If Trust Was a Cliff

December 24, 2013 11:53 PM
Christmas Eve

The tide was coming in.  The sky was so dark that I could only hear the large surf way out on the edge of the reef.  My bare toes subconsciously curled into the wet sand, waves lapping around my ankles with the ebb and flow of the reef current.  I could hear a choir singing from the church down the road, their voices bouncing off nothing but the surface of the vast Pacific Ocean spread out before me and shooting off into the star-speckled night sky.

For some reason I felt it appropriate in the moment to sing "Silent Night".  Because it really was.  It really was the quietest Christmas Eve I have ever spent in my life.

Usually, I would be surrounded by the whole Davis family, taking a picture around the tree with our santa hats on.  Then we would find out spots on the couches in the living room and get comfortable.  Zach would be doing cartwheels with excitement, Mom is bringing out sparkling cider, and Dad is getting his bible out to read the traditional Christmas story to the family before opening gifts.  The wood stove is burning hot, keeping the Davis home warm from the dark, snowy eve outside.

The warm, salty breeze hits my cheeks, flowing mysteriously over the dark surface of the sea.

I am a long ways from home.

I remember talking to multiple SMs before I left to Kosrae.  Almost every single one, without fail, would mention something about being lonely on Christmas.

You will have a great experience!  I mean, there is always culture shock and Christmas time is pretty hard, but other than that it is such a blessing.

Don't worry, we send lots of packages around Christmas time!  We know that is usually the hardest time for SMs.

I remember when I went as an SM.  It was a life changing experience.  I learned so much and I changed in so many ways.  The first week or so will be hard, and so will Christmas.  But after that you won't want to leave!

I stood there in the quiet of the night, quite aware that I was alone on Christmas, standing on the shores of a tiny island in the very middle of the tropical Pacific Ocean.  But somehow, I felt okay.  It gave me a chance to think.  I remember back in August when I arrived.  I remember praying like I have never prayed before for strength to make it through, strength to do what I thought I could NOT do.  I knew I didn't have it in me, and that my strength was held in the arms of God where is is most valuable.  And the strange thing was, He never just handed it to me.  He seemed to ration it out, giving me JUST enough to make it through day by day.  I never had a moment where I thought "Man, this is easy!  Thanks God for the jumpstart, but I think I can take it from here!"


 If trust was a cliff, he kept me far enough out on the ledge to where I couldn't quite get my own footing without hanging on to Him.


And through some of the hardest spiritual moments in my life I find myself standing on the shores of His ocean, realizing that I had just conquered half of what seemed so brutally impossible that moment I started teaching on August 26.

We still have worries. We have current frustrations about certain things and obstacles to overcome, and I was tempted to send up another prayer to "complain" to God again about all these things.  But maybe there was some Christmas magic in the air, because when I moved my lips to pray, all that came out was:

"Thank you, God.  Thank you for carrying me this far.  Merry Christmas, God."


 I took one last look at the sea, drew a deep breath, and walked back down the muddy road to my bed.

Merry Christmas from the tropics,

River

Stuff My Students Say, Vol. 1

For the occasion of the rigorous test week,  I have started the process of documenting interesting answers on some of my student's assignments and tests.  Here is Volume 1.



1.  The Big French Giant.  He is known to come in the night and beat you with a baguette.

2.  An example of a physical change:  A baby destroyed a roller coaster.  In the process of marking him off, I realized that it actually was an accurate example of a physical change.

3.  I have some talented, trilingual students.

4.  The mental picture I got with this one was marvelous.

5.  I was lucky enough to get a bonus cloud with a smoking meatball flying from the sky.

6.  Nelly learning her lesson.

7.  I am still trying to decipher this one.

8.  Another "BFG" gem.

9.  Mitchigo rocking the first question on her science test.

10.  Apparently a physical change is not desirable.

11.  A day late and a dollar short, I might say.

12.  I am thoroughly moved by the deep and philisophical answer that was written for this question.

13.  And finally we discover that according to Kosrae, Canada is a just a big, cold state.

Tests from the tropics,


-River

The Hilarious Bathroom

The scene was perfect.

Church had ended, and the remnants of lunch still sat on the table.  The rain fell uncharacteristically softly on the palm fronds and banana leaves outside, making the cool air slowly breeze through our open window.  I sat with a freshly-brewed cup of coffee on our couch under the illumination of the christmas lights that hang over our window.  Picking up Stella, I begin to pluck out a hymn on the humidity-worn strings.  It was peaceful.  

Too peaceful.

knock.

knock knock.

knockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknock.

"Come in!" I gambled.

in peers a set of 3rd grader eyes.  Then another set beneath those.  Then two more.

All of a sudden, a tumbling wad of my students comes streaming through our doorway with almost enough inertia to shift the earth off its axis a few degrees.

I told them to pose "lady-like"

"Teecha! I saw you at church!"

"Teecha let me play your guitar."

"Why you already eat? Wheee."

"You come, what? Did you already taking...how."

In the midst of trying to decipher the last phrase, I counted over half my girls and some of Tyler's.  But someone essential to this pack of girls was missing.  And then as if on que, Pertha looks out the window.  

"Mitchigo is coming!  Quick, hide!"

The pack of girls turns into a flurry, and they are trying to find a place for all nine of them to hide so they can surprise her. 

our humble lavatory 

"Quick, the bathroom!" I suggest.

They all change course and head towards the bathroom door.  All of a sudden, every single girl loses it.   Awee is rolling on the ground laughing, and Vilana and Kokok can't even speak they are laughing so hard.  Apparently, our bathroom is hilarious.  I peer inside, half expecting to see maybe a pair of underwear or something on the floor.  But nope, its just a bathroom.  Perhaps it was the thought that it was their teacher's bathroom that was unbearable to them.  They pack like sardines into the little space, and Mitchigo shuffles into our apartment.  Then the floodgates of children broke loose from the bathroom and she was engulfed in the chaos of her classmates.

Nelly learning to listen to the teacher

These kids are awesome.  They seem to hold a mysterious energy deep inside which allows them to play kickball at any hour of the day or speak at full volume exactly within the boundaries of school hours.  But one of the joys of being a 3rd and 4th grade teacher is that I can do whatever I want, and it is instantly cool.  They have yet to reach the "too cool" stage, and the phrase "Easy-peasy-lemon- squeezy" is still almost too much fun for them to handle.

There are also major perks to being a teacher on a tropical island.  For example:  Yesterday, we were just about to start math.  I was feeling a little sick, and definitely not in the mood to teach two levels of math.  The kids were restless and obviously not in the mood either.  Finally I just stopped.

"Raise your hand if you are in the mood to do math today."

No hands.  

"Raise your hands if you are NOT in the mood for math today."

This time I raised my hand with all 15 of my kids.  

"Lets go find cool shells on the beach!" I pronounce.  

A shrill exclamation followed, peaking at an unreached decibel.  We marched down to the ocean, and spent the period finding shells to put in our classroom.  The sun sparkled on the water, and the warm, salty sea breeze felt good on the skin. 

"You are the best teacher!" Natalie announced as she scooped up a cowry shell from the seagrass.  

This is the first time I have heard this.  Obviously it must take "not teaching" to be the best teacher, but it felt good to hear.  Teachers often end up being the bad guys by always just disciplining and giving out homework, and I know I have done my fair share of this to my kids.  So hearing this genuine phrase from one of them gives me hope that maybe I am doing something right.  I haven't become the bad guy yet, and hopefully I never do.  

One last mysterious characteristic about my students:

Every week, we have a list of 15 spelling words.  I also have what I call the "Word of the Week", which is a usually a ridiculously hard word that I write up on the board.  Its always fun, because its a big anticipation at the start of the week to see what the new word will be.  A drumroll always occurs, and the word is displayed at the top of the board.  Indubitably, quagmire, cumbersome, mitochondria, pneumonia, to name a few examples.  The best part is that they all OBSESS over the Word of the Week.  I see it written on English papers, binders, desks, science tests, posters, you name it.  And then on friday, the Word of the Week becomes the bonus question on the spelling test.  

I graded an unbelievable spelling test last week.

Here is what it looked like. (from a student who obviously put no effort into studying her words)

1.  Sledaabe

2.  Basketad

3.  Sheef

4.  Tubseck

5.  Sois

6.  Ddab

7.  Aftebrb

8.  (blank)

9.  (blank)

10. Awkleeg

Bonus: Pneumonia

You can spell "pneumonia" but you can't spell "breeze?"  My mind was blown by the sheer power of the Word of the Week.  The mysteries of my kids continue to astonish me.

All is well on the equator.  We were blessed with so many care packages containing Thanksgiving goods that we were able to make a feast for the pastor and his family to enjoy with us!  A real American dinner with all the fixings made it feel like home, even if it was referred to as "heavy American food" affectionally by the locals.  We found a potential christmas tree (A palm sprouting out of a coconut) and plan to set it up soon.  Also, I stepped on a stingray while wading in murky water after sunset and didn't get stung, so I'm pretty stoked on that.  

Christmas has this way of looming dark on the holiday horizon when you are far away from home.  Thankfully, we have a string of christmas lights and a holiday music sampler that can fill our little tropical home with christmas cheer, and that saves plenty of room for simply appreciating the little things that we may otherwise pass by during the holiday season.  

Peace and goodwill from the tropics, 

River

The Return of the Glorious "Few Minutes Noodles"

After two long, dark months of absence, these have returned to our local store.  There is meaning to life once again.  

Today is a day to celebrate.  Happy Thanksgiving.

-River

The Chorus of Mankind

The Chorus of Mankind

These feet know not the ground they walk on.

Our eyes still carry fear,

our souls still seek strength.

We’re not used to being strangers.

Oceans away seems a lot farther when all you have to hold on to

Is your own fist and a whole lot of trust.

These feet know not the ground they walk on

Uncalloused and trembling

But steady they run,

Uncertain and reckless

But with beautiful abandon

Like a son leaving his Father to save a world he’s never seen

Knowing well he would not return

WE

Do not know the ground we tread.

Oceans away we are connected by our maker

The whole planet trembles, from poles to equator

Waking us UP

Breaking us open

Shaking our senses

 Hearing the words that were spoken

ages before us,

like a melody that was broken

but still rings over oceans and mountains and forests

like a dissonance only to be resolved in chorus

TOGETHER

In the choir of mankind.

And we know not the ground we walk on.

For in these lands beauty hides in the broken.

And we find the hopeless still hoping

For a better promised land.

And our feet know not the ground we walk on

And we are scared with what we might find if we go

But maybe we were never meant to know

For these feet were built to run not on solid ground,

But on an unsteady road

Knowing well we will never have to walk alone.

And we find though we tremble in fear

These shaking feet carry words for the world to hear.

And we may know not the ground we tread

But when our hands let go, his hold secure.

-River Davis

Sometimes I have to remind myself why I am here.  

Even in an exotic land, I have found that it is easy to forget the real reason as to why we have been called here.  Its easy to get caught up in the memories of home, or teach each day like it is simply our job and then come back and wonder how many days its been.  Its easy to get sidetracked and feel like we aren't doing much on this island.  

I wrote this to remind myself that I am on a real-life mission of God.  I wrote it for others who are experiencing the same thing, or for others that want to experience something greater but have yet to find the strength.  This is for not our own, but the everlasting strength that pours from the Spirit of God to wake us up and send us as full-fledged disciples, broken and weak as we may be.  

For there is an ending to the story, and we are nearing the last chapter.  Our feet may tremble at the thought of the unknown world before us, but in God's story there is no time to lose.  

Inspiration from the tropics,

River

p.s.  This piece was written to be spoken out loud, so speaking it will perhaps make it sound smoother.

p.p.s  The picture above was not taken in Kosrae.  I took it during a previous short-term mission trip to the Kalahari Desert in Namibia, Africa.

The Assignment From ________ (not heaven).

I truly believe that some textbook writers have a sick, twisted sense of humor.  A long time ago, some 46 year old English professor was sitting at his desk in the publishing office after a long, boring day and decided to add some spice to a chapter in the 3rd grade English textbook he is working on.  This book moves from school to school, until finally it ends up in the Kosrae SDA school library.

Fast forward to yesterday.

"Alright 3rd grade, pull out your English books and turn to page 23!"

Chaos ensues, and after about 3 minutes everyone is finally sitting at their desk with their books turned to page 23.

"Okay, today we are going to be learning about 'yes' and 'no' questions."

After a brief lesson on this seemingly easy subject, I dished out their short assignment.

"On your paper, I want to you look at the question in the book and write 'yes' if it is a 'yes or no' question, and 'no' if it isn't.  Does everyone understand?"

A sea of heads nod up and down with a vacant look in their eyes.  The instant I sat down in my desk, my English assignment started attacking me back.  Looking down at my gradebook, I got this heavy sensation that I was being quietly summoned.  I slowly lifted my eyes, and sure enough.  Hands were raised in the air like a garden of well-fertilized cornstalks.  I reluctantly picked my first victim.

Student:  "Teecha....I....well.....do you...how..........what?"

Teacher:  "Ok, so you need to look at this question, and tell me if it is a 'yes or no' question.  It asks 'Is there forest in Kansas?'"

Student:  "No."

Teacher:  "So see, it can be answered with 'no'!  So it's a 'yes or no' question."

Student:  "So I write down 'no'."

Teacher:  "No, you would write down 'yes' because it is a 'yes or no' question."

I can see the vacancy sign being hung in the student's eyes.

Teacher: "So, answer this question for me:  Is there forest in Kansas?"

Student:  "I don't know!"

Teacher: "Of course.  Well, pretend you did know.  What could you answer with?"

Student:  "No."

Teacher: "Yes, perfect!"

Student: "Wait, yes?"

Teacher: "Well, yes or no.  It doesn't matter.  So if it is 'yes' or 'no', put 'yes' on your paper.  Otherwise put 'no'.

Student: "So 'no'?"

Teacher:  "No!  'Yes'!"

Student: "'Yes'?"

Teacher:  "Yes!!"

The student finally shows a little spark in her eye, as if understanding has been granted to her.  A long, painful period of time passes as I watch the pencil move in slow motion towards the paper.  Millimeters away from making contact, the pencil pulls back up.

"Wait teecha, so what do I put?"


What kind of sick and twisted joke is it to publish an assignment like this?  I started to laugh out loud  right there in my desk, and the student seemed to enjoy that.  I had the urge to walk right out of my door and into the swampy jungle, never to return again.  I was convinced that somewhere in the classroom was a hidden camera, being watched by that same English professor that wrote this terrible assignment.

In conclusion, here are some random pictures.  Enjoy.

End of a long day

Stella travelin' around Kosrae!

The Crazy Bus

Still trying to think of a name for our little "truck".  

Peace from the Tropics,

Teecha River

Kosrae, The Oven.

"Knocking!  Knocking!  Knocking!"

Ryan and Tyler and I are all in our beds on the one morning we can sleep in.  It is around 7:00 AM, and there is a voice at the door.

We play the age-old game of waiting for someone else to get up to answer.  Finally I hear Tyler come out from his room and open our door.  I wait a few seconds.

"River, its for you."

Ah, so close.


I roll out of bed and approach the door.  Soon I see that it is the pastor's wife and her two little first graders, holding a big cake covered in M&Ms.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Teacher River, Happy birthday to you!" They sing, with little Opa and Jessa hiding behind their mother's legs.

All of a sudden I felt bad for not springing out of bed sooner.  "Thank you so much!" I say with sleepy jubilance, taking the cake pan with my hands, which will inevitably be our breakfast, and probably lunch.  I ate a nice slice of cake, amazed at how the generous locals remembered my birthday before I did.

Drip coffee from a coconut shell

Sunday was hot.  It was one of those hot days when you get out of the cold shower, already sweating before you are completely dried off.  Our upstairs room was baking in the midday equatorial sun, and it was time to do SOMETHING.  We discuss our options while standing directly in front of our fan.

"We could stand in front of the open refrigerator door for a while?"
"We could just stay here and accept our fate of heat stroke?"
"We could fry eggs on the concrete outside?"
"We could hike to the taro plantation?"

After a very brief and apathetic debate, we decide on the fourth option.  Donning Keens and grabbing Nalgenes, we bravely shoot into the jungle on what we thought was a trail.
Exactly 158 seconds later, we emerge back to where we started, soaking wet.


"Alright, lets try that other trail.  Hopefully it won't end in a swamp."

"When we pictured the taro plantation that we knew was back in the jungle a ways, we thought of a neat little field with rows of taro (used for its root as food).  But after a few steps down the trail, we find that is not the case.

"Alright don't step there.  its about 3 feet deep."
My ears receive this information about 51% into my stride.  My foot makes contact with the "ground" and keeps going, sinking thigh-deep into thick, brown, stinky mud.  I grab hold of a flimsy taro leave to steady myself, which ranks among the top 5 worst things to grab for stabilization.  From my understanding, this list of "things not to grab for stabilization" goes as follows:

1. A bee's nest
2. An electric fence
3. A spider web
4. Ryan's leg
5. A Taro branch

The thorny Taro stem immediately gave way and threw my other leg into the mud.  Almost simultaneously my face catches a full, beautiful, National-Geographic-photo-contest grade spider web.

This is a wonderful experience.

The rest of our hike went the same as we realized that the swampy "trail" was the taro plantation.  After climbing a cool tree that could have been found in The Jungle Book, we trudged straight back and walked directly into the ocean to wash off, disregarding the judgmental stares of the Protestants coming out of their church service.


Today found us a similar experience, although maybe a bit more exciting.  We keep hearing about this waterfall in Tafunsak, but no local teenager is excited enough to take us.  Finally, we convince Cooper Jr. to show us.  Saddling up in our tiny Japanese "truck", we dodge children and dogs and potholes and make it to the trail head.  It turned out to be a beautiful hike, and the trail was half in the river.  After passing a "do not pass" sign, cliffs rose above us on both sides.  Jumping in the cool, fresh water of the river was amazingly refreshing compared to the ocean!  I will let the pictures tell of our hike.

Life is moving along here.  We have discovered how to make biscuits and gravy, the termites leave new piles of dust around various places in our house every day, and my kids now have pen pals from Spokane.  It is hot as ever here, until the torrential rains come.  We were graced by a storm surge in the night last week, and we think we got the very edge of the hurricane that hit the Philippines.  Our tomato and zucchini plants are growing well, thanks for asking.  The holidays loom daunting on our horizon, but I think that we will try and find a little palm tree to hang christmas lights on.  I am going to get Ryan and Tyler coconuts for christmas, don't tell!

Peace from the tropics,

River

The Webster Paradox

My watch beeps at exactly 7:00 AM.  I pull off my sheet and stumble to my window.  Not a cloud in sight.

Today will be the day that I burn,  I think to myself.

It is the school picnic.  This means that we herd all the kids into the bus and we all go to the marina, where there are nice little porches that the kids can jump off of into the safety of the harbor.  It is an all-day event, and the sun is grinning at my feeble American skin.

I see our excited students through the windows of the bus, bouncing around like water molecules in boiling water.  For some reason they are surprised and ecstatic that their teacher is in a swimsuit.  We arrive at the marina, and play kickball while we wait for the tide to rise enough to swim.  The kids are getting restless.

"Can we swim?"
"Can we swim now?"
"When can we swim?"
"I want cheetos."
"Mitchigo is crying!"
"Can we swim?"
"Hudson kicked the ball into the water."
"The teams are unfair."
"Where is Washington?"
"I like tuna."



All of a sudden I hear a splash behind me.  One of the fifth graders had jumped off the porch into the water.

There was a tiny moment of silence as all the students simultaneously turned their heads to look towards the splash.  Then towards me.  Then back towards the splash.

The next few seconds was a blur.  There was a low rumble, and I felt the ground vibrating beneath my feet.  Then a thick, solid stream containing all the students went cascading off the porch and into the water.

Eh, the tide was probably high enough anyways.

The day was an exhausting blast, containing hundreds of "dolphin rides" and clingy 1st graders.  We had a brief break for lunch, where students inhaled rice and hot dog wieners and jumped back into the water.  At the end of the day, salt encrusted and water-logged, we made it back to the school and crashed on our beds for a good night of sleep.




Webster T. George ranks in the top 3 hardest students I have in my class.  I have caught him cheating and bullying, he doesn't follow directions, he doesn't follow the rules, he is aggressive on the playground, and has gone to the principal more than any other student in my class.

Yet if I was going to adopt any of the boys from my class, it would probably be him.

Webster comes from a hard home.  We invited him and his little brother Holter to church one sabbath and drove to pick him up.  We tumbled down the muddy driveway to his house in the jungle, and see his dad out in the yard drinking a beer with a friend.  Beer cans are scattered everywhere.  Webster and Holter come out of the house in their polos and hop in the back bed of our little truck and drive to church.  I am starting to piece together the reasons for the way Webster acts in school.
He has been staying at the pastor's house beside us for the last few days.  We don't know why, but I could make an educated guess by the mark I saw on his face the other day.  I encounter him frequently outside of the classroom now when he is hanging around the compound, which has allowed me to see a different side of Webster.

I grabbed the basketball tonight to go shoot a few hoops before bed.  I flip on the big flood lights that illuminate our little court that sits right in front of the dark jungle backdrop.  After a couple shots, I hear a noise.  Webster is hiding behind the pole.

"Ha, I scared you!" he said enthusiastically.
I smile and toss him the ball.  He makes a perfect three-point shot.
We laugh and talk and shoot hoops together.  It is refreshing to not have to be a strict teacher at the moment.

"Teecha, what is a grapefruit?"

"Hmmm, well, it is like a big orange, only its not orange.  Well, kinda.  And inside it is red.  And more sour."

I soon realize that I have obviously never needed to describe a grapefruit before.


"Teecha, the memory verse is easy.  I memorized all of it!"
He shoots another perfect three-pointer.

"Good job!  But can you say all three parts now?"
We are memorizing the entire Psalms 23.

"Yep, easy!" He smiles.

He passes the ball to me.  I completely miss the rim.

"Almost!" He encourages.

I watch him dribble around as he pretends to be in a basketball game, and the timer is ticking down.  He shoots right at the 1-second mark and is the hero of the game.

We shut off the lights, and we head for our homes.  I come to a tough realization that there is a young boy inside the tough outer husk, one with dreams and even just someone who needs a friend.  But then that husk is put back on to defend himself from home life and school, and I put on my teacher clothes and all of a sudden I become just another person that disciplines him.

Maybe I can say that we are a work in progress.
Maybe I can help him set that husk aside and see him as the kid inside.
Maybe I can change out of my teacher clothes more often and become just a friend.

Maybe Webster is teaching me something that no university or textbook could ever show me.




Peace from the tropics,

River

Local Pillow

My pillow got wet during my rainy adventure at Walung.  

Normally, people would be like "Oh,  I'll just pop it in the dryer and drink some juice while I wait 35 minutes."

Nope.  Because here on the equator, the air is probably more moist that my pillow.  Therefore my pillow will probably take 2-3 months to dry, if it doesn't end up just acting like a sponge and lowering the overall humidity of Kosrae by a few percentages.  After desperately searching all of my options, I had to resort to the one option I was dodging.

I must use the local pillow.

When I first arrived here in, the bed in my room was fitted with a stained brown sheet and a pillow with a matching case, both looking like they had been possibly advertised as cheap critter housing during the summer absence of missionaries.  I knew by pure human instinct that there HAD to be perhaps a gecko apartment, or maybe some land-crab condos deep inside that pillow.  

I got up the courage to touch it.  I felt a lump.

Definitely a cockroach family.  Probably.

I pressed on the pillow a couple times.  For some reason in my sketched-out mind, I half expected a squirrel or a bat or something to come running out in a panic, carrying its bags and dragging its children behind them.  Thinking it was the safest thing for my well being as a student missionary, I stuffed it underneath my dusty bed and fitted my own pillow nicely on my sheets.  And everything was happy until a couple days ago.  

I stare under my bed.  The local pillow is staring back at me with a smirk on its face, as if to say "I am the local pillow, and I own this bed."

I take one of its corners, and pull it out from under my bed.  It has accumulated a nice layer of dust and mold on the sides, and the lumps seem even more lumpier that before.  I started to wonder if there was even any stuffing in it, or if it was just dead squirrels and bats I was feeling.  After a few good punches to at least make sure the critters were dead, I brushed it off as good as I could and began the process of laying my head down onto it.

Notice the word "process".  

My downward motion paused involuntarily.  Finally I was able to use the power of the mind to convince myself of its safety, and I slowly released all of my neck muscles on the pillow.  I touched down right on a mountain range of lumps, and adjusted the dead squirrels inside so that I was at least in a comfortable valley.  Somehow, I instantly fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning, realizing that I just had the best night of sleep so far in Kosrae.  

I looked down at my local pillow.  "how could I have ever doubted you, Magic-Kosrae-Pillow?"

And ever since, I have yet to return to my other pillow that is actually still exiled to the porch until it stops deciding to be a sponge.

I have no idea why I am even writing this.

Peace from the tropics I guess!

-Riv

Panda Express-ing

If someone could be so kind to maybe put some Panda Express in a ziplock bag and send it via priority mail, that would be great.  Really great.


Thanks again.

-Riv

The Wild Side of Kosrae

"Don't shine your light into the water, it makes the swordfish go crazy."

I don't really know what a crazy swordfish does, but if there was any animal I wouldn't want to go crazy it would be a swordfish.

With all lights off, it is pitch black.  I steady myself on the hull of our small boat while the little 30 HP yamaha engine sputtered to life, sending us out of the harbor and into the dark, open Pacific.  I look down beside me where the hull stirs up the warm equatorial water, and hundreds of bioluminescent creatures light up before my eyes, accompanying the reflection of a billion stars from above.  Beside me, the pastor and the guide are speaking merrily in Kosraen to each other as his flashlight beam occasionally catches a swordfish jumping out of the water in front of us.

I have a brief picture in my head of a swordfish jumping into my lap in the pitch darkness.

After scooting back on the boat a few feet, I watch the black outline of thick mangroves move past on the shore.  To my right, the pastor is silhouetted against a breathtaking display of the Milky Way Galaxy, stretching from horizon to horizon over the great dark ocean.

After about 45 minutes, we finally beach at a little village called Walung.  Walung lies at the southwest corner of Kosrae, a place only accessible by boat at high tide.  There is no electricity or road, but the beaches are pristine and the whole scene belongs in a calendar.  We unload the boat of the coolers and the generator the pastor brought and wade to the sandy beach.  Locals emerge from a little path coming out of the jungle greeting us with "ekewo"'s, and we are led up the short path from the beach to a local shack with a palm roof, where the owner is making tea and offering biscuits and rolls.  Gladly accepting, we sit on the sandy ground with the pastor and our new friend from the Philippines (who joined us on monday as the bible worker), talking about our home countries, the prices in the Philippines, Obama, and the oppression of SDA's in parts of the world.

After maps of the U.S.A and the Philippines were drawn out in the sand before us, it was time for bed.  Tyler and I grabbed our Eno hammocks and set course for a couple palm trees we saw on the beach upon our arrival.  The warm wind gently swung our hammocks high in the palms as we drifted off into a tropical sleep, lulled by the breeze, the sound of the waves, and the pastel moon filtering through the clouds.

I wake up suddenly.  There is an unusual breeze.  The surf sounds rough.

Ahh, no.

A single raindrop hits me in the eye, as if nature was saying "Ha!  You think you could last a night outside in the tropics?  Well, here's a rainstorm!"

Sure enough, it started to pour.  I jump out of my hammock and unclip it from the straps and dash across the dark beach towards the palm shack.  I am instantly soaked in my white t-shirt, and my hammock and bedding didn't fair any better.  For some reason the pastor is up, messing with the generator.

I look at my watch.  4:30 AM.
"Too much rain, eh?"
"Yep," I reply as I squeegee out my shirt.  For once in my 2 months here I felt genuinely cold and shivered in my drenched clothes.  We sat under the palm cover and made light conversation.  A land crab scurries across the flooded sand in front of us.

"That crab is called a Kuluk.  Legend says that whenever someone kills that kind of crab, it rains," the pastor remarks.
"So perhaps Tyler stepped on one while getting into his hammock?"  I suggest.
Then, speak of the devil, Tyler comes bounding up the path, also soaked to the bone.

We lay back under the cover on the plywood floor, trying to warm up and wait out the rain.

"It is almost sunrise, look the sky," the pastor points out after a while.

Sure enough, the sky had lightened enough to where we could see the outline of the palms against the cloudy sky.  Soon, the locals that came with us on the boat began stirring under their blankets, and the next thing we knew we were eating a breakfast of cold cereal and Kosraen donuts.  I look at the box of cereal, which I know must have been expensive.  On the cover it read:

"Fruity Wheels"
"You only pay for the taste!"

Soooo......wait what?


After breakfast, some of the folks go out to net fish while we decide to swim out to a tiny island that we passed on last night's boat ride.  The pastor and Winey (the philippino) join us on a big, foam panel that we use as a stand-up paddle board and push with a stick.  It is pouring rain again, but we are wet anyways.  Upon arrival to the island, we "dominate it" by climbing up the steep side and thrashing through the thick jungle to the other side where we all almost biff it down a small cliff hidden by brush. Feeling like fearless explorers, Tyler then proceeds to try and hack open a coconut with a VERY dull machete, and we all are entertained as he drops it off of our "raft" twice.

We reach land again and do some more exploring on the land.  A primitive cliffside stone staircase leads us up above the ocean, and I was a little disappointed to find a school building instead of a wise elder sitting cross-legged at the entrance to a cave, ready to impart wisdom upon me.

We go back to the shack for a meal of rice and freshly-caught reef fish and prepare for our journey home.  We all almost fall asleep on the deck of our little boat while we speed home at 5 MPH through the reef.  Sleep was welcomed that night, and I dreamt about cereal.  "You only pay for the taste" cereal.

My class was very pleased to have the day off yesterday, due to UN day.  I'm not sure anyone on this island knows exactly what we are celebrating, but no one is going to argue.  Today's lesson plan was interrupted by Murson's parents knocking at my classroom door.

"Hello, can I help you?" I poke my head out of my classroom.
"Yes, it is Murson's birthday today, and we brought some treats for the class!  Is now a good time?"

Moments later, I see a giant cake and a whole case of cola parade past out window.  The kids go NUTS.  As I watch my class gobble up cake and drink whole cans of caffeinated soda, I am thankful that I only have one class left.  I know that I have precious moments before the sugar and pure energy enters their bloodstream.

"Ok, class!  We are going to do our spelling test as quickly as possible!  Put your cake aside for just a moment.  Number one...."

I see Vilana twitching.  Time is running out.

"Number one is Basketball!  Number two......."

I look up.  Mitchigo is standing on top of her desk.

"Numberthree!  Thewordiswheelchair!" I frantically recite.

I blaze through the words, just in time.  By cleanup time, Kokok is ricocheting around the room, narrowly missing my head.  Faces are smothered in frosting, and Annesha is asking for more cake through a mouthful of cake.  The class bursts into a spontaneous rendition of "Do Lord" while Holter is once again dust-mopping himself on the floor.

Finally, we are quiet.  We barely make it through The Lord's Prayer before the students literally launch out of the classroom doors and probably into outer space.

Needless to say, I know what I am going to offer Ryan and Tyler's classes on April Fool's Day.






Peace from the tropics,

-River

Stepping off of the "Life Train"

Its not necessarily trendy to "miss home" while off on a grand missionary adventure in a foreign land.

What IS trendy:
To make your facebook profile picture one of you and a local kid, and collect miracle stories and keep a deep and poetic blog about your experience.

To say that you saw a shark in person and about how the locals are becoming family to you.

To frantically try and change the world in 9 months but realize that some things are best left unchanged and maybe some observance is in order instead.

To expect yourself to be a full-bore missionary every waking hour of the day, and to read your bible an hour every morning at 5:00 AM.

To realize how much we take for granted back in the states, and make every worship talk about that topic.

To introduce new songs to the locals and spice up their way of worshiping forever.

To complain about the heat.

To not admit to missing the homeland.


And then all of a sudden, I feel like a lousy SM.  These things are definitely not bad, don't get me wrong.  But recently "non-missionary" thoughts have been entering my head, the ones that I feel bad thinking about because I begin to feel like I don't appreciate where I am now.

Such as this:
I didn't count, but I think about 90% of posts on my facebook feed either have a picture of a pumpkin, a person holding a pumpkin, or just a talk about pumpkins.  The other 10% include girls being excited about pumpkin spice lattes, super fun things going on at Walla Walla, and someone instagramming their delicious homemade pie or gourmet pizza.

And a realization hits:  Life goes on regardless.  I don't think I expected it to come to a halt while I quick spent a year abroad, but maybe I didn't expect to care that it went on without me.  And while I drool over pictures of Melissa McCrery's cookies and yearn for cool, autumn air, I close my computer and look at myself.

Heat shimmers off the tin roof of the church next to us.  The sun bears down through the humid air onto the empty school grounds.  "It used to be "Wow, we live right next to palm trees with REAL coconuts!" And now it is more like "That palm tree means that we live on the equator, with no seasons."  And then all of a sudden, I feel guilty.  This is the dream!  Palm trees!  Tropical-ness!  Ocean!  Coconuts!  Grass huts!  All the things!  I LIVE where people pay thousands of dollars to visit on vacation!

And then I open up my computer, and look at more pictures of fresh apple pie and pumpkins and scarves.  I feel pathetic.

Sitting in front of my fan, staring at a computer screen of my old life at home.  In Walla Walla.  Wherever my friends and loved ones are.  A rooster crows outside, and I wipe the sweat off my forehead.  Aren't I supposed to be taking pictures with local kids or having an experience that could later turn into a children's story at church?

Sometimes I feel like I am doing it wrong.  Like for sabbath yesterday, the pastor has been telling us that the youth group is bored and becoming jaded with their programs, such as vespers (which is very mechanical and is in need of new life) and the sundown service in the church.  Ryan and Tyler and I took it on to try and revolutionize the youth group and get them excited again.  We planned out a sundown worship where we would drive out to see the sunset, and sit on the grass and sing new, fun songs instead of hymns.  Tyler gave a short but insightful talk about Abraham and Isaac, and we tried our best to spark interest in the youth members sitting in the circle.  During the closing song, I played Stella as good as I could and led out in "My Chains are Gone" to try and breath new life into the routine of singing hymns for everything.  As the song ended, I saw that no one was singing and were all distracted by one of the babies doing something cute.  I offered a closing prayer and prepared to offer more songs as an afterglow that I thought were new and refreshing to the group.
"Um, we will sing some of our own old songs," said one of the youth.  "Sue-Lynn, you lead out and play the guitar."

I knew there was no harm meant in the suggestion, but I couldn't help but feel defeated.  "Oh, um, of course!  Go for it."  I put Stella back in her case and walked a few yards out of the group to look at the sunset.  The youth were singing at the top of their lungs behind me.

I knew that it wasn't something to get discouraged about, but I felt like I was doing something wrong.  Like they didn't need me, or they didn't want the change we were offering.


And then I look back at my screen and I miss the life still going on without me.  The life that I am familiar with, the life that I used to live in.  The life where I could play "My Chains are Gone" and everyone would sing along.  And pretty soon there are a monstrosity of thoughts pouring into my head, such as how nice it would be to have a home cooked meal of a wide range of nutritious food, and how our Christmas dinner will probably be canned-something with rice.

And even now as I write this, I just paused and had a moment of feeling guilty for even mentioning all of this.  But I think I need to get it out of my system, so I can begin the journey of immersing myself even farther into Kosrae without these distractions.

So for rebellion's sake, I will just come out and say it:

I miss the Great Northwest.
I miss Sprack, Elliott, Andrew, Mack, Justin, and all the bros.
I miss being 1.5 miles from Panda Express.
I miss leading worship.
I miss wearing long sleeves.
I miss the cold mountains.
I miss Haley Coon.
I miss watching football.
I miss seasons.
I miss my dogs.
I miss the Atlas at Walla Walla.
I miss relatively short church services.
I miss being able to understand conversations.
I miss family road trips and my family in general.
I miss full pantries.
I miss vegetables.
I loath roosters.
I loath the sample music that comes out of cheap Yamaha keyboards.

Whew.  There.  Maybe its out of my system.  Now hear me out.

This is my mission now:
To not let a day go by that I don't find beauty in something.
To not let a day go by that I don't find beauty in someone.
To remember where I am.
To always remember where I came from.
To feel small standing next to the ocean every night before bed.
To come home and be able to look back at my time in Kosrae, and not regret a single second of it.

I want to miss Kosrae badly.  I want to be sipping a pumpkin spice latte a year from now in Walla Walla and be looking at pictures on my computer screen, yearning to shed my sweater and live free and uncertain again in the place that ultimately made me strong:  The little 42-square mile Island of Kosrae.




 Peace from the tropics,

River