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*before i begin this post, i want to make a promise to you, my dear friend: i will post a photo update about the wedding when i get our photos. i also promise that i am happily married.  now, without further delay, a post about life post-wedding insanity.*

I've started packing boxes with everything inside wrapped in colorful tissue paper.  Why? Because my heart and head were very much held fast by anxiety and fear about moving, organizing, packing...and the Holy Spirit has a way of recapturing the attention that is supposed to be his. 

To be honest, I really only started using tissue paper because I ran out of bubble wrap. Once I was a few minutes into the tissue paper.  A gentle thought crept into my hectic, frazzled mind, "When you unpack, it will almost be like unwrapping presents." Then a quiet moment before the next thought, "How much of your life is a present right now?"

The reality is that so much of my internal monologue lately has been characterized by the words, "have to." Obligation, not liberation, has been my default reason.  How many times have I journaled, blogged, and even pondered this simple truth: perspective matters.  Yet how many times do I forget that truth in its simplicity?

Our kitchen is packed in multi-colored tissue paper.  The list of things that need to be done before we move is ever-growing.  But we have love and grace because God first loved us.  He is the One who has enabled us to move to Missouri this fall, which means He will also allow us to complete every task before us on our way there.  There are no accidents.  There are no trials that come our way by mistake.  Everything is a lesson, a growing pain, a step in a glorious journey.

Perspective matters.

R.O.U.S.

Last night, one of my friends and I wanted an adventure.  We tossed around ideas for a while before we landed on spontaneous tattoos.  Or, at least, as spontaneous as I can be.  

After a quick Google search for a parlor that accepted walk-ins, there was a longer search for something we might want permanently inked in our skin. For indecisive people, I felt like we made timely decisions.  Anyway, we were at the parlor by 7:30...and they were already busy.

We entertained the idea of finding another tattoo parlor in the nearest city, but didn’t really feel like going to a sketchy area.  Who really wants to get abducted when they’re trying to some art on their body, am I right? Ultimately, we turned around en route to a diner instead.

Just outside said diner, however, we spotted something moving in the road. A small raccoon? An opossum? Good grief! It was a rat, roughly the size of a small cat!  Needless to say, we were appalled and instantly decided that a rat could only get that large if it consistently ate diner food...so we didn’t go to the diner.

Out of sheer amazed disgust, we also decided to pull over and observe the R.O.U.S. Who knew Westley really was wrong! Rodents of unusual size do exist!  But as we watched, the scene intensified.  The rat waddled around a curve in the street. Joanna and I gasped. Car Number One caught the rat’s tail with a rear wheel.  Joanna and I screamed. Car Number Two pummeled the rat squarely into the asphalt with both sets of tires. 

I regret to inform anyone who reads this that as the poor rat began his death throws, we laughed. Gales or horrified laughter shook us until our sides ached.  I even peed my pants a little bit.  I couldn’t help it! 

After that, we went to the grocery store.  That’s all there is. There isn’t anymore.

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.

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.)

You Can Take the Girl Out of the Country...

After a ten-day trip to Manila and blessings too numerous to count, I was more than ready to return to the quiet life in our village.  How could that be?  My theory is, no matter where I go or choose to live, I was born and bred in the middle of nowhere, so that is where I will always feel the most at ease.  City life, with all its convenience, is nothing short of exhausting.  There are always people around; the noise never sinks below a dull roar.  The hustle and bustle is fun for a while, then it's a relief when it's over.

Video chatting was definitely the biggest plus to our stay in Manila.  I got to see my Ohio family for the first time since October and my New York family for the first time since Christmas.  It felt wonderful to catch up on each others' lives, to hear one another laugh, to ramble on in comfortable (and comforting) conversation.

Oddly, the video chats might have been one of the more difficult parts at the same time.  It is one thing to live isolated from your loved ones with small, infrequent messages.  It is another experience entirely to visually and audibly interact with them without any means of physical expression of love or joy.  Try as we might, we cannot squeeze air with all the strength in our arms.  Our heads cannot rest on shoulders over 8,000 miles away.  Kissing air is the same as not kissing at all.  Loneliness that had been held at bay by distance, came crashing in.

Even in the midst of all these emotions, I could not say that I regret the decisions that brought me here.  I long to be home, but I dread the day I have to leave.  That's the trouble with giving your all wherever you go.  I have a sneaking suspicion it is all going to be worth it, though, and that gives me hope for whatever God has next.

Another top experience was FOOD.  Vegan or not, I've always been such a foodie.  As a vegan, I particularly enjoy food of the green persuasion.  Rest assured that I'm no longer grumbling in my heart, but God saw fit to give me some veggie-goodness anyway.  Believe me when I say I pounded that rabbit food.  I horked those suckers down till my stomach distended into a mound that resembled three months of pregnancy.  Spinach, corn, artichoke, roasted red peppers, cabbage, broccoli, snow peas, cauliflower, pineapple salsa, mushrooms... I went to town (literally and proverbially).  Not to mention other goodies like freshly roasted peanuts with salt and garlic.  Or kutsinta and kakanin, also known as some of the best varieties of sticky rice cakes ever created.  Food might have hijacked my Instagram for a couple days to say the least.

Other experiences were newer and took longer to process.  Over our time in Manila, we caught multiple jeepneys.  My favorite jeepney ride took place later one evening.  Shannon and I caught went to get some last minute supplies, namely frozen berries and soy milk. The guy at S&R packed up our spoils, but he put all of the soy milk in the flimsier of the two bags.  All was well until we went to get off the jeep and the handles of the bag came away in my hands, sending the soy milk straight to the pavement.  Thankfully, nothing broke and I was able to carry the handle-less bag back to our room on my shoulder.

One day, our taxi driver seemed unable to keep his opinions to himself.  Shannon told him we were Canadian, rather than explaining that I was an American.  THANK GOD!  This guy spent the next good chunk of our drive telling us how much he hated Americans, how America stole all of the Filipino silver and copper, and how much he loves the Filipino president and his choices.  Now, I have nothing against patriotism, and I felt he was entitled to his own opinion.  That being said, I have never been more stressed out during a conversation in my life.  Eventually, he got tired of speaking politics and turned his attention to religion.  While his questions may have been designed to give himself more speaking time, Shannon was still able to share the gospel with the guy.  All in all, I'd call that a win.

The entire trip could boil down to a muddle of malls, department stores, stalls, scents, and sights.  I'm thankful for the opportunity to meet other missionaries at the guest house.   The walking and shopping facilitated building stronger relationships between my host family and I.  Sure, we're all as exhausted as ever, but we're living with purpose and joy.  I, for one, would trade a good night's sleep for daily purpose any day of the week.

With all that said, I'll add some pictures next.  March out.  April, bring it on.

Hunting and Exploring

In a couple days, some of us adult ladies will be heading to Manila for some appointments and odd supplies.  We will be out of the village for some ten days, while rest of the family will remain here.  The kids are excited because this means they will get a two week break from school.  I'm excited because this means I will get to FaceTime with my family back home.

One of the things we need to do while we're in the city is search for art supplies.  I will be "teaching" (though in art, I feel it's more like guiding than anything) two of the high school age girls through a homeschooling art curriculum.  I made a supply list on Wednesday and set out to find what we already have, so we don't purchase anything unnecessary.  Thursday night, I'm going through the final drawer and lo!  Gary the Cockroach twitched his nasty little antennae at me from his nestled position between the molding clay and finger paints.  The molding clay was my objective, but there was no way I was going to reach for it with Gary just chilling there.  As I debated my options, Gary waved farewell and crawled deeper into the recesses of the drawer.  That made my decision for me.  I shut the drawer and went up to bed.

Friday morning, I announced to S and J that we would be going on a hunt after our morning lessons.  True to my word, once snack had been consumed, S was armed with a fly swatter and J was bequeathed a bottle of Baygon.  We opened the drawer with due apprehension.  One deep breath.  Two deep breaths.  Eventually, winged by my fearless cockroach slayers, I began to unpack the drawer.  The results?  A whole lot of cockroach poo and rock solid molding clay.  At this very moment, Gary is at large.  The only questions is where?

A couple of us have started going on an early morning walk every Saturday.  It's enjoyable for a number of reasons: it gets us out in the sun and fresh air, we become more familiar with the land around us, fellowship...  Needless to say, walking in the morning has become something I look forward to all week long.  This week, we took a familiar path out, but a new ridge path back.  All was well until we reach the end of the loop, where we were met by a lovely standing pool that looked to be about 5/8 water buffalo poop.  With many laughs, groans, and helping hands, we technically made it across.  Sufficed to say we needed to rinse in the river before we made it home.

Each passing day brings a new lesson, picture, or idea.  Whole pockets of flowers hidden from view in the bush praise God with their beauty.  A mother water buffalo protects her young by chasing the strange white people away.  A little pineapple sprouts from a plant beside the river.  Piglets are born.  It seems to me that the details might make a difference after all.  Maybe it just depends on the details I choose to focus on.

Farewell, Francois

Mom, you know how I don't really sleep much.  After I got over my jet lag and stopped falling asleep every time I sat down, I fell back into my four hour sleep-rut. I guess my sleep pattern doesn't really explain why, around midnight last night, I was standing in the bathroom, hyperventilating, with a shattered toothbrush holder in one hand.

Rewind a little bit.  My first week here, one of the older girls and I cleaned the schoolroom to prep it for the following week.  She warned me, "Last time we cleaned out these drawers, we found so many cockroaches.  We actually started naming them like hurricanes."  In that moment, I asked myself, "What do I think I'm doing here?" But we only found a handful, half of them already dead.  Agatha, Bernard, Candace, Deidre, and Emily.

Since then, other people have spotted one or two, but I've been blessed with limited exposure....which might have something to do with me begging God to keep them away from me.

Last night, however, I made the familiar moonlit journey down the hall to the bathroom.  Usually, I just do my thing in the dark, but I had forgotten to brush my teeth earlier so I flicked on a light.  Hand halfway to the faucet, I froze.  Almost the size of a thumb, resting on the sink, antennae twitching, sat Francois. 

To the best of my knowledge, I did not scream.  I did, however, thump him into pulp with my plastic toothbrush holder. One hit. Two.  Three.  I thwacked him with a speed uncannily reminiscent of you, Mom, with your wooden spoon on a deserving behind.  Francois was thrashed beyond an inch of his life.  In the deafening silence after my berserker reaction, I started hyperventilating, clutching the splintered remains of my unfortunate weapon.  It was at least five minutes before I could remove his corpse and anothe five before I convinced myself another roach wouldn't jump out at me if I turned the water on.  Eventually, though, I found my way back to my bed, teeth clean, heart at a somewhat normal rhythm.

RIP Francois the Cockroach.  I don't really condone mindless killing, but I'm more sorry about my toothbrush holder than one less cockroach to worry about.