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