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.)

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.

Did I Mention Callao Caves?

 

(This gentleman kindly ferried part of our group to a lovely spot along the river.)

 

(Yes, I did jump.  Thanks for asking!)

 

(Thanks for the breath of fresh air, God! I think we all needed it!)

 

(One last view)

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!

Level: Legendary

Slayer!

Killing spree!

Imagine you're playing Halo (the original because I'm outdated...do kids even play Halo anymore?) and you're walking down a dark hallway.  The music is warning you that the Flood is coming out any time now.  Even with the warning, you poop a little bit when they show up.

Now, instead of Halo, put yourself in a dark bathroom without theme music and, instead of the Flood appearing, you hear the unmistakable whir of roach wings.  You can't see it, but you know it's there. Understandably, you poop a little bit.  That's okay because you're on the toilet.  Until you realize YOUR UNDERWEAR ARE AROUND YOUR ANKLES AND THE COCKROACH COULD LAND THERE AND HIDE UNTIL YOU PULL YOUR PANTS UP AND THEN IT COULD CRAWL INSIDE OF YOU LIKE IN SPOILSBURY TOAST BOY.

So now your feet are obviously suspended in the air while you wipe, because that is somehow going to prevent a cockroach from landing in your grotchies.  

Don't forget the lights are still off.  And don't watch the Spoilsbury Toast Boy.  It is unfathomably terrible in every way.

In the end, you escape sans-cockroach panties and without washing your hands.  Let's be real, no one braves the sink when the cockroach is discovered chilling out in the solitary sliver of light between you and the tap.  You know you'll meet the bugger again as you fumble with the locked doorknob.  Nobody in their right mind turns their back on a roach, either.

That was my night at some point this past week.  To be honest, I don't even remember what specific night because exhaustion and terror make everything except the fine details a blurry haze.  I can, however, report without a doubt that our rematch took place on Saturday, the eve of May.  As I stood, 100 % exposed, prepared to take a well-deserved shower, Herodias clung to the pink shower curtain with practiced stillness.  Maybe she was waiting to ambush me.  Maybe she was trying trying to hide.  Whatever the case, I had been expecting her all week.

With only minor hesitation, I took up the fly-swatter that was broken and forged anew.  I struck once.  My foe faltered, but refused to give any ground.  I struck again, this time rendering her helpless by turning her belly up. Then, as is my embarrassingly barbaric custom, I pounded Herodias into pulp with the swatted that was broken and forged anew only to be broken yet again.

Mindless death really does hurt my soul.  I'm vegan for more than one reason, you know.  Cockroaches just flip the berserker switch inside of me.  Blame my heritage.

At any rate, we head out to conference in a couple days for just a couple days.  It's building up to be a whirlwind week.  Not to mention, I officially have only five months left in the Philippines! The time, how she flies!

Pictures that Aren't of Food

 

(Helping each other with flower crowns)

 

(Waiting for the helicopter)

 

(This week's artistic efforts, to be used as thank you cards)