3 Months In: Photo Favorites

Hard to believe it's been more than 3 months since we arrived in Papua. I feel like we've both lived here an eternity and just arrived yesterday. So to commemorate the last few wild months, here are my favorite moments in photos...
 

Best buds Isaiah and Andi playing in the rain.

Travelling the world with this guy.

Ben's flight to the villages and realising how truly important helicopters are in providing physical and spiritual help to very remote and isolated communities. Video of the flight here.

These three wonderfuls

Beach day in this tropical paradise

See what I mean? Tropical Paradise!

Friends showing us around our new town

Praying at the children's Ibadah

Our smart, funny, sweet, strong, handsome Isaiah!

Juicing fruit from the market

Before the puppies were stolen

Introducing friends to British Pancakes

Scatter coming home

Birthday Parties with wall to wall children

 There you have it, my favorites! Wonder what the next three months will bring?

Culture Shock: Top 10 Reasons I'm Losing My Mind

Three months into our first term in Papua and the roller coaster ride of emotions can leave me feeling like I'm about to lose the plot completely. The books and experts say I've got Culture Shock, that it's normal, rarely fatal (ha!), and usually takes a couple years to run its course. So while I wait and process my strange new life, why not write a Culture Shock Top 10?

Disclaimer: Whether rational or not, these are my real feelings. So if they seem selfish and betray a misguided sense of missions, well, yes. My rational mind agrees with you. Meanwhile my emotions are out swinging from the chandelier.

Here we go, Top 10 Reasons and the emotions that follow them...

1) My new town is a lot more developed than I expected.

You wouldn't think this was a bad thing, would you? But when I arrived and realised there is a mall with a large grocery store right in the middle of town, I felt a sense of shame. Shame because 'real missionaries' (whatever the heck that is) aren't supposed to serve in developed places.

2) There are a LOT of missionaries here. Like, hundreds.

"Reaching the Unreached" that's our agency's slogan. And working with the world's least served communities is what our hearts beat for. So when I realised just how many other missionaries are here I felt a sense of disappointment. Disappointment that the front line is so crowded.

3) No matter how big I smile, a lot of people don't want to sit next to me in the taxi.

And sometimes, they won't even get in the taxi if they see us. It's weird and like so many other things, I don't understand it. I'm frustrated by it.

4) I came to minister to their needs, but I'm pretty helpless so they minister to mine.

Friends drive across town to pick me up and take me places. They help me with language and cheer me on even when I mess up. They send me encouraging texts nearly every day with Indonesian proverbs like: No tough sailors emerge from a calm sea. Similarly no tough and true leader emerged from a situation without problems. Local friends minister to me and I feel so encouraged. 

5) Dog and cats aren't neutered. 

Perhaps this seems strange to add to the list, but with the heavy emphasis back in the US on spaying and neutering, this really was a surprise. Dogs and cats are generally considered outside animals and allowed to roam the neighborhood. All these animals walking the streets 'intact' leaves me with a sense of fear. 

6) Papua is a cultural melting pot with many people coming from all over Indonesia.

The diversity of tribes here is astonishing. The majority of the people living in our town are migrants. It actually feels a bit like living in Florida where nearly everyone is born somewhere else. With everything new around me, this feels a bit like being home.

7)  I hate studying the language with my husband.

This sounds harsh, but it's true and important so makes the list. Although we've enjoyed working together in the past, studying together is immensely frustrating. We learn differently and progress at difference speeds. I hate studying with my husband and I feel like a bad wife.

8) I can't cope with as much as I thought I would be able to.

I've prepared for living cross culturally for years, but I still can't cope with as much as I thought I would be able to. And when I'm frustrated by something little that my brain tells me is ok but my emotions are freaking out over, I feel stupid.

9) I can cope with much more than I thought I would be able to.

Sometimes the opportunity for melting down is so big and obvious. Like the power being out on a 100+ degree day and Ben trying to take a nap and Isaiah is having a tantrum and the kids from next door are all peaking in the windows to see what the screaming is about and the puppy pees on the rug and then bites my feet. Yet somehow I manage to retain control and it all just rolls off my back and I feel brave.

10) My local friends have very important things to say. And their advice is good.

My friends don't just encourage, they advise me. And their advice is good. Even with all of my training, reading, researching, and talking with other expats, I wasn't fully prepared for living cross culturally. Although I try to keep an open mind, I still have a western mindset. So when my local friends give advice on things like how to live as a Christian in a culturally and religiously diverse community in a majority Muslim country, I take their advice seriously. They are excellent teachers and I am a willing student. And their wisdom leaves me so grateful to be here.

And there you have it. Feeling shame, disappointment, frustration, encouragement, fear, at home, like a bad wife, stupid, brave, and oh so grateful to be here. Culture Shock in a nutshell. The same books that diagnose me say talking about it and feeling understood is a big part of the cure. So thanks for listening. How do I feel now? Relieved. And that feels pretty darn good!

This week at Velvet Ashes others are sharing their personal Top 10 Lists, so head on over and check it out!

True Friends

"What is 'syg' an abbreviation for at the end of her text?" I asked my teacher, reading aloud a text message from a Papuan friend that I didn't completely understand.

It's hard enough to work out the straight Indonesian words, but can you imagine trying to figure out text message abbreviations? Yeah, that's a whole other thing.

"It means 'honey'. It's something women use for their true friend." he responded and I couldn't control the sudden eruption of joy.

I threw my hands in the air and gave out the most satisfied, "Yes!" of my life.

Amused, my teacher smiled and commented, "That makes you really happy, huh?"

"So much! I always wonder if the friends I am making here really like me, or if they are just being polite to the foreign lady. I always wonder if I am really making true friendships."

It was all joy overflowing for the rest of the day. Even now, thinking about my Papuan friend who I very much enjoy spending time with and realising she also genuinely enjoys my company, it's beyond meaningful to me.

I used to struggle hardcore with rejection. Fearful of not being accepted, even to the point of walking by a group of laughing people and concluding that they must be laughing at me. I constantly wondered what people really thought of me and mostly determined I was not all that likeable, fun or interesting.

Then I met Jesus and read His words about me. I began to understand that my identity lies in Christ and to trust Him even with my personality. I am the way that I am by design, not by some failure. As these truths rooted deep within my heart the fear of rejection largely became a thing of the past.

Then I came to Papua. Navigating a culture very different than my own and trying to make friends with limited language, that old fear of rejection came creeping back.

As I sat in class, beaming from ear to ear, I realised I'd given way to a fear long since conquered.

The truth is, my identity as a loved and cherished child of God doesn't change with my location. It doesn't change just because I dont understand the cultural cues around me. It never changes.

I breath easy again. Feet once more planted firmly on the unshakeable rock of Christ's love for me. Secure in the knowledge that this love that heals and sets my heart at peace, exists not just for me, but for the whole world.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:38-39

Teething Pains

"So how's it going? You guys transitioning well?" A friendly expat I'd just been introduced to asked me.

"Well, we are angry and tired a lot of the time. I've started swearing. We don't understand most of what goes on around us and have to relearn even the most basic things. But the people are really nice and the food is good too."

She probably would have understood because she has been right where we are now, but it's still not really appropriate 'nice to meet you' conversation. So instead I gave the code words for oh man this is hard, "Pretty good. But, you know, we've got teething pains."

Teething pains. A tight smile and knowing nod. She understood the message loud and clear. "You guys will get there, don't worry." and the conversation moves on to kids and school and normal mom stuff.

It's a hard slog and the joy of making progress is all tangled up in pull your hair out frustration. But the thing is, it's frustrating for reasons I never would have expected.

Like envy.

When we were in Wamena and I stood in our future home thinking about how Ben would be out flying and saving lives, and that I would be at home with no specific role or glorious task, envy overwhelmed me and it wasn't nice at all.

What about me? Nice for Ben, he gets all the glory. It doesn't matter whether I'm here.

And here in Sentani, while Ben battles to put together four word sentences and make friendships, which come much easier for me, envy rears it's ugly head.

What about me? Nice for Anisha, this is easier for her. It doesn't matter how hard I try.

Envy. I hate it.

For the last decade, we have worked and supported each other so that we would one day achieve the goal of living and serving in a developing country together.

Envy has no place in together. So we link hearts and arms and kick envy in the teeth. We admit our struggles and frustrations and give preference to each other.

We stick together and conquer envy with love. And man, does it feel good. 

 

 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8a

Check out Velvet Ashes this week's topic is Marriage.

Wait, What's My Message Again?

It is the end of the week here in Papua and I am exhausted. It's been 100+ degrees every single day and with two nights in a row without electricity and therefore without a/c I haven't been sleeping well. Our bedroom, with no window ventilation, easily reaches 90degrees on hot days even with the a/c on. The wall next to my side of the bed is hot to the touch in the afternoon sun.

Mostly we've adjusted to the heat well, but night time is a different thing. It’s hard to sleep when it is so hot. We toss and turn on sweat soaked sheets.

Last night Isaiah didn't sleep well either and so when my lack of sleep encountered his lack of sleep, we had a major blow up. He was ridiculously whiny, I was ridiculously short tempered. Lots of time outs for both of us.

I'm sure our neighbours heard everything. The same walls that let the heat in, let the sound out with the same ease. So when we have one of those insane yelling fits that Christians aren't supposed to have, everybody knows it.

Attempting to keep up appearances is hopeless. When you live this close to your neighbours, they are going to see your worst days.

So while I'd like to be the shining example of “Hey, look how well I follow Jesus! He’ll change you too just like He changed me!” I instead have a knock down drag out fight with the question Does my life match my message?
 

By Otto Koning

If you’ve never heard The Pineapple Story it’s one you must hear. The story takes place in Papua New Guinea, where a missionary has his crop of pineapples stolen day in and day out by the people he went to serve and spent years in angry yelling chasing thieves. One day he finally prayed, “I give up! These are YOUR pineapples Lord!” and stopped trying to stop the thieves. After a wacky chain of events that followed the people noticed a difference and in one humbling encounter told the missionary, “We figured it out! You are not angry any more. You must have finally become a Christian!”

Can you imagine? You move across the world and your daily life does not match your daily message. That’ll break your heart.

What is my message and does it line up with how I live my life?
 
This is a very real and ever present struggle. One that forces me to lay my heart bare and ask for correction and forgiveness nearly every day. Perhaps the only message I have is, I know a radical Love that reaches into my mistakes with compassion and forgiveness. If you’ll let me, I’ll tell you all about Him.

Ripped Off

I love going to the market. Pasar Baru, the New Market, is only a short half mile walk away and teeming with local traders pushing fresh vegetables, fruits, fish, meat, and a million other things. 

There's a modern supermarket in town and although it requires a taksi ride to get there, is much more convenient than attempting a big shop at the Pasar. Still, you can't beat the Pasar for fruit, veg, excellent street food, and interesting conversations.

Without fail, someone always rips me off. Today, the big rip off was a handmade bag.

My new bag: the rip off

A Papuan lady sat on her mat on the ground knitting bags. She had several on display as well as a few pineapples and vegetables.

"Berapa harga ini?" I asked her for the price pointing to the bag. "Dua ratus" came the response. I knew it was high. She was asking for 200thousand, about US$17 dollars, for the bag. I asked about the pineapples and she gave me a much more appropriate price. I picked one out and handed her the equivalent of about 40cents. Then I added the bag and paid the exorbitant price with a smile.

I didn't barter for the bag, even though it is culturally acceptable to do so, mainly because I'm still not very good at numbers. We deal in hundreds and thousands in this currency and mostly people just say the hundreds part, leaving me to guess whether they really mean hundreds or hundred thousands.

Besides this, I have many mixed feelings about what price I should pay.

Should I pay 40cents for a pineapple? Or 90cents for the watermelon I also carried home with me? This may be the usual market cost, but is this really a fair price for the local farmer?

Once, in Benin, I bartered hard for a beautiful wooden chess set. I wanted it as a gift for my brother and I didn't have much money to spend. In the end I paid so little that when I told a local friend he was actually upset with me. "That man didn't make any money on what he sold you. He gave it to you for cost." Is a tight fist really the impression of a Christian witness I want to leave? I have never forgotten that lesson.

I'll keep going to the Pasar. I'll study up on my numbers and get the hang of bartering. I'll eventually pay less than I do now. I'll chit chat with the women and look for new things to try. I'll keep walking the tension of what should I pay? And still, I'm certain, I'll keep getting ripped off.

We've Made Changes, Not Sacrifices

The electricity went out before I'd woken. A major storm had passed over during the night and we wondered if this outage was due to damage from winds or rain rather than the usual system overload.

By mid-morning Isaiah and I had grown restless and although it was still raining, decided to put on our boots and go for a walk.

"Let's climb the hill" I told Isaiah and so we set out, splashing in all the puddles along the way. We'd tried to climb the hill before, but the path stopped at about 75ft up and we couldn't see how to get to the top so had walked down again.

View from the top with mountains in the distance

This time when we reached the end of the main path a Papuan man saw us and asked where we were going. "Kami mau jalan kaki ke atas." I told him "We want to walk up to the top." I understood only a small bit of what he told me, but after a great deal of hand signals we found a small foot path.

The path was slick and muddy but we made the 300ft climb easily while holding hands. Reaching the end of the foot path Isaiah and I stood at the top looking down at Sentani. Even with the rain and clouds we could see quite far in the distance, all the way down to lake Sentani and the mountains beyond.

I thought about a book I'd been reading, Prophecies of Pale Skin, as we stood looking out at the lush landscape. In the book, a missionary couple named Scott and Jennie, make a long and arduous hike through jungle terrain even crossing a treacherous vine bridge and risking health and life to reach the remote Dao community. After the first contact and an invitation by the Dao leader to live among them and learn the language, Scott and Jennie moved in with the Dao full time. They were barely out of their teens at the time.

Our family has made great changes to be here in Papua, but I can't call these changes "sacrifices" because they really aren't. We have given up so little and gained so much by being here. When we move to Wamena we will have the privilege of providing aviation support to those like Scott and Jennie. Men, women, families, who daily live a scripture penned by the apostle Paul during great hardship. A scripture I understand so little about.

 To live is Christ, to die is gain.

Phil 1:21 

Want to read about Scott and Jennie's work among the Doa? 

You can find the book on Amazon

It's well worth the read!

Prophecies of Pale Skin

The true story of a young couple who stumbled across a fierce, murderous, stone-age people group in the remote jungles of Indonesia only to find that they were the fulfilment to prophetic dreams given to the tribe long before their arrival.

Scott and Jennie also have a website where you can read their regular updates: http://sjphillips.org

And Then There is Us. The Newbies.

The expat community here in Sentani is much larger than I thought it would be. The first time we attended an expat meeting at the international school we were overwhelmed by the number of expats living and working here in this town.

Just who is here in Sentani? There is a teenage musician who writes songs about love and God. There is an Australian athiest who on a whim decided to attend a church service and 40 minutes later left radically changed. There is an man who came as an insecure 24 year old, doubting his abilities to make a difference. He stayed and now encourages others in their insecurities. There are former youth pastors. There is families so large they were discouraged from coming because it just wasn't "practical'. There is a family that survived a machete armed robbery in their bedroom in the middle of the night. Suffering from PTSD they chose to stay when everyone would have understood if they'd left. There are men and women who have tirelessly worked alongside the people of this country for decades.

And then there is us. The newbies. Fresh faced and full of hope.

 

Friday night "Skate Night" at the international school

The Better Way

"Which way did you come?" Our neighbor asked, looking down at our muddy feet.

"Up the red road. The way we always come." I responded, self consciously scraping the mud from the bottom of my sandals.

"Up the red road? No, no. That's much too muddy. There is another way. I'll show you."

For weeks, several times a day, we walk the red road. After a rain shower the pot holes fill with water and the mud is unavoidable. I stand at the edge of the largest puddle and try to decide whether to jump, hoping I make it to the other side and risking a very muddy splash if I don't. Mostly I just tiptoe across on discarded water bottles and whatever other garbage pokes above the puddle's surface.

Following our neighbor, we walk to the gate on the other end of his garden. "This is the better way" he says, swinging the gate open.

The better way is a small sandy path with homes crowding in on either side. Trees shade the path and neighbors we didn't even know we had sit or stand together in afternoon conversation.

We follow the path and our neighbor shows us where it comes out to the main road. Walking back up he points out the opposite end, which stops just before our home.

The path was there all along. A better path, free of deep mud and red clay, right in front of us. We didn't find it ourselves, it took a neighbor to show us the way.

So much of our life right now is a muddy red road. As we spend time with people, trying to build relationships, we are shown new paths. Dry, shaded paths, leading us right into the heart of our community.

The dry path, as it disappears under the tree between houses.

Ben Came Anyway

I hate sports. I'm uncoordinated, slow, and weak. Worst of all though, playing sports makes me feel very insecure.

Language learning, now that's my thing. I can "feel" the meaning of the words and they stick easily. I don't mind messing up because after all, "you have to murder it to master it".

Ben is good at sports. He's coordinated and fast and all smiles.

He hates scripted afternoon language practice. The words take longer to learn and the awkwardness of not being understood is so uncomfortable.

But here's the thing. If someone said to me, "Go live in that country and help those people. Oh and you have to play sports everyday until you are great at it." I would say no. Plain and simply, I would not go.

Ben on the other hand, came anyway. It's tough and discouraging and frustrating. Sometimes it's the awfulness of insecurity.

Ben came anyway! I am so blessed to have him. I wish I was more like him.

Puffed Chest Bully Drunk

The man standing in the middle of the road was obviously drunk. Not the happy, everybody is my friend kind of drunk either. He was puffed chest bully drunk.

The drunk man put out his hand and our taksi driver stopped and opened his window. Oh no! Why is he stopping? He should keep going! I thought. Our driver spoke a few calm words to the drunk man and then started to pull away. Whap! The man's fist came down hard on the hood. The driver stopped again, this time he offered the drunk some money. After a bit of arguing back and forth our taksi driver gave more cash and the drunk man stumbled off to harass another vehicle.

I looked towards the back, my fellow passengers all shared the same sombre expressions. Their faces downcast with sadness. What on earth was all that about? I wondered.

I told this story to an expat friend who explained, "Oh the people here hate confrontation so much that they give in to the drunks. If a drunk person comes to a restaurant they would sit them down and give them food rather than throwing them out."

This kind of treatment of angry addicts is completely contrary to that of my own society. An aggressive drunk wandering into a restaurant in the US would be thrown out and if they didn't go willingly security would be called. A drunk on the road would be ignored and quickly driven past, despite any attempts to stop the vehicle. I had no reference point for the kind of response given by my taksi driver.

A few days later I told a Papuan friend about what happened. He replied, "Yes, I know it's bad. All the people feel this situation is bad. You see, alcohol was introduced here from the outside. It did not exist in Papua. The people do not know how to handle it." He went on to talk about peace, and hospitality, and avoiding unnecessary conflicts. "If you come to a drunk person, just try to make it smooth. Don't cause a disagreement. It is better this way."

Later that evening, still mulling over the conversations with my expat and Papuan friends, verses like Proverbs 19:11 came to mind, "A man's discretion makes him slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook a transgression." And Proverbs 20:3 "Keeping away from strife is an honor for a man, but any fool will quarrel."

It is so easy for me to jump to the comfort of my own personal and cultural response. To think, That person is in wrong and they shouldn't even be given the time of day! Or get them out of here! Someone call security! But now wonder if I wouldn't simply fall into the "any fool will quarrel" category.

I recently wrote a post about walking in Post 7, a neighbourhood notorious for problems with drunks, against the advice of other expats. Our strategy then had been to avoid any signs of trouble. We would turn around and walk the other way. We would have left the situation, not indulge or engage it.

I have no insight and make no claims for or against my own personal or cultural response. What do I take away from this? Only that I exchange the comfort of self righteous judgement for the sadness shared by my fellow passengers. Perhaps together we will find a way.

What would you do?

Welcomed Home

We're coming up to 5 months since Isaiah came home and he is such different child now. There were always little glimpses of the real Isaiah peeking out. Looking back now I can see he was grieving, but grief is hard to identify and understand in a two year old.

My social worker told me he would grieve for his foster mom and in theory I know this would happen. I imagined Isaiah would be shy and insecure at first. I remembered my training and had a plan. We would be joined at the hip and I would work hard at attachment. I'd read the books after all. I knew the stages.

I didn't expect the pushing and pulling. The melt down because he wanted a cuddle this instant only to be pushed away with an angry hand when I went to give a hug. Or the morning Isaiah pointed to the picture of his foster mom and I said, "Yes, that's Ms Debi." And he screamed back at me "No! Mommy!" Or the way he grieved for his foster siblings and refused to play with other children. If they approached him he would yell, "No!" and hide behind me.

I didn't expect the separation anxiety. I couldn't even go to the bathroom without Isaiah desending into a full blown panic attack. Or the nightmares when he would start screaming and hitting something imaginary. Refusing to be comforted when we came to him.

By the end of the most days I didnt want to see Isaiah anymore and I didnt like myself. I felt like a failure. Afraid to say anything because prior to Isaiah being placed with us we had worked hard to convince social workers that we would be great parents. Sure they told us they were there to support, but I lived in fear that they might think they had made a wrong decision and take him away.

It wasn't all bad though. The real Isaiah was always there, just under the surface. And at many points throuout the day he would be his silly happy self. And more than anything I loved him despite the difficulties. I just didn't understand that the moodiness was grief.

I write this because today Isaiah is a totally different child. He is confident and open. He is happy and inquisitive. He charms everyone he meets and although we still have temper tantrums they seem to be the normal two year old kind! Isaiah is a delight to be with and I miss him when we're apart. I can't get enough of him and love when he scoots up into my lap for a cuddle.

From the moment I saw Isaiah's picture I knew he was my son and desperately wanted him. I have loved him from that very moment and feel priviledged to be his mommy. I see plainly that yes, adoption is wonderful. We have a son and Isaiah has parents. But adoption is born from loss and grief is a fact of life.

Thank God that he is in the business of making beauty from ashes. That He knows the condition of our hearts and loves perfectly. That He sets the lonely in families and tells the most amazing stories with our lives. I feel privileged to be Isaiah's mommy, but even more so to be God's child. Adopted into His family. Welcomed home and my grieving and broken heart made whole.

A New Adventure

A couple weeks ago my husband received an email that will change my life. We've been invited to join a charitable organization called Helimission in Papua, Indonesia. My husband Ben is a helicopter pilot and mechanic and will use these skills to support the tribal people living around our soon to be home town of Wamena. Air support is especially crucial when you need a doctor and there are no roads to get you to the hospital.

I am excited about this new adventure. Although the timing of the email was surprising, it wasn't unexpected. We've been working towards this goal for the last eight years. We just thought it would be a couple more years until we actually got to go.

The really crazy thing is that this is the second email to drastically change my life in less than six months. At the end of last September we were contacted about at little boy named Isaiah and adopted him a little over a week ago on Valentine's Day (so sweet, I know!). Isaiah is two years old and an absolute delight. He can definately throw a temper trantrum with the best of them, but for the most part he is a very happy child. We feel so blessed to be his parents!

And here we are. Just starting to learn to be a family and now preparing to sell everything and move across the globe. Intimidating? Yes, but I'm up for it!

The first step of this move is to attend a semester of bible college in NY. I've lived in Florida the last eight years so hoping the fall and winter up north are kind to me. Next, we go for language school in Indoneia 8 months or so. Once we have a reasonable grasp of the language we'll move to Wamena and start a three year term.

From now until August we'll get the word out about our move and raise financial support. Yep, this gig is totally voluntary! But we know it'll work out. I simply don't have time to write about all the amazing ways God has confirmed this path to us.

I invite you to join me on this journey. I have no idea what it will look like, but jump in. We've got plenty of room and always love company.