Just playing with how to post photos...

Reason for a blog part II

So my other reason I really wanted a blog is that missionary life is hard. Not all the time and don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade it for the world, but it's hard to compete with "Went to brunch with my friends" on your friend's Facebook page when your day consisted of dealing with power outages and guys running past your door with bows and arrows and coating kids with bug spray so they can play outside without fear of getting dengue fever. Hard to capture that in one line so it makes sense for the normal world.

So yesterday we went to Indonesian church for the first time. It was one of those things we looked forward to as much as slicing our kids' fingers to test them for malaria. But we figured as good missionaries, we should not spend our Sundays at the international church. We had heard of a friendly church a mile or so away, so piled our gang in the car and took off. We pulled up... the only car in the grassy field by the church... not a person to be seen anywhere, but the church doors were open, so we headed inside. Picture a big cement building, rows of wooden pews and 200 dark skinned bodies in brightly colored clothes.... and complete silence as the white people try to slip in unnoticed. Of course the service stops, the pastor at the front beckons for us to come and sit IN THE FRONT ROW and everyone chuckles silently as we push people over in the back row and Brant choses to sit on the women's side of the sanctuary so he can help me with the boys. The service lasts TWO MINUTES more and then everyone is dismissed... we got there just in time to hear the benediction.

Turns out the early youth service ran late and we had to wait around another hour until the regular service started. We tried to make small talk... tried being the operative word. We're not much for small talk in English, let alone Indonesian. Finally we filed back inside, again Brant sat on the wrong side of the church... am very thankful he didn't abandon me with the boys as all the other dads obviously did with their wives and kids...

The pastor asked the visiting pastor (Brant!) to open the service in prayer. I spent the whole prayer praying for Brant that he would get all his grammar right and not offend anyone in the first 5 minutes we were there.

People were very friendly. 50 women walked by and shook my hand. The first lady had several fingers missing and I thought poor woman is handicapped... turns out the church is a gathering of tribal people from the mountains and in this particular tribe (as in many here) the women cut off their fingers one digit at a time in order to signify grief over the death of a loved one. Most of the older women only had 3 fingers on each hand.

The lady in front of me picked lice out of her hair throughout the service. Amazing what you can still accomplish with only 3 fingers. Many of the older men had holes through their noses where pieces of bone or wood used to be. I guess they had picked up on the "It's not spiritual for Christian guys to have piercings" from American culture. Half of the service was in a tribal language - so much for a year and a half of Indonesian language lessons.

I was overwhelmed again with our own weaknesses and dependency on the Lord to accomplish anything worthwhile through us. How could I reach these people when they look outside at our car in the yard and think we're from another planet? Caleb ran around in the back with the tribal kids - he wore tennis shoes that, though $5 from the clearance rack at Target, cost more than half the people in that building make in a week. How were we to befriend these people, win their respect and be able to speak into their lives that are so starkly in contrast to ours?

The service lasted over 2 hours. It ended with several guys yelling at each other in their tribal language and then people walking up and handing them money. Still not sure what that was about.

We came home exhausted, dirty, sweaty and a bit frustrated at our own inadequacies. When I first started this whole missions thing, I thought it would be fun and exciting. I always questioned those people who said "We could never do this without the Lord" Of course I could live overseas and eat funny food without the Lord's help; countless diplomats and tourists do it everyday. But now I realize anything we accomplish while we are here will only be God's doing. We are, after all, the stupid white people who don't know which side of the church to sit on.

End of an era

So I decided Facebook wasn't for me. I would much rather write out all my feelings rather than try to come up with something witty that fits in one line and describes my life at any given moment. The realization occurred to me the other day when we were all sitting down at breakfast together and Brant asked Caleb "What does a pig say?" We frequently ask him this question as he loves animals and he thinks pigs say "go-de-go-de-go" - probably because one of his push-the-button-to-hear-the-animal-sound books has seen better days and that's what the pig sounds like. But on this particular morning, he replied "Aink-aink" - not quite accurate, but a reflection that my little boy is growing up. Try as we do, we can't get him to say "go-de-go-de-go" anymore... probably will never hear it again. That day I realized "I should be writing this stuff down" and hence, here I am typing away while my little boys sleep in an effort to immortalize the cute things a 2 year old says.

Makes me sad sometimes to see them grow up. Elijah used to knock on his door every morning and say "Knock, knock is anybody there?" and he would not open the door or come out of his room unless someone opened it for him. Was very convenient on weekends. :) But now he just opens his door and comes out himself.

Don't get me wrong, I am SO EXCITED I now have one kid potty-trained, 2 who can feed and dress themselves and all 3 who sleep through the night. I cannot wait for the day we can take a family vacation without having to plan around nap time and I am already counting the days until Ezra can eat at the table and sit up in a bathtub on his own. But my mommy heart still breaks each time a little milestone is reached and a little boy takes another step towards growing up.