The Twilight Zone

I stand in the dark predawn in my parents' kitchen.  My breakfast is eaten and my coffee brewed.  The sky yawns from violet to rose, then rose to peach, and from peach to wintry blue. This used to be my daily life until something changed. I think that something is me.

A week has passed since I arrived back in the USofA.  My siblings and friends have lives that cannot be put on hold and I can't help feeling like I need a schedule, too.  Schedules, in this culture, define a person's usefulness.  So where does that leave me?

At first, I had excuses.  My mom and older sister took me shopping so I would have more to wear than pajamas.  Then I joined my mother in daily running around.  It was fun and it was good to spend time with her... But there is something in this country that says, "No job, no worth. No deadlines, no good. No paycheck, no purpose."

The little voice that seemed so strong while I was in the Philippines fights to be heard. "Your worth is not in careers or cash.  Look to your Heavenly Father.  He's already got this."  I want to listen.  I'm trying. Really, I am.

Cultural Sponge

I don't know if Shannon planned on this week being a total immersion in Filipino history and culture, but that is what it feels like.  We spend our days running around the city, hitting up historical landmarks and catching all different sorts of public transportation.  For the first time in my life, I paid to use a public bathroom. The selfie-less year ended with a bang at the Selfie Museum.  (To be fair, Shannon took pictures of me. So, technically, the pictures taken there were not actually selfies.)  After our jam-packed days, I do my best to journal as much as I can remember.

With that said, I'm reminded to be grateful for this season of fun.  The next step looms just on the horizon.  But godliness with contentment is great gain. Tomorrow will be able to handle her own worries; today is for basking in the very sticky, smoggy Manila sun.

The Day Came

Photo credentials for some of these go to my sweet friend Pip.

(Heading up to the helicopter together)

(Loading up)

(Back on the ground)

(Aerial view of the village)

Extra Weight

My latest in a series of confessions: I absolutely adore stripping my possessions down to the bare essentials.  Whether I'm getting a bag ready for a day hike or loading my gear-hauler for an Trans-Atlantic flight, it's all about getting rid of everything I don't need.  The feeling of giving/throwing away dust-collecting stuff is nothing short of blissful freedom.

Once again, the spiritual application for this smacked me with a massive Fuji.  (For anyone who doesn't share my childhood memories, we used to thump one another in the forehead with the heel of a hand and yell "Fuji!"  It's unclear to me exactly how that became a common practice, but anyway...)  How many times in Scripture are the heavily burdened called to come to rest in Christ?  Christ literally calls his yoke easy and his burden light.  I mean, how much more blatant can a guy be!

Matthew 11:28-29 says "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."  God knows our histories.  He has watched as we stumble through life picking up extra weight and worries along the way, but He doesn't leave us stooped and burdened.  Instead, we are invited to the cross where Jesus says (and, in case you need clarification, I'm paraphrasing here), "You're a traveler, an alien on this earth. Why are you carrying the entire Encyclopedia Britannica on a day hike? Let it go.  Carry this tote instead, it has everything you'll need till you're home with me." 

I love how, even in the midst of a slightly bewildering transition, God uses concepts as simple as getting rid of extra possessions to remind me of Him.  Whatever awaits, whatever does or doesn't make it over the ocean with me, this is just a day trip.  Why bother with the extra weight when the One who knows everything says, "Don't worry.  Drop your bag. Carry mine instead.  Really, just walk like Me; you'll be home before you know it."

Budding Botanists

In honor of our final outdoor expedition for botany, here are some photos of my young scientists.  It has been a true blessing to watch them learn and grow and get excited about the world we have the privilege of living in!

Little Piggies

Honestly, there are so many pigs around here that you would think I'd be immune to the piglet cuteness.  I'm not. Not even a little.

Meanwhile, Adobo is massive.

The Black Marker

Every school day, S and J do a portion of their arithmetic on a whiteboard.  They enjoy it and I find they have a higher success rate when they get to use markers.  Recently, however, our trusty blue marker has dried up. It barely manages to eek out enough ink to write the first number of a long division problem before it's completely useless for the rest of the day.

Even before Old Blue's retirement was at hand, J didn't like its color.  Whenever it was time to use the blue marker, she would launch her campaign:

"I want a black marker."

"Why are we using blue today?"

"Why can't we use a black marker instead?"

To which I would respond, "Almost all of our black markers write worse than the blue.  Just use that one for now."

Once Old Blue's official retirement was decided yesterday, J was emphatic, "We canNOT use this marker tomorrow. We NEED black or something, okay?"

I have to admit, I was getting frustrated.  No matter how many times I explained that the black markers wouldn't be any better, this little girl thought she knew better.  She was convinced I was holding out on her for some obscure reason.

Then, in the middle of my irritation, a small voice in my heart whispered, "That's you, Vivian. How many times have you pestered God for the 'black markers' in your life, even after He's told you they aren't any good?"

Sometimes the markers have been bigger things:

"God, why can't I afford to go to that expensive school and get the education everyone thinks I deserve?"

"Why shouldn't I go out with that guy, God? He's nicer than the last one, at least!"

But these days they've been a little smaller, if not more nagging:

"Why is my stomach still flabby, God, even after I've lost 20 pounds?"

"God, I'm really sick of sitting inside, why can't I go for one bitty solo hike?"

"It would be really nice if You could make me more eloquent. Take the strong hint, God."

The days are getting ever shorter and I'm taking this as a challenge to be less self-conscious and more God-conscious.  In the quiet moments in my mind, I have a choice to make: praise Him or doubt His planning skills.    The black markers are a reminder that He isn't keeping details or blessings from me just to be spiteful.  He has good reasons and better blessings than I could ever imagine.  Maybe these shadowy future steps are His way of letting me live that knowledge out... There's only one way to test the theory though:

Go do and do right.

Bucket Bathing

"The trick [to bucket bathing] is to dunk your hair in the bucket first, then pour a little more water over your body before you soap up."

This advice culminated in my accidental near-drowning experience in a Happy Times bucket. (Happy Times are a type of cracker, by the way. We use the empty cracker containers as multi-purpose buckets once they're empty.). There I was: totally starkers, full forward fold, just trying to get all my hair wet.  Unfortunately, I had already sloshed about a third of the water out of the bucket, so I had to bend pretty far to get my entire head in the water.

I thought, "I've got this."

Gravity responded, "LOL!"

In a matter of moments, my feet left the ground and my nose dipped below the water's surface.  Water instantly filled my nostrils as I attempted to recover from my impromptu headstand.  

I'm ridiculously grateful that I didn't fall with an almighty crash.  It took a little muscle and more than a little spluttering, but I managed to make it back to my feet without a broken neck.  Needless to say, this is my first "empty tank" experience in the Philippines.  The spring stopped flowing and the clouds have refused to release the rain, resulting in our water tank drying up.  All of this just two weeks shy of my departure.  I guess it's an experience God thought I needed.

Thankfully, the guys have been able to find the calcium build-ups along the water line.  They have spent the better part of two days clearing the pipes and we should have water in the tank in the next day or so.  Until then, here's hoping I don't drown in a bucket bath!

Basket Case Pictures

(Baskets made just for me!)

(Part of a painting project Hala has been working on)

(The artist signing her work.)

Basket Case

I remember being so excited as a little girl to see what Dad would bring home from his solo travels.  The morning after he came home, there would always be a little treat for each of us kids on the kitchen counter.  It might be a toy or jewelry or a book, but there would always be a little something.  He always picked the best gifts for each of us. I can't remember ever feeling jealous of someone else's gift because mine was always exactly perfect for me.  Dad just has this phenomenal gift-giving ability.

There was always something for us kids, and I'm certain there was always something for Mom.  If he ever brought something home for himself, it was usually one of two things: a handmade, basket or a small ceramic tile.  With this knowledge I've never had to wonder what to bring home for Dad, now that I go on my own adventures.  I might bring him some coffee, maybe some dried fruit, maybe a whole caboodle of things! But I've always known that baskets and tiles are really where it's at.

Four months ago I started on my quest to bring my dad a basket from the village I'm currently living in.  Are there any floating around to buy? No. Does anyone regularly make them? Nope. Apparently, basket-making is one of the dying traditional arts.  There is only one old guy in the entire village that even knows how to make them anymore.  I asked him if he would make a basket or two, and I got the very succinct answer, "No."

Then, last weekend, there was a lot of birthday talk.  'Tis the season of sticky rice and banana ice cream for the kids in our social circle, which is totally fun!  However, all the talk reminded me that I'm going to get home just in time for Dad to turn the big five-oh. And I didn't have a gift.  I mentioned this during the discussion and explained the basket situation.  I figured I'd just have to buy a basket from town and that would have to make do.

The next day, the old guy's wife showed up at the door.  With three beautiful handmade baskets in tow. She named her price and left basketless.  

It's such a small thing.  I know they're just baskets when all is said and done, but God knew I wanted to be able to give my dad a gift like he has always given me.  Once again I'm reminded that the small things make up the big things and my heart is full to the brim.

Missing Ingredients

I'm very gung-ho about strict vegetarianism.  There is a certain level of awareness about what goes into fueling my body that is, truth be told, addicting.  All that said, pre-vegan Vivian loved when Rachel would make a massive pan of Pad Thai.  It's a dish that I now crave as much for nostalgia's sake as flavor's.  About a month ago this craving prompted me to attemp a vegan version of Pad Thai. After all, I'm living in Southeast Asia. How hard could it be?

Apparently harder than I thought.

A few attempts later, I messaged Rachel to figure out what I was missing.  The answer? Shrimp and fish paste.  And it doesn't matter how I manipulate the tofu or rice vinegar or soy.  The food tastes good, but it isn't what I'm craving.

This isn't the first time missing ingredients have tripped me up.  I was reminded of that last night when Danny, Pip, and I chatted over a cup of tea.  They were encouraging me in my pursuit of Bible school and I was explaining how foreign missions are heavy on my heart.

"It doesn't matter what you eat or how healthy you can help someone become physically," I said.  "If there's a soul problem, all the physical help in the world can't replace Christ, you know?"

Danny's response hit me hard. "Right.  These are good things, but they can't be in lieu of Christ.  You can use them as tools to show Christ to lost people, but you can't replace Christ with a diet plan."

Ouch.

Why did it sting? I know those things. I've said nearly identical words myself.  

It stung because even though I had started out with those intentions at the Y, the light I strove to be flickered when the peer pressure mounted.  Lying awake last night, reality came crashing in: my career at the Y didn't fail because it was a dark place, it failed because I neglected the main ingredient.  No career, fitness or mission based, will satisfy my craving for purpose driven life if I leave Christ out.

I'm grateful for the reminder to keep my eyes fully fixed on Christ, to never look away.  Like Peter walking on the water, all my attention must be honed in on the One who enables me to stay above the waves.  I'm thankful for the timeliness of this revelation as I prepare to head back to "real life" in several weeks.  In His strength, these steps can be made by faith. By His grace, these eyes can remain fixed on Him.  

Time is Everything

(These boys let me join in their game of Roll the Hula Hoop)

(Talk about a tear-jerker.)

(According to S, the "man" in the middle is supposed to be me.)

In the Name of Fashion

(Me: Are you a ghost doing school?

B: No. I'm fashion.)

(A teenage water buffalo)

(Sitting on a mango tree, our morning walk destination.)

Speaking Truth

I think we tend to forget how often God uses other people to speak truth into our lives.  A week ago, Pip invited me over for coffee and a chat.  Granted, it ended up being more like an afternoon tea, but it was an appreciated time of fellowship anyway.  It started with friendly conversation, segued into a separate chat with a national lady, and concluded with a poignant exhortation:

"Every time we think 'I am too nervous' or 'I am too scared' or even 'Man, I am good at that' remember, I AM sent me. I have nothing to do with it."

These words reminded me of encouragement I received from a brother in a Christ a few years ago.  "You can either be self-conscious or God-conscious.  You have to pick one or the other."

This is an easy concept, maybe, to grasp with my Big Picture glasses on.  In daily life, it's a different story.  God is constantly growing and changing me, but there are still so many ways in which self-conscious could be my middle name. 

For example, Hala has a large art project that she wanted my help with. Initially, I was all for it when I thought I could convince her that I shouldn't do much aside from providing guidance.  As it became more apparent that I would personally have to put my own art in the open for everyone to see, I grew irritable and defensive.  In short I was self-conscious.

What if they hate my interpretion of a flower? What if I get the colors wrong? What if I screw up? What if I disappoint Hala and her parents with what I produce? What if no one likes it? What if they all realize I'm an artistic fraud?

Eventually, this prayer worked its way through my clenched teeth: "God, I don't know what to do.  Just let this bless them and that will be enough." I don't know if they've been blessed by this art intensive week or not.  All I know is ,once I finally let go and painted as to God, the peace and joy in my heart is boundless. And I actually enjoyed myself.  That isn't the important part, but it certainly didn't hurt either!

The People-less Pictures

 (Beautiful, beautiful sunset)

(A reminder that God clothes the flowers in splendor. What do we have to worry about?)

Eating Skyflakes

I thought I was dying this morning. Obviously I lived, but I prayed like I was dying, too.  The pain in my stomach left me twisting in agony. Then it was over.  I am left drained and apprehensive of all food except water or skyflakes.  Despite being under the weather, I have to thoughts I want to share in this post.

One: I am amazed in the little ways God's creation points us to Him. Yesterday, I was able to spend some time alone in the sun under a coconut tree (which is actually a bad idea, considering that one could fall on my head at any time).  In a moment of clarity, I understood another correlation between Christ and our daytime light, the sun. I marveled over God's design of our largest visible organ and it's function to protect us, but also to absorb Vitamin D from the sun.  That vitamin, by the way, is the number one depression fighter and a deficiency in it can cause a host of problems in our flesh. By the same token, our epidermis is visibly changed when it has spent time in the sunshine.  You know when someone spends time outside.  Their complexion tells you.  All of these things should apply to the effect the Son has on us.  Not only is He our light, not only is He necessary for our daily health and wellbeing, we should be visibly changed when we spend time in His light.  It should be obvious to the world that Jesus Christ has marked you as His.

Two (and completely unrelated): Yesterday also found me playing a facial battle with two village boys.  Their faces were elastic and their raucous laughter at the faces I pulled warmed my heart.  Anyone else probably would have snapped a picture of their precious  expressions as they peaked around a corner.  I couldn't do it.  In fact, my photographs of people here are incredibly limited.  Something inside of me is totally okay with snapping pictures of flowers and wildlife, but feels equally invasive of a person's privacy when I think to take a picture of them.  They're people, you know? I take pictures of trees without asking, but a person should have the right to say yes or no.  The language barrier means I can't ask.  No one comes near enough for me to show them my phone and explain.  I don't know if my apprehension is right, but I know if a stranger took pictures of me without asking, I would be upset.

Those are my thoughts. And, currently, they're all I've got.

Missing Out

There are two ways I tend to wage inner war on myself: intellectually (read "emotionally") and spiritually.  One particular area in which both ways of battle have been most constant and consistent for as long as I can remember is in the idea of "missing out." I don't need to fit in, I don't mind being strange, but heaven forbid I lose out on something radical.  I am, in so very many ways, a middle child to the Nth degree.  Whole stages of my life were set and experienced purely due to my belief that other people were experiencing something without me.  Eventually, that idea gave birth to my current, ridiculous habit of people pleasing.  If people like you and you tend to make them happy, you stand a better chance at inclusion, you feel me?  But there is also a growing spiritual component that is totally cool with not even knowing what everyone else is doing.  Her eyes are set on the prize of eternity with her Savior, end story.  After all, what can be gained on Earth that won't be a thousand times better in Heaven? She's focused on two things: bringing God glory and building eternal relationships. That doesn't leave much room for feeling left out.

Anyway, this ill-begotten habit is obviously the root of most of my double sided battlefields.  Mind v. Spirit.  "I don't mind" v. "Do You want this for my life, God?"

Everything, from the most recent family event I missed, to the prospect of missing out on the future of the mission to this indigenous people group that I am with now, gives rise to the two camps within me.  It isn't a new struggle.  You know what they say, though, "Old habits die the hardest."  So if the struggle is so familiar to me, why am I only just writing about it today?  Let me sum it up.

Around 4 a.m. my phone lit up with messages. It usually refuses to send or receive MMS, but Bruce had accepted a video message from my mom.  She spent this last weekend with my Dad and some of my younger siblings at our Hansen family reunion.  The video in question was a beautiful version of "Blessed Assurance" sung a cappela with the entire family.  Once the song ended, I had a choice.  Emotionally, I could wallow in self pity due to a purely incidental exclusion because I'm half way across the planet (BY CHOICE, mind you).  Spiritually, I could praise God for the gift of song and go into the day with joy in my heart.  

The choice is ridiculously obvious.  It isn't really a choice at all.  But I still have to make the conscious decision to praise and be filled with joy, because this middle child is prone to wallow. I know it. God knows it. Mom knows it. And there's really nothing for it.

Another Walk

(S insisted on walking with water in her boots, even though it kept sloshing her dress, which she didn't want.  Sometimes you just have to smile and say "okay, sure.")

(A pomelo tree! I love this citrus fruit, especially when grapefruit is impossible to get.)

(To quote J: "Miss Vivian! What are you doing!")

A Lot of Little Lessons

I'm at the part of this particular season in which everyone starts asking, "How has your time here been?" "What has been the most memorable part?" "Do you feel different?" "Are you ready to go home?" And each of those questions has a multifaceted answer that boils down to a combination of yes and no and something in between. Every day seems told hold a lesson these days. There is so much discovery happening, a small epiphany here and the glimmer of understanding there. God has been and continues to be faithful and loving in teaching me about perspective, persistence, patience, purpose, prayer...the list goes on.

Tomorrow is the first day of school of our last ten weeks together.  Ten weeks and this incredible journey transitions to the next step. It really is a bittersweet time stamp.  Sweet because I have loved ones waiting to embrace me, stories to hear and share, new prospects to pursue.  But it is also bitter because I have to leave the Philippines in the middle of the work being done here.  It's bitter because I am afraid of facing first world "reality", reverse culture shock, and the commonplace distractions that are absent in my current daily life.  

Before my time here, I would have said there isn't a place for a single woman on the mission field.  While I remain convicted of specified roles in congregational worship and teaching according to gender, there are so many different pieces and roles that form an effective mission that can be and are filled by single women.  All my excuses for ignoring long term mission work have dissipated, leaving behind a burning desire to live out the great commission.

I'm afraid of American culture quenching that desire.  Without God's constant sustenance, I'm not strong enough to stick to my guns. Which segues nicely into my prayer for this mission as I prepare to leave: it has been a privilege to experience the varied personalities on this particular mission field.  Each member of each team brings something essentially unique to the table of service.  Their different specialties and quirks and methods provide the necessary avenues to connect with people groups and subcultures to perform God's work.  And yet, these differences can also trip each other up without that focus on God's divine plan.  My heart is filled with a prayer for unity, just as it is filled with a celebration of God's unique gifting of His servants.

All that being said, we aren't finished yet.  Ten weeks is still a ways to go.  I'm willing, if not ready, so Lord, let me finish strong.

Photographic Memories 3

 

(Lunch in a flower garden!)

 

 

Photographic Memories 2

 

(The boat ride across the lake to Taal)

 

(The view partway up.)

 

(At the top!)

 

(Looking back down part of the trail.)

Humble Pie

Sometimes I surpass levels of awkwardness that surprise even me.

When we're in the village, I wake up early and putz around my room until a godly hour to be awake.  Once we're in town, though, I've been getting up when I wake up and I eat my breakfast over FaceTime with my mom.  That usually takes place around 5 AM.  Now, I thought it was fine because I took my call outside.   A week later, I just found out that everyone inside has been able to hear every word of my morning calls. 

My first reaction was, "Oh my word, I'm so sorry for being rude." Second reaction? "Oh shizzle wizzle, I hope I haven't said anything to my mom that I wouldn't want anyone else hearing."  The reality is, I'm just embarrassed and I can either handle it with grace and humor, or I can crumble.

Truthfully, I'm praying the Lord would give me grace, because this homeskillet wants to crumble like a stale cookie.

Jesus, help.

Photographic Memories 1

 

(Workers in the rice fields)

 

(Some of the cows that like to chill in the road)

 

(Always room for one more)

 

(When I die, bury me under a cement birthday cake.)

Especially Wasabi

God created certain foods in holy matrimony. Peanut butter and jelly. Cinnamon and sugar.  Tomato and basil.  Hummus and pita bread.  And...the shining stars of my dinner this evening: wasabi and soy sauce.  More on that in a minute.

Sometimes vacations start out rough.  Over-excited kids, over-exhausted adults...it really isn't a recipe for a swell beginning to any venture. This vacation didn't start that way. Despite all the different emotions, we spent an extremely chill morning splashing around a sunny pool. J and B each got a quick swimming lesson and our morning vanished like a mountain mist.

After a low-key lunch, we divided and conquered.  The kids tromped around the guesthome playground; the guys took on the hardware stores; Shannon and I traipsed through SM with minimal guidelines for this week's menu.  It was...*ahem*...we did not tell ourselves no about very much. Lo and behold, that is why we have leche in the fruit bowl, melon seeds in the snacks, and wasabi powder in the cupboard. Avocado season is upon us, so we scrounged around for cilantro and corn chips for guacamole.  We found a random jar of Dijon mustard...and bought it.  Same thing with a bottle of sriracha sauce.  Eggplant, lemons, a white cucumber. You get the idea.

Upon returning to the guesthome, another pair of missionaries treated the family to a barbecue dinner.  This was a great blessing to Shannon because it meant she didn't have to cook.  It was also a blessing for me because it meant I got to make whatever I wanted!  THAT is how I ended up with wasabi-sesame-soy fried eggplant and tofu over rice with a little more wasabi. My tastebuds were in so much love that I made a second batch to eat tomorrow for lunch.

As if these blessings weren't enough, I have been praying for an opportunity to talk with Shannon about the future.  The opportunity arose this evening and we were both able to share our hearts with each other.  You have absolutely no idea how great it feels to know we are all on the same page.  

One step at a time, remember? And who knows! You might even get to learn how to make wasabi paste along the way.

One Small Step

Mom, do you remember when I was a kid and we listened to Jungle Jam and Friends? I find myself humming one of the tunes from the show all the time these days. "If I take one small step, one step at a time/ I can do anything that I have in mind." Baby steps. We can do this.

When I left the US, I didn't anticipate having any real health issues.  I mean, sure, I thought maybe I would have a few hiccups especially considered my plant based diet.  Going to the doctor in a foreign country, though, absolutely not.  Except, that's where I'm going next week.

I feel like everything was chill and there was an easy groove forming.  "All was well."  Then everything decides it wants to hit the fan at once.  Okay, God, where are You going with all of this?

So, I'm just going to explode information, take a deep breath, and keep taking baby steps.

1) Starting in March, I noticed some irregularities in my cycle.  Okay, weird, but nothing panic inducing.  We're going on three months of nothing, though, and Google says that merits a doctor appointment.  Google obviously knows best, which is why I'm headed to an ob-gyn and blood lab.

2) One hundred days. (Give or take a few.) That's it until I board an airplane and head back home. But for how long? I requested info on coming back to teach in the Philippines a couple months ago, and it all looks like I would be permitted to return, but is that what will bring God the most glory? Do I try to go back to school in for spring semester 2018? Lord, what would You have?

And then, in the middle of this slowly building stress post, I got a package from my sister.  She isn't a Believer, but she has sent goodies from home on numerous occasions.  That the package would arrive in our village today of all days, when there wasn't even a scheduled supply flight, just fills my heart to overflowing.  God used her to give me the encouragement I needed.  I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, He will provide the answers for "What next?" in the most unexpected way.  

If I take one, small step/ One step at a time/

I can do anything/ He has in mind/

Whether I stumble/ Whether I fall/

I'll just take one, small step/ One step at a time

Breathing Fresh Air

 

(Honestly, I don't know what the words mean, or why they're written here.)

 

(S and J cooling off in the river after a walk, both sporting braids by yours truly.)

 

(The view downstream.)

Beautiful Things

Imagine following a narrow footpath through cornfields climbing the sides of low mountains at an impossible incline.  The intense sun threatens to overwhelm the elements.  Where agriculture ends, jungle-like bush takes over.  Under the covering of the tree canopy, the oppressive air becomes cool and damp.  Here the ferns are the size of saplings; fiddles swell beyond the length and girth of a man's arm.  Dao trees stretch skyward around a gentle waterfall that pours out over a tremendous calcium deposit.  This water does not disappear in dry season so it is our water source, roughly 2 km deep into the bush.

Earlier this month, I was privileged to have the opportunity to see all of these beautiful things firsthand.  My companions joked that I was the first white woman to complete the trek to the spring.  First or not, my heart was in awe of creation and its Creator.  The words of the old hymn describe the feeling best: "Then sings my soul, my Savior God to thee, How great thou art!"

When Words Fail Me

 

(The river isn't visible in this picture, but during the flood, this entire area was submerged)

 

(Some of the damaged corn.  The men are attempting to salvage some of their damaged crop, but others had more than half of their harvest totally washed away in the raging water)

 

(Small beauty in the aftermath. A reminder that everything will grow again)

(A tiny glimpse of how high the river water rose) 

Picture This

 

(Just something from our walk)

 

(The blondies everyone can tell are vegan)

 

(Adobo is growing up!)

Peaks and Valleys

We all experience peaks and valleys, right? I mean, I know we do, Mom, but other people must experience them at some point.  So that's how I go through life: peak after valley, valley after peak. Sometimes the cycle takes weeks or months or years.  Today carried all the wonders of both, like a smaller peak and plateau along a greater range of sister peaks.

There are underlying issues that I'll address in a little bit, but for now I want to focus on today.  We started with the peak.  Early morning prayer and yoga helped shake the z's from my eyes. Val and I took our Saturday walk, said hi to some neighbors, chatted nutritional balance, beautiful normal stuff on a bright, hot morning. After our walk, I scarfed down a delicious breakfast of sweet potato hash browns and sesame-ginger tofu. (Cut me some slack, it's delicious to me.) And then I rounded out my morning by experimenting with bean brownies.

Now, I wasn't sure about the brownies, so I brought some over to Val's to share.  We got talking about food, surprise-surprise, and I mentioned cardamom. It's the flavor of my childhood, the scent of Christmas and family reunions, my personal kryptonite.  It's something I haven't had at all during my stay here in Southeast Asia.  Needless to say, when Val pulled an untouched container of cardamom out of her cupboard, I was speechless. When she kept pouring it out into an empty spice jar until it was nearly full, I actually shed a tear. We're calling it a miracle because the original jar is STILL two-thirds of the way full. 

Somewhere in the afternoon, though, memory lane decided to take a severe nosedive into the "oh-shame-I-can't-believe-that's-my-actual-life-story" depths. Then the reviews came back about the brownies. Not good. Slowly but surely, the evening fell flat. Why?

Underlying issues, coming at you. They aren't even real issues.  Two months ago, I requested permission to return to the Philippines in 2018.  The idea was that I would go home in October, then return in January.  A reply came in yesterday with a "still not sure, but here are some things to do in the mean time," but now I'm not sure.  Would God have me return, or would He have me go somewhere else? What will the state of things be when I get home in October? What can I do now to prepare for the future?  And then, of course, I'm nothing if not a middle child.  It's in my nature to make everyone happy, but this future, no matter what it brings, will leave someone disappointed in me.  

Pray that I will get the emails sent that need to be sent.  Pray that I would leave the future in God's hands, where it belongs.  Pray that God would allow me to be confident in His will, whether or not everyone else is happy with it.

Twenty-Four Found Me

If you don't get the reference, you're not my mom.  If you are my mom and you still don't get it, we have a problem and I'm not as clever as I think I am.  The song that I'm talking about (yep, it's a song) fully embodies everything I'm feeling right now.  I was talking about it with Gracie the other day. One line in particular stood out to me: I want to see miracles, see the world change, wrestle the angel for more than a name. And it got me. Right here. 

I was going to summarize this most recent journey around the sun with a really introspective look at how God has grown and changed me, but you already know all that.  Then, I thought I would look ahead. Except God has a way of throwing my ideas out the window while He does His thing.  So today, I'm just going to share the past twenty-four hours.

A couple beautiful people messaged me at midnight, then another at 4 a.m. All of which I responded to with bleary eyes at 5.  

I drank coffee and (separately) apple cider vinegar water and put hemp powder in my oatmeal. It's protein. Not drugs.  Pinkie promise.  The girls and I went through the school day mostly hiccup free.

Our Até made biko for my birthday cake, which I feel was the proper way to celebrate a birthday in the Philippines.  Lunch was leftover lentil curry, because leftovers are my love language, okay? The rest of the afternoon was, dare I say it, uneventful.  There were no existential epiphanies or life changing experiences.

Today, I existed.

Today, that was enough because I know beyond the shadow of a doubt God has me exactly where He wants me.

Today, I purchased homeward bound airplane tickets.  

Tonight, I'm praying because it isn't enough to want miracles and change.  I want to be a part of them.

To infinity and beyond!

A Day Late and A Picture Short

 

(J's repaired bowl)

 

(Pretty sure this is called Biko in Tagalog.  No clue what they call it in the local language, but it's my favorite dessert by far.)

 

(Our daily helper and another lady making a new bread recipe together. Sorry for the poor lighting; I was trying to be artsy without being creepy.)

 

(Some pink foliage in the early morning sun. A few weeks old, but worth sharing.)