep the camp pure because he’s planning on walking among them, and since he’s Holy, he doesn’t want to step in their… you know.

His command makes sense from a modern sanitation perspective as well. Poop goes outside the camp, away from where people are walking and kids are playing in the dirt. We’re not to go one or two on the kitchen floor, we’re to take a shovel outside the camp and do our business in a more hygienic fashion.

My point in all this is not to criticize the way people here do their business. My point is to say that God taught his people how to take care of themselves. He cared about their health and holiness. He gave them commands to help them remember who he was and how to worship him, and he gave them commands to keep their camp clean.

And now I’ll wonder out loud (in cyber space) whether the people here would have more sanitary practices if God’s Word had reached them thousands or hundreds of years ago as it did the forbears of our Western culture…

Dropkicks vs Skynyrd: a story of forgiveness

I had a really nasty experience of hurt a few years ago. I was a new Christian. A person close to me had been consistently hurting me for a long time. I was pretty naïve at the time, so I didn’t know better than to allow it. Shortly after I trusted Christ for my salvation, things culminated to bring that relationship to an end. But it wasn’t over. This person continued to be a part of my life, a member of my church community, and a friend to my friends. I often wished I could just be done with this person; that this person would just disappear.

For two years I struggled on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis with the hurt and bitterness I felt. In that time, God taught me my first major lessons in forgiveness. I learned to turn over the right to judge to Jesus – the only one who really holds the right to judge. I learned to turn hurt over to Christ as well. I learned that holding grudges, un-forgiveness, and bitterness only weighs us down and hinders us from growing closer to God.

After a long painful ordeal, through which God led me through slow increments, all bitterness toward this person was gone. I still hurt at memories of what happened, but thoughts of this person changed from thoughts of bitterness to thoughts of friendship. Thinking of it now, I know God led me through a process of forgiveness so that now I hold no bitterness at all.

I was thinking back on this experience a few days ago, amazed at God’s goodness, patience and forgiveness. That same evening, I was confronted with some ugly things inside me. Anger and hurt have been growing for some time, and I realized I needed to apply what God taught me in my first years as a Christian.

I’m experiencing culture shock in increasing measure. Not about the culture I live in, but about American Southern culture. For the past three years, I’ve been outnumbered by Southerners almost every time I’ve been around Americans. Before I started working over here, I never thought much about the differences between the North and South. I knew of some differences in dialect, special foods and community entertainment. But for the most part I never saw the South as anything but another place in my country.

But over the past three years, I have been insulted and hurt more by my own countrymen than any other people in my life – and this mostly by strangers who neither know me nor have ever visited the North. I often hear people make comments that reveal their animosity toward Northerners, often associated with the term “Yankee” - never used as a term of endearment - which has come to be extremely offensive to me. Their comments reveal their belief that Northerners, particularly New Englanders, are cold, unfriendly, heartless (maybe even soul-less) and impolite. I find it ironic that such presumptions coming from such hospitable people are so hurtful and offensive to a 'cold, heartless' person like myself. And I marvel that people who hold such prejudices toward their own countrymen can work overseas and love people of a very foreign nation.

So, it became clear to me that bitterness has built up in my heart over the last three years. I knew I had a to choose to forgive. Jesus commands us to forgive. It's not something we do when we feel like it or when the time seems right. When we feel someone has sinned against us, we must set our hearts to obedience, and we must forgive.

I sat down on the couch and began to pray. I realized that just like in that first major experience of forgiveness, I wanted the easy way out. I wanted to be surrounded by people from home and done with the cultural differences I encounter when around Southerners. But I also remembered that God kept that hurtful person in my life for a few years and forced me to work through my hurt until I had thoroughly forgiven. He’s not in the business of giving us the easy, painless road. He teaches us through hard times.

So I sat down and vented to God about the hurt and frustration I’ve felt. I chose to give Him the right to judge people for their sins, and the right to convict them and teach them to turn away. I confessed my own sins of bitterness and pride. And I thanked Him that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Jesus shed the same blood for me as he did for them, and that means forgiveness from all our sins. I rejoiced that that means that neither I, nor my Southern brothers and sisters, will be condemned.

As I prayed, I literally felt physically lighter, like a weight was taken off my shoulders. I felt my animosity dissolving.

Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

I was weary and burdened from carrying the bitterness and hurt of these things. But I turned the burden over to Christ. His yoke is a yoke of freedom and forgiveness. And it is significantly easier to carry. So much so that it it’s actually restful to carry it.

Once the initial decision is made to obey Christ and forgive, the process must continue. There's still hurt to be dealt with, and sometimes the bitterness tries to climb back on your shoulders. But if we persevere in forgiveness, God will bless us, and bitterness will be gone.

The Dead and the Living

I recently made a trip out to the countryside during one of the tribal festivals. It was pretty low key - there were no big bonfires or large gatherings. In fact, I wouldn't have even noticed it was a festival if I had not passed a number of men with their children along the trail carrying burning incense sticks.

What were they doing?

This is what I understood of the explanation: Every year families will invite the spirits of their ancestors to return to their homes for a few days. After the allotted time, the boys help their fathers lead those spirits back to their tombs for a rest. They bring trays of fruit and candy to leave at the tomb as an offering. The boys carry the burning incense, and the spirits follow the line of smoke. When they arrive at the tomb, they light a string of firecrackers.

I wasn't too clear on the rest. But my understanding was that if they failed to invite their ancestors back to their homes to hang out, the ancestors might get upset enough to do them harm. If they fail to lead them back to their tombs to rest, they'll continue to pester them in various ways.

The longer I live here, the more I see the practices of these people as a very saddening form of slavery.

Those who hold these beliefs in spirits live in fear of them. The spirits they acknowledge are not little Caspers protecting them and blessing them as they go about their days. They are often malevolent, wishing to do people harm at every turn. As a result, people live their lives in fear. Every day is a series of rituals done to appease the spirits, to convince them to leave them alone. They burn incense to household shrines in the morning and at night. They circle stone mounds thought to have some magical power before entering their homes at night. The idea is that the demons who have followed them home will be shaken off and won't follow them into the house. Babies wear charms on their wrists to ward of evil spirits.

We might be tempted to shrug off these beliefs and practices. We might like to think that these rituals and fears serve a purpose within the culture but in reality those demons and spirits do not exist. But let's not forget that the Bible is filled with warnings and commands concerning the unseen forces of darkness. These demons are very real. That's why the witchdoctors and diviners often give remedies and answers that work.

As one who has experienced the life-changing, soul-freeing power of Christ in my life, my heart breaks to see the slavery and fear in which these people live. The oppression is visible and felt.

God has made himself known through what he made, yet people the world over have chosen to worship and serve created things rather than the Creator. And the evil one has manipulated and deceived every culture on earth in special ways. He's a crafty one. These people have lived under his oppression long enough.

Pray with me that the Most High would shine the Light of Truth among the animistic peoples of the world and fulfill his promise to bring people form every nation, tribe, people and language into his Kingdom and around his Throne, "and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death." (Hebrews 2:15)

Language is Crazy

On any given day, I can walk down the street and hear as many as 10 different languages and many more dialects. It's completely mind-boggling how many languages are around me and how often local people can't effectively communicate with local people. I can travel 20 minutes by foot, and encounter villages with different mother-tongues. Language and communication takes on a whole new meaning for me here.

Here's something really crazy from this perspective. I just started reading a book called Saint's Everlasting Rest, by Richard Baxter. This guy was born almost 400 years ago in England. What's amazing is that I am able to easily understand over 99% of what he wrote 350 years ago. His heart language is very similar to mine, with minor exceptions. (Like 'apprehension' to him means what 'comprehension' means to me.) Sure he writes a lot differently than American novelists today. I might not be able to speak like he did, but if we spoke to each other, I'm pretty sure we'd communicate relatively well. At least the written form is similar enough to convince me of this.

400 years of history and the Atlantic Ocean separate our homelands, but our mother tongues are quite similar. When compared to the region I now find myself in, this is truly crazy. (Maybe Baxter wouldn't understand if I said, "Dude, this is totally whack! I mean, wicked beyond crazy!")

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I highly recommend this book, by the way. I think it will change your life. This guy knew the Bible inside and out, and he had an intimacy with Christ that should spur you on to deepening your own relationship with Him. Heck, even if you're not a Christian, you should read this book. You can get to know a genuine believer who lived a long time ago. See the world through his eyes, eloquently represented.

Imports

I was out of town for a while. I returned to my city to find a new import store had opened up downtown. For 2 years, I've had to travel to another city - an 8-hour bus ride or 50 minute flight away - to buy Western goodies like Mayonnaise, Hot Chocolate Mix, Cheese, good Coffee, etc.

When I learned this store opened up, I went straight there. I stood in awe of the small corner of the grocery store that housed such tasty treats as Mac & Cheese, Cereal, Tuna, and Refried Beans! I couldn't move. I was overwhelmed.

Then I thought, "What should I buy?" There was nothing there I wanted. Well, sure, I would have bought some Cheerios if they hadn't been $16 per box. (I can get a big bowl of noodles for 25 cents) I was surprised to find that I really had no desire to buy any of the things on the shelves. I guess I've been here long enough that I've gotten over the Western cravings and adopted the ways of the locals. Because I felt like I needed to buy something, I picked up some Tuna ($3), a box of Mac & Cheese ($8), and a can of Chicken Noodle Soup ($8). I figured I might have a day or two where I don't want to leave the house or deal with fixing something from scratch.

I have to say I was pretty proud of myself when I realized how accustomed I've gotten to the absence of these goodies. I'd rather go to the market and buy some weird Asian veggies, throw them in a pot with tomato and meat and put them on rice. Or better yet, do a stir fry with lots of hot pepper. Or, even better yet, go down the road and spend $3 on a meal at a restaurant that would blow the average Western restaurant out of the water.

(Confession: After looking through the import store, I went home and made chicken salad with some frozen chicken breast I bought at the vegetable market and some mayonnaise I bought last year in the far away city. I realized that I'd been hoarding the mayo because it wasn't readily available. Once I knew I could replace the jar, I opened it right away:)

Power of Optimism

I struggle to think positive. More of a pessimist, really. I title this entry tongue in cheek. Optimism is not the cure for pessimism.

I was reading my Bible this morning, and was really convicted that I frequently try to fight negativity with optimism. Not only that, but I have overlooked the biblical solution to negative thoughts and words. Over and over in the book of Ephesians, Paul exhorts the people to cease speaking negative and unfruitful words, and to be thankful.

Thankfulness is the key.

So. Convicted, I picked up my pen and began to write out some things I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful to be here doing what I'm doing. I have had the privilege to tell quite a few people about Jesus - many of whom had never heard of him before. I have met some remarkable people, eaten crazy things, traveled to wonderful places and met normal people in the middle of nowhere (just like I used daydream about as a kid). I have been living my childhood dreams for 2 years. I have learned a lot, become bilingual, survived refining trials, and grown in faith and understanding.

I'm thankful for the physical difficulties I've faced. The illnesses, back pain, the discomforts of travel and village trips. I'm thankful because Jesus promised hardship, and since I receive his promised inheritance with joy, I will also choose to receive his promised pain with joy. I'm thankful because these struggles and pains remind me that heaven will be painless and glorious, my tears will be wiped away by my loving creator. I'm thankful because pain reminds me to rely on God for strength and deliverance and not to be complacent in my strength and wellness.

I'm thankful for the physical and relational distance from friends and family in America, and for the transition that has taken place in my cultural "soul". Thankful because now I clearly have no true home on this side of heaven, and that sense of unbelonging reminds me that I will not be home until Jesus brings all things to completion.

I'm thankful for continued singleness, because I have the freedom to respond to God without needing to accommodate a husband. I also have that reminder that I await true intimacy with my Lord, without that disappointment that such intimacy is not possible with another person.

I'm thankful that I live in a place where some familiar creature comforts are available, because this makes the difficulty of living here less difficult. But I'm also thankful that some of those creature comforts are disappointing - like internet being really slow, frequent power/water outages, butter being hard to find and expensive to buy, or my oven being a wicked frustrating piece of junk. The fact that these conveniences are not as good/reliable as their American versions reminds me that I'm fortunate to have them at all, and that I'm really not in America and shouldn't expect this place to be like America.

I'm also thankful for the American creature comforts I don't have, because lacking them has helped me to adjust to living here (and keep off the extra pounds). I've been forced to become accustomed to new things because familiar things are unavailable.

I'm thankful for the availability of sermons on the internet. I'm thankful for the Reformation and the printing press, which together resulted in easily attainable copies of the Bible in free countries, and specifically the several English translations in my apartment. I'm thankful for the translation of the Bible into languages of closed countries, especially this one, and for the work being done to translate it into still more languages.

I could go on all day, but cyberspace isn't big enough to hold all the things we should be thankful for. "always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." (Ephesians 5:20)