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."

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

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.

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!

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.

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 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

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.

Air Dried

We ended last week with an art lesson on Maria Martinez.  For those of you who may not know about Maria, she was a Native American artist, best known for her coil pottery.  Naturally, the girls then tried to make their own clay bowls using coils of clay just like Maria.  We used air dry clay because, let's face it, it isn't like I have clay mixed with volcanic ash just hanging out in the school room.  All was we. 

My personal experience with air dry clay is...nonexistent. So what? I figured that I have plenty of experience with normal clay. Why should air dry be any different?  And it says air dry! So that means we should have it dried up in no time!

Wrong.

It could be that it took forever to dry because we live in a perpetually damp climate.  Or a three day drying period might be the norm.  Either way, the girls were chomping at the bit to finally get their bowls out today.  J's completely fell apart.  S's stayed together... mostly.  I reminded them how I told them to really press the coils together, or the bowls would fall apart.  Now, we're using paint to glue the pieces together.

At the end of this elongated project, I can't help but see the lesson in this for me as well.  God is depicted as a Potter in the Bible at least once.  As He twists the coils of my life together, how often have I said, "No, God, this way!" only to blink away tears of disappointment when everything I've built falls apart?  Then I watch in amazement as He chooses to pick up each piece, paint it up, and build something even more precious than I could imagine.

It's the start of a new week that could hold a host of new hiccups and bumps.  I'm grateful, at the very least, for this reminder of God's loving patience.

And don't worry. I'll post pictures of the bowls once they dry.

The Lining Is Silver

Or the lining is golden.  Or orange.  Maybe it's pink.  In my personal experience, it depends on the sunset.  Or the sunrise.  One thing's for sure, the lining is almost always beautiful.

My plan for this update: culinary misadventures, God's goodness, some awkward encounters, and a request or two for prayer.  Those of you that want to bail now are hereby excused. (Except you, Mom.  You have to stay so I don't look like a loser.  It's your fault I'm writing anyway.)  Alright, hands and feet inside the vehicle?  Here we go...

Roasted garbanzo beans are a lie. I also might have made them incorrectly.  They did, however, start popping like popcorn in the oven without actually making anything fluffy and flavorful.  I ended up with chewy, kinda-sorta-salt-and-vinegar, traumatized chickpea pebbles, which I ate because waste is a sin.  Thankfully, I only made one serving, so they're gone now.  The remaining beans got falafel-ized in our new (to us) food processor!  Of course, I didn't have all the "real" ingredients to make falafel, so I made a recipe up that I fondly call Maybe Falafel.  It's going to go down as a secret family recipe, but I'll give you a hint, it let me use up some left over sweet potato.  I know my Jewish ancestors are rolling in their graves. (Is Dad crying over your shoulder, Mom?)  It tasted good, okay?  In recompense for my desecration of falafel, I also concocted a carrot-ginger hummus that totally redeems my aforementioned chickpea mistakes.

Apparently, God stretches us most when we are in His will.  We recently attended a regional conference, at which I was asked (read: told) to share my testimony.  One on one, I can share my testimony fairly coherently.  Throw me out in front of a bunch of missionaries who share God's word for a living and I'm about ready to have an anxiety attack.  I won't tell you my heart rate before I stood up, but it could have won the Kentucky Derby.  Despite my social anxiety and regrettable tears, I did share some of my journey with the group and no one fell asleep, so go team!

Coming back into the quiet village life, I've picked language study back up and Saturday hikes have resumed.  This Saturday, we accidentally tromped right through a neighboring village, only to realize we were going the wrong way, so we had to tromp right through again.  Ahh, have I mentioned social anxiety?  Thanks for growing me, God.  Thanks.

Now I come to the part where I don't want to share too much information, but I'm going to try to share what I can.  One of my little students has been having some health hiccups.  A couple visits to a lab and some discussions with the doctors let my host mom know that her little girl is going to keep "hiccuping" and there really isn't anything we can do except wait for her to grow out of it.  Of course, no parent or child wants to receive that news, so my prayer (and hopefully your prayer) is that the Lord would heal her.  If He won't heal, then that He would hold them closely through this trial.

TTFN

Ta-ta For Now!

More Unprofessional Photography

 

(The neighbor's 7 surviving piglets.  We watched part of the birthing process! Educational, but also sad when 3 little piggies didn't make it.)

 

(The growing garden! We're seeing baby beans and cucumber.)

 

(A new one for me: Pineapple on the plant.)

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.

When The Orange Flower Blooms

Seventy years ago, the village I am currently living in and the surrounding villages would watch for a certain tree to blossom.  Rainy season would creep toward its slow end and then, sprinkled like bright beacons over the low ridges, little orange flowers exploded into color.  When this happened, they knew head-hunting season had begun.

I'm told it was a rite of passage into manhood.  When a boy brought back his first head from a warring village, he returned a man in the eyes of his people.  Today, no signs of their violent past remain.  The people don't speak of it.  "We are ashamed of what we were," they say.  "Why would we talk about it?"  The old ways seem especially forgotten when, despite the orange flowers staring down from the treetops, we hike freely from one village to the next.  We hike through corn ready for harvest and green rice fields, past flowering bananas and loaded coconut trees.  Every now and then, we catch sight of another tree with orange blooms.  It is a great reminder of where God finds each of us, especially as the missionaries here prepare to share the full gospel with this people for the first time.

God has also been reminding me of His great love through a seemingly endless stream of blessings:

1) Just as I was hitting a slump of "Yeah, I'm ready for a spinach salad, a Chipotle burrito, and a nice HOT bath," I received a package from home.  Of course, the package didn't bring a spinach salad or a burrito or a bath, but it DID have lots of love and cream of wheat inside. 

2)  Then, I received and account statement from the office and discovered a very generous monetary gift.  I inquired after who sent it, but no one seems to know!  My hope is that, whoever you are, you read this and know I am extremely thankful!  God bless you and yours! 

3)  Yet another blessing came my way just yesterday.  When I packed up and moved to the Philippines, I had a pipe dream of learning the local language.  As of yesterday, I am officially in part-time language study!  Realistically, I know that I won't become anywhere near fluent in the seven months I have left, but I'm stoked to learn what I can.  It is a humongous blessing to have the people helping me take time out of their busy schedules to learn a language I may never use again, just because I want to learn.

All in all, I'm a slightly snuffly, yet very happy camper!

TTFN (Ta-Ta For Now!)

The Garden and The Pig

Outdoors version of today's photo update:

The first sprouts of sayote, beans, and cucumber have made their appearance.  Next to the garden, Adobo the pig has a new bamboo shelter.  I snapped a photo of her chowing down on her second favorite food to apples: left over green beans.

 

(Cucumber sprouts)

(Close up sayote sprout)

 

(Adobo getting her greens)

(Adobo's hut)

Except Peanut Butter and Jam

I knew being a vegan in a tribal setting would be...interesting, to say the least.  Even before I arrived in the village, I had mentally prepared myself to experience one of two fates.  On the one hand, I could be forced to eat animal byproducts and spend 80% of my time in the CR (which apparently means comfort room, and that's what Filipinos call the bathroom).  On the other hand, I would manage to survive solely on rice and the random bean I could scrounge up.  Thank God, neither of those things happened, but I thought I'd share some of my food experiences so far.

Day one, I learned something extremely important.  Soy sauce.  Liberally and frequently.  When in doubt, soy sauce.  Every time.  No ifs, ands, or buts.  Soy sauce.  Except on peanut butter and jam, because I'm an American and I'm pretty sure PB&J should be our national dish.  More on that later.

Also on day one, I made a pretty sweet discovery: you can buy rice anywhere.  Wendy's?  Rice.  McDonald's?  Rice.  Shakey's?  Rice.  Of course, that doesn't mean anything in a tribe miles away from everything.

I also learned that rice isn't always just some white or brown grain.  Sticky rice makes a pretty radical dessert.  I don't know what they call it in Tagalog (a quick Google search says Biko, so maybe that's it), but what's in a name?  It comes in all different flavors and colors.  White is coconut, yellow is sweet corn, purple is something I forgot the name of, and brown is plain.  And, yeah, that business is vegan!  Be still my salivating taste buds.  There is also a dish made from glutinous rice balls and coconut milk.  Again, vegan.  Again, drooling at the memory of it.

Continuing in the dessert realm, we make ice cream from frozen mango and coconut milk (do I need to say it? VEGAN) or from frozen bananas (*ahem* Vegan). And yes, we do make it in the village.  And yes, that is why I will be at least 5 lbs heavier upon returning to the States. 

Calabasa is a sort of squash that is kind of like a pumpkin and a sweet potato's love child.  I've learned to love it.  It's good with sugar or soy sauce.  Why not get crazy?  I bet I could even eat it with sugar and soy sauce.  In the words of Samwise Gamgee, "Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew..."  It's even good in a pie, though I haven't tried soy sauce on the pie.

We've also started making humus, because it's super easy to make once we get garbanzo beans shipped in.  And yeah, I eat that business with soy sauce.  One of my favorite hodge-podge dishes consists of raw cucumber, left over pasta, humus, and soy sauce.  Don't knock it till you've tried.  After all, someone wise once said necessity is the mother of invention.

The villagers have asked the missionaries more than once if I'm okay, if I need anything, and if I do alright without eating meat.  They were shocked to find out that I don't even eat eggs, and are certain I must be miserable.  Unfortunately, most of the traditional dishes are primarily made of meat, so I won't be able to sample them.  I don't think this is a very great loss, though.  They might tell you a dish has pork, and that's true.  The recipe does call for pork.  However, they most likely made it with a dog that killed one too many chickens.  Or they might just make it with a dog because that's what they have.  Nobody seems to mind and my theory is soy sauce.  Good news, most of the traditional desserts are made without dog, or any other meat, and usually use coconut milk, so I'll be able to sample those.

Now to explain PB&J.  I eat it close to 5 times a week, at least.  Or PB&Banana.  Or PB all alone.  Or I'll swap PB for almond butter.  Oh yeah, and I also learned how to make vegan bread, so I eat it on homemade bread.  Every.  Single.  Time.  No soy sauce required.  Sure, I eat a lot of rice and beans, but I also eat a lot of PB&J, or beans with other stuff plus soy sauce, like calabasa.

And that's how I vegan in the Philippines.  Thank God for soy sauce.