consolidation

To those who actually read my blog (thank you!)

Google Buzz has been the impetus for this kid to finally troubleshoot how to import this blog over to the gmail account that I am currently using - in other words, the consolidation of my internet life. Not that anyone ever needed explanation or would have noticed the difference, other than the fact that until a few minutes ago, you realized that myyearinindonesia.blogspot.com no longer functioned. I've resurrected the blog to say that subsequent posts can be found at irisinindonesia.blogspot.com (oh and also, should you ever need help troubleshooting all things Google, their help pages are actually pretty helpful). For now, it's essentially the same look and feel of this blog - sorry for the inconvenience, but it makes everything so much easier since I was using an old gmail account...

Happy reading!

Holiday

Going on my third consecutive Valentine’s Day as a single person – and honestly, praise God! Tomorrow is a double whammy holiday: Valentine’s Day and Chinese New Year. Chinese Indonesians are one significant minority group in Indonesia among hundreds of people groups. I don’t know much more than that, other than that the ancestors of some of these families came to Indonesia hundreds of years ago and have been here since. (And as a Filipino American living in Indonesia, I’m afraid I am not familiar with the story of Chinese New Year…eh, it happens). I guess living in Indonesia, this should be a post about Chinese New Year, as I’m sure the celebrations here would be somewhat different than those in the States (I have never experienced either, actually)

I can write on something more universal, which requires no knowledge of Mandarin or Bahasa Indonesia… Someone said to me the other day, “It must be hard for your boyfriend with you here in Indonesia…” I had to smile at her and say, “belum ada,” [literal translation: not yet exist] or ‘there isn’t one yet.’ And you know, it’s a blessing to say that because I was reading over my journal from a year ago and was amazed to see how much I was still in mourning over my most recent relationship. I remember when I was thinking about how I would spend holidays, particularly Valentine’s Day.

On Sundays when we set up the Junior Chapel for church, Sam stands back at the mixer and plays this song by Shane & Shane called “Holiday.” It’s upbeat, with the guitars strumming a moderate tempo as a background to two voices harmonizing – fun to listen to early in the morning while placing chairs into rows for Sunday Celebration. I have to admit, I’m not very good with song lyrics if I’m just listening to them so I had to look up the words to “Holiday” yesterday because I had the song in my head and wanted to hear how it actually goes (need I say it was yet another impulse buy on iTunes?)

You are my Holiday / You are right in the middle of me / You are my Hideaway

I’m calling out your name / oh my Holiday/ You make my heart new / and I love You

What it is I’m trying to say / You are my favorite part of me

Funny because I didn’t even know the song was called “Holiday,” but it seems appropriate to write about especially since there are two holidays tomorrow, and one of them has to do with love and hearts and flowers. Or something like that.

We just finished up a sermon/lecture/talk series on relationships called The Boy Girl Thing last night here in Karawaci. We started with part 1 last Friday aimed at college students, and last Saturday was focused on single working adults. Yesterday was part 2 for the college students, with practical steps and principles to keep in mind when pursuing a relationship. Pastor Seth has been doing the talk back in Ann Arbor for the past 12 years, and I have to admit that for the four years of my undergraduate life at Harvest Mission Community Church, his words have gone in one ear and out of the other. Having heard each of the three messages before, I think it’s funny that I needed to come to Indonesia to really appreciate the truth of his words.

Some of you reading this might strongly disagree with the church talking about sex and relationships – but it's our way to discuss how to conduct our lives in a manner that is pleasing to God, and I want to encourage you to check out the sermons once they’re posted at our website as some food for thought. I know that if I had actually grasped some of these principles prior to getting into my various unhealthy relationships in college, I could have saved myself a lot of heartache.

Pastor Seth focused primarily on the concept of counterfeit love in part 1 last Friday, suggesting that, “when the real thing is the real thing, everyone else wants to copy it,” that our impressions of love have been distorted – or fake: “to conceal to make appear more attractive, interesting, valuable. Usually in order to deceive; counterfeit.” As I reflected on my relationships with the opposite sex over the years, I felt very sad in my heart when I grasped the epiphany that counterfeit love is much of what I have ever known to give to or receive from guys. I couldn’t accept parts of my heart and my life as they were and expected someone else to accept a me that I wanted to be but wasn’t actually. It has resulted in multiple unhealthy relationships with a foundation based on deception. I’m going to be a nerd and list out some of the principles that Pastor Seth shared upstairs portion of Planet Noodle, our restaurant venue that graciously opened its doors for us and worked with us to give a 20% discount to anyone who joined us for the talk.

1.) Fake love promises closeness but not necessarily commitment

2.) Fake love promises connectedness but not clarity

3.) Fake love promises certainty but lacks the comprehensiveness

4.) Fake love promises completeness but lacks the contentment

As I listened to him dictate those principles, it seemed as if he had outlined the whole course of my most previous relationship from beginning to end. I don’t really feel like elaborating right now, but thinking about these principles brought J.R.R. Tolkien’s words (spoken in deep, languid tones by Cate Blanchett at the beginning of the LOTR movie trilogy – haha) to mind: but they were all of them deceived.

It’s so easy to talk about true love and grasp at it and believe that we’ve found it – particularly in a romantic relationship. But for so many of us, our views of love relationships are so skewed. Because I didn't want people, particularly guys, to know me for who I really was, I defrauded guys into loving something that I was not, and was defrauded by loving the ideas I had of people and not actually the person. In doing so, I realize that I, like many other women, have fed the egos of men - and that in turn, I have defrauded men into feeding my insecurity and need for security, investing into relationships with love that was self-centered and self-serving. I do feel sorry that the other parties have had to endure that, but I am thankful for the experience to learn the hard way that I and so many others have been so deceived.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, 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. I notice that people use 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 or the love passage as a cliché, and I mention it because if we really think about the words, love in its original design is actually manifested as a distortion just because we are sinful and broken people.

Fortunately, there is truth and an alternative to counterfeit love: This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. 1 John 3:16

A sinless man, the Son of God, who created and is love, seeing the sordidness of our souls – when most people would walk away at such vileness and brokenness, he took it upon himself.

While visiting a national school recently, I got to observe a chapel where the children sang the chorus to this song by Avalon:

We are the reason that he gave his life

We are the reason that he suffered and died

To a world that was lost, he gave all he could give

To show us the reason to live

It brought tears to my eyes, especially thinking of how I have defrauded people and been defrauded by counterfeit love - but that Jesus could still love somebody like that, that Jesus could still love me. He makes my heart new, and as I learn to accept this more and more everyday, I feel more free of the baggage from the past.

To wrap it all up, I wrote this because my heart breaks for people who experience the distortion of love in all of its forms. And also, no, I won’t be pining away as a single woman who isn’t getting any younger tomorrow. I will be spending the holidays with teammates who have become my family, and with the Lover of my Soul – Jesus, my Holiday. I hope that others of you, singles especially, can experience the same.

interviunya | the interview

In my second year as a working single adult, I’m still relatively new to the workplace but I am already experiencing how difficult it is to maintain integrity and work with all of my heart “as if serving the Lord, not men” rather than just the man (although I have to say, I do appreciate my bosses Yonas and Jeffrey immensely and am grateful for the crash course in family business 101 – also known as working here). Often, I find myself having to create work for myself to keep my hands busy, which is great because it allows me to engage in my creative side while trying to learn more about how exactly this business operates. I mention that because over the past couple of months, it’s been really easy for me to get into this rut where I dread coming in to work because I feel like I just sit here for 8 hours and then go home, and come back and do it all over again. But I’m reminded of where I was two years ago, an almost graduate who along with my classmates faced the challenges of job searching with an economic downturn on the near horizon. I have a job, and I should be grateful for the opportunity to worship through my work.

“Iris, can you interview her? My English is not good…”
I had just created for myself some more work - evaluating our customer service by our response to customer complaints (because according to the reports I've been translating this morning, the response has been zero, or my colleagues forget to record the responses. But anyway...) I turned around to face the speaker, a woman in my department. Standing next to her desk was a woman wearing skinny jeans and a white t-shirt with a brown mouse’s face on it, with black hair cropped close to her head. I’ve overheard two of my roommates who teach English here at our company interviewing women who want to work in Canada as caregivers, but have never given the interviews myself. “Do you have specific questions that you want me to ask her?” I asked my colleague, whose only response to continue to sit smiling at me. That was my cue to plunge right in with whatever questions I could think of off the top of my head: “What is your name? Where did you work? What did you do? Where did you learn English? Where do you want to go? What do you want to do there?”

Her name is Nina. I was trying to talk slowly but some of my questions elicited blank stares before an actual response. She worked in Malaysia for two years as a domestic worker, “cleaning the house, washing the car, feeding the dog…” and in Saudi Arabia for two years, as a caregiver for the elderly. “I learn English in Malaysia,” and she wants to go to Hong Kong through our company to work as an elderly caregiver again, like she has worked overseas before, to support her family. She has a husband, and a twelve-year-old daughter. “I want to work in Hong Kong for my family’s future.” I wasn’t able to ask her what she had in mind for her family’s future because at that point, another one of my colleagues was waiting to take her upstairs to Overseas Marketing for another interview.

I thought of her daughter. If Nina worked overseas in years consecutive to one another, her daughter might have been somewhere around 8 years old, or younger, when she first left to work overseas. I was thinking of how much Nina loves her family, and would do anything to spend more time with her husband and daughter – but she loves them so much to leave, to find work overseas and to work to support them. How does her daughter feel? I can imagine that she wants so much to spend time with her mother. Spend time cooking with her, watching tv together, maybe fighting together now that she’s older, and maybe just sitting and being with one another.

I write about this because I have been thinking a lot lately about family and how it functions, and about work. My parents moved to the United States before I was born, and I think I only know half of the struggles they faced while getting established in a new place, if that. My mother, a nurse, worked long hours at the hospital to support our family, and some of our extended family members. My father would work during the daytime and stay with me at home while my mother was working the evening shift. I remember sitting on my mother’s lap one day when I was 5, after lunch as she was preparing to leave for work. I had just eaten a chocolate fudgesicle, and sitting with her was the best thing in the world. And then she had to leave. I remember feeling so sad, and I heard her say the words, “but I have to go to work…” even though now I am more than certain that she would have given anything to take a day off and stay with me.

My father still works the second shift, at the power plant at Western Michigan University. Someone interviewed him for a newsletter at Western a while back, and he is the same person to everyone else as he says he is. He works, goes to church, loves working in the yard, and loves his wife and daughters. It’s been very difficult to live for part of my life with my father away in the evenings when my sister and I were at home doing our homework and practicing our instruments. Over the years, I have questioned why such a schedule and why such hours. I remember when he first got the job at Western after a period of unemployment in the mid-90’s. It was quite an adjustment at the time, and I remember how hard it was to think that it felt like I wouldn’t be able to see my father as often as before, or at least during my waking hours.

Coming here to Indonesia, I have a greater assurance that everything in our lives happens for a purpose. I hear many stories like Nina’s, working here at a human resources management company. And I told Nina’s story because it reminds me of the people on the other side of my own story – my parents. I’ve become somewhat embittered because of the lack of closure and understanding about why certain things in my life happened the way that they did. But I realize that everything in my life has happened for my good, that “all things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose…” (Romans 8:28) Because things happened the way that they did, with parents working hours that I have disliked more or less and my limited perspective on those situations at the time, I understand much better the people filtering in and out of the Lokal Marketing department in search of jobs overseas.

I mention this because it has also been greatly challenging to have a heart of compassion for these people from all over Indonesia, with their educations and options so limited that they must find work overseas, and towards my colleagues. Things don’t work the way I think they should, as I am accustomed to in the American workplace; interpersonal interactions also do not function in the Western ways that I am used to. I realize that thinking this way has hardened my heart, as pride tends to do. This morning on the way to work, I was reading Matthew 27, which chronicles the crucifixion of Christ and I felt challenged at the thought, “For whom was it that Christ died?” in our morning meeting as I was staring at the faces of my colleagues, including the one who asked me to interview Nina shortly after that meeting. Makes me think of these words, “Oh kneel me down again here at Your feet, show me how much You love humility…” and how much I want that heart, especially as someone who is living here as opposed to just visiting.

And finally to wrap it up, I wrote this to reiterate the fact that I understand – or I understand better. Work was my parents’ way of expressing their love and challenges me to do the same. Also, today is my father’s birthday, and I wish so very much that I could celebrate it with him. Thanks Dad (and Marme) for your love. And if you’re not either of them and want to read a little bit more about my father from that newsletter I mentioned above, click here and see page 4. Happy Birthday, Dadipogi.

::the fail blogger::

During our first few days and weeks in Indonesia, whenever someone would commit some cultural or social faux pas, some of us engaged in identifying the event by saying, “fail blog!” [I think Irene may have mentioned this in her own blog, but the first time she heard that phrase, she said, “You have a fail blog??”] It’s not an actual blog, by the way. But since I am writing in mine, and I just made the confession (or I guess it was almost a month ago) that I am awkward, here’s a follow up post for some levity – and an update of sorts (only because people like Richard Yamada say that I should post more. Yup, that’s the parenthetical shout-out to Richard. Thanks for mentioning that you check my blog as much as you do! And of course, thanks to all of the other readers too!)

“I’ve never seen Mr. Bean but you remind me so much of him,” he said. The speaker met all of us only four months ago, and yet he was speaking to what everyone else who has known me for longer has endured quietly. I think that morning, he was talking about the fact that I had flipped the spoon in my coffee out onto the saucer somehow, almost knocked over my water glass, and almost fallen over while getting out of my chair at our retreat last week. Besides my last post and grasping my emotional awkwardness, I have been very familiar with my physical awkwardness over the years – and to people who know me well, it makes perfect sense that I love the movie “The Princess Diaries” because the protagonist is just as awkward and ungainly as I am, and vice versa.

To illustrate, I’ll share what I wish was a well-scripted scene from a sitcom... I caught a stomach virus shortly before Christmas a couple of weeks ago, and was being extremely conscientious of taking my antibiotics before and after each meal. While endeavoring to unscrew the cap of my Powerade bottle of electrolytes in order to take my medicine, I managed to fling the cap into a small receptacle with pink votive oil which functioned as our table’s fly repellent. Initially I was going to leave the cap as it was, but decided that I should at least fish it out so the plastic didn’t melt into the oil. I did successfully take hold of said cap with my fingers – but watched it sail through the air into the remainder of my food. Shortly afterward, I also managed to fall out of my chair. Other than utter embarrassment at the time of occurrence, I guess one thing about coming to grips with my chronic klutziness is that I can laugh about the fact that these things are real life and I don’t make them up.

I can't blame the antibiotics for my cantankerous behavior because I had another episode of epic fail blogness this morning (although now that I think about it, I did just finish taking another round of antibiotics for yet another stomach bug. 'Tis the rainy season here, and infections are rampant!) I was preparing to sheath the tables in the junior chapel this morning with our own tablecloths, when I noticed that the table where we place refreshments had a hot water dispenser on it. Thinking it was empty and that it would be an easy move, I grabbed the two handles to move the dispenser to the ground. It actually was completely full of water, and even though it was very heavy and I knew that moving it by myself was probably biting off more than I could chew, I decided to plow ahead and move it to the ground out of sight. The cord to the dispenser was caught on the coffee maker next to me, and I found that I could not set the dispenser flat on the ground unless there was slack from the cord. I was inches/centimeters from the ground, trying desperately to balance the dispenser and also grab the cord so I could release my burden. When the cord was almost in my fingers, I felt the dispenser slip out of my hands and flip 90 degrees, spilling its contents. Fortunately, it was only water – but it was a lot of water, and it spread quickly under the tables and towards the door of the chapel. Very slippery and dangerous for people walking in and out during the morning!

We did manage to find two mops to at least soak up the damage, but no bucket with a contraption to squeeze out the water. Our kindhearted Pak, one of the head groundsmen at SPH, wiped up the water and wrung the mop with his hands with expert skill. One of my teammates took the other mop and also wrung the water out by hand. Since I love cleaning, I think ordinarily I would have felt the shame of being useless as a watcher. I felt humbled actually as I watched these two men wiping up the mess that I had made. It really reminded me of what Christ did when he died on the cross – that it was to make right my wrongs, to shed his perfect blood to justify me for all of the ways that I fall short. Those men didn’t need yet another thing to think about this morning, let alone clean up someone else’s mess, even if it was just water. I, being the judgmental person that I am, would probably let someone in my shoes know just how wrong they were to screw up that badly, and to keep reminding him or her of it. Instead, I heard the older Indonesian man who is probably my dad’s age saying, “nggak apa-apa,” [never mind] in response to my “ma’afkan kami,” [forgive us]. Humbling to think that all it takes to make right wrongs is to admit error, to confess sin, and to say, “Forgive me.” That Jesus was willing to clean up my mess, at no cost to me, but cost everything to Him when he died on the cross. Just some food for thought.

So it turns out that I actually love writing so much that I would rather wait a while and turn out a piece that is profound and well thought out – which is why I have neglected to post anything about Christmas or New Year’s or our recent January retreat and anything in between. Those were special times in my life thus far and definitely worthy of mention. I know it’s getting close to February and things like Valentine’s Day and Chinese New Year (which happen to be on the same day this year!) and December happenings might not seems so relevant. We’ll see how I end up updating regarding those things. But for now, this is my attempt at fail blogging less…(e.g. posting more)

As always, thanks for reading!

The Tale of the Ugly Duck

How are things since my last post? To be honest, the thought of recounting Thanksgiving kind of overwhelms me – even though I was fully prepared to post it at the beginning of December. I used to be the kind of kid predisposed to homesickness. Not kidding. When I was four, I tried to sleep over at my friend Marilee’s house and her parents ended up taking me back home because I just couldn’t do it. And the night my sister was born, I slept over at the home of some family friends – and I just remember crying buckets over Miss Piggy, who was my guardian for the night. And during my first semester at the University of Michigan, my friends and I all gathered in my room tearing up listening to Christmas music during finals – most of us from the Midwest, mind you – because we missed home. And now I live in Indonesia, a week away from Christmas, missing everyone and everything but the homesick pangs aren't as bad as I thought they would be. Also, I find myself really moody in my new context at times, and I realize that I’m not the kind of girl that eats my feelings (no offense to those who do; and when I eat my feelings, I eat chocolate) – I listen to them. Actually, I have to admit sheepishly that I went on an iTunes binge-rampage-extravaganza yesterday because I had all of this music in my head from high school band and orchestra and it was like I craved it. Strange and true, I needed the music to think about life as I know it currently [okay, and that list included Shostakovich's String Quartet No. 8, the Hebrides Suite, the Prelude to Tristan und Isolde, On a Hymnsong of Philip Bliss, and some music from the movie Amélie... just in case you were curious. Lots of contemplative stuff, I know. It's because I wanted it to process everything that led to the explosion written below...]

To leave everything safe and familiar, I realize that I needed to build up something in order to feel secure. I did this through learning Bahasa Indonesia and cleaning at home. I figured that if I could do things that I was good at, then people should not feel the right to come into my life and speak to the flaws in my character, to say the things that I didn’t want to hear but were so good and necessary for me. So, itt’s been a little over five months since we left the States, and Indonesia has become this incredible crock-pot for me to sit and stew in – a sort of crucible, surfacing all these things that have been in my heart for years. I took some time to read over my journals from the past five months and saw the aspiring creative writer in me. Mostly my heart swelled, because of seeing everything I have been learning. There was some sadness too, at the realization of my tendency to organize things into a narrative rather than just seeing them as raw. So here I give you some of the raw (which is about me and not necessarily Indonesia...hold onto your hats, kids!)

::Bahasa Indonesia:: I was reflecting this morning on how much change has actually taken place, language-wise. I used to sit in morning meetings, listening to what sounded to me like jibberish – and now, I understand (75-80% of the time) what problems the people in my department encounter. I had to reevaluate my motives for learning the language. What was I really learning it for? I have to admit that I didn’t want to leave this place without gaining a command of it. And then I have to insert some cheese here with a line from Spiderman, where Uncle Ben says, “With great power comes great responsibility” (or something like that). What was I learning this language for, if not to eventually gain a working command of it, in order to share with people from this country about the love of Jesus Christ – what he has done and is currently doing in my life? It’s a great challenge, because I am still learning the language, and then do I even share about my faith in my first language?

::Cleaning:: one of my chores growing up was to keep the shoe closet organized, although I’m afraid I didn’t do a very good job of it because every few months or so, we’d have to clean up the shoe closet, and Marms’ “keep your shoes!” fell on deaf ears more often than not… Grew up sweeping floors and washing dishes and doing laundry and other domestic sports, and so moving into an apartment with four other girls and continuing to do these things was easy. Actually, the cleaning was quite therapeutic – an outlet for me to work out any feelings I had upon moving to Indonesia, just because it’s so mindless. Looking back, I realize that the girl who came to Indonesia five months ago was very insistent at having her way, still having claim over some area of expertise in order to feel valued. It was easy to push the couches around, dust things, and sweep and mop the floor and wash the dishes after LIFE Group even though it was so late – and can you imagine, I took such pride in my ability to do such things well, and even more than that, to think so highly of myself for my ability to do these things! I shake my head now when I think that I needed to think that I was better than my teammates, and that cleaning was another way to build myself up.

I realize that I do things to build myself up to compensate for things lost or things never there. In my mind, I was thinking, ‘If I can do these things well, then so-and-so should feel terrible for wanting to speak to another area of my life that needs improvement!’ it follows then that Learning Bahasa Indonesia and cleaning have been my covering for my lack. And how much I realize in this new environment how much I lack!

Actually, someone shared with me recently that I am awkward. It wasn’t a topic that took up a significant portion of the conversation, but the mere mention of it had me searching high and low to grasp what that person might have meant since we didn’t discuss the topic further. My searching brought me to this definition from Mr. Webster (as my 4th Grade teacher so fondly referred to the dictionary):

Main Entry: awk·ward
Pronunciation: \ˈȯ-kwərd\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English awkeward in the wrong direction, from awke turned the wrong way, from Old Norse ǫfugr; akin to Old High German abuh turned the wrong way
Date: 1530
1 obsolete : perverse
2 archaic : unfavorable, adverse
3 a : lacking dexterity or skill (as in the use of hands) b : showing the result of a lack of expertness
4 a : lacking ease or grace (as of movement or expression) b : lacking the right proportions, size, or harmony of parts : ungainly
5 a : lacking social grace and assurance b : causing embarrassment
6 : not easy to handle or deal with : requiring great skill, ingenuity, or care

Reading that definition shook me to my core (and is the primary reason that I went on my iTunes binge mentioned earlier, hahaha). How dare he refer to me as not dexterous, when I grew up playing piano – and any pianist, expert or amateur (I am the latter), knows that playing piano is the end of cultivating dexterity (okay, fingers-wise…) How dare he address my lack of expertness, when I graduated in the top 10% of my high school class and got my bachelor’s degree from the University of Michigan. How dare he suggest that I lacked social graces – me, the resident advisor to more than 100 girls over 2 years and in positions of leadership as old as I was able to run for any sort of office (and for the most part, won). The last part of that definition floored me though, as I had to be honest with myself that I have not been easy to handle or deal with throughout my life and that I have seen how people have tread so carefully around me, or dropped me entirely. This was no fault of theirs - it was mine.

I started Wikipedia-ing like crazy (yeah, I guess that’s a pastime of mine when I have access to the internet. I’m actually not kidding…), trying to make sense of who I am through my name – which refers to the part of the eye, which translates in Spanish and Portuguese to “rainbow,” which is the title of a song by the Goo Goo Dolls (yes, I am aware…) and even asking God, ‘Why did you make me this way?’ referring to my handed-ness (which is left-handed, and yes, the reason why this blog is under construction…)

I love the story of “The Ugly Duckling” because this awkward, ungainly bird matures into a beautiful swan. I have been teased that I grew up to be a duck, and I think it’s really true. In this new context, I am fixed in my Western mind, slow to pick up on cultural cues, and slow to pick up on social cues. When I find myself in situations that are completely new and different to me, I clam up because I would rather do that than step out gingerly and fail. I hate looking weak, appearing ignorant. I realize that I have done this over the past few months to hold onto my pride – and it’s easy to reach back to things one thinks they can control when one is away from everything safe and familiar.

As I was thinking through the definition of “awkward,” it was extremely sobering to admit that the assessment of that aspect of my character was correct. I do have a hard time fitting into large groups, and people within my age bracket – likely because of events in my life that caused me to mature emotionally in a short amount of time, and also because of events that prevented me from maturing emotionally. I am used to being useful and praised for my supposed leadership skills and social cool, and I have to admit that actually yes, it is very uncomfortable for me to be in large groups of people – likely because I have only now began to reconcile who it is that I am and who I am becoming, because I haven’t accepted myself for who I am, and fear what others may think as well. I get frustrated with people who appear ignorant or not knowledgeable, thinking all the while that I am – and at the end of the day, I have to be honest and say, actually I am quite clueless and appearing knowledgeable is a cover for what I really am – which is slow to picking up concepts, but when I do I really get it… no real expertise in a specific area of whatever I studied (because I wanted to study everything possible), (and when I read the news, I have to admit that I actually read the soft/feature news and have a hard time wading through the more in-depth hard news). It’s no fun to be stripped down to the bare bones of what you really are, and hanging onto whatever I thought I was good at was a way for me to keep covering myself and my lack – and demonstrated, and still demonstrates, my brokenness and how I cannot fix myself. How I cannot rid myself of the filth and the grime that everyone else around me senses as pride.

It is a great comfort to think back to the Apostle Paul’s words, “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God – through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24-25) So I guess this all really does tie back into Christmas because this is the reason that Jesus came to earth – to rescue insecure, broken, proud people like me – and that by believing that He became my sin (e.g. my pride), who knew no sin that I might become His righteousness (2 Corinthians 5:21) (imagine that!), that I could experience the wholeness that comes from Christ, that I don’t have to build myself up with meager things like language acquisition or cleaning. The part of the definition that floored me about myself had me floored again thinking about Christ, and how willing he was to handle me with great skill, ingenuity, and care. And while I was feeling so ruined at thinking about how malformed I really am on the inside, I realize that accepting things like being awkward are an opportunity for God to be to me who he was to people like Paul when he said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Thank you, Jesus, for coming to earth to become my sin – my pride, and countless other things I am ashamed of – and to die on the cross so that sin could be done away with, that I might know what it means to let go of the things that I found my security in and take hold of you this Christmas and (strive to do) every day of the year…thank you that you are not above carrying your work onto completion until the day of Christ Jesus (Philippians 1:6) in the heart of this ugly duckling who grew up into a duck!

::aspirations to a low life; or, absolutely cut to the heart; or, the waiter::

“Miss, you seem so busy…”

I had just met for breakfast this morning at the only place I know that is open for breakfast in Lippo Karawaci, Sun Star Café and Resto at Benton Junction, which is a cutesy little strip of restaurants reminiscent of what anyone might see at Main Street or State Street in Ann Arbor. I mention this because Benton Junction is an exception in Indonesia, and not the rule. And Sun Star, because nothing ever opens earlier than 10:00 am – but I know that this restaurant opens very early in the morning, if you are ever in my neck of the woods…

I met with my life change group accountability partner Lea this morning for breakfast. My purpose in going to Benton Junction was two fold – for meeting up with her, and also for using the internet immediately afterwards. Just after Lea left, I was sms-ing like crazy on my hand phone, trying to figure out how to purchase a cooked turkey from our own version of Walmart (Hypermart!) and also trying to figure out how to connect to the internet. I admit, I am not the most literate computer person – especially since I have been a PC girl all my life and only recently converted to my MacBook four months ago…and this week at work felt especially unproductive and dehabilitating because I couldn’t connect to the internet at least 75% of the time, to check work e-mail and such.

My waiter asked me after Lea left, “Miss, where are you from?” I should explain that I get that a lot here, since Philippines is so close to Indonesia and we have a lot of similar physical characteristics. Actually, I find myself hearing more often than not, “Your face is Indonesian.” Makes me feel like I at least fit in appearance-wise, but then I open my mouth and every Indonesian can hear my Michigan accent for miles! I told him that I am from America but my family is from Philippines, and he walked away shortly after, seeming satisfied with that information. He came back, though, after seeing me give up trying to connect to internet at Benton and starting to pack up my things to go to Supermal Karawaci, a two minute walk away, and said “Miss, you seem so busy…” When he said that, it broke my heart to think that I have been this way all of my life – filling my hands and life with things in order to appear busy, and just to keep people away. I explained my situation with sms-ing people and trying to figure things and the internet out, and then I decided to ask him how long he has been working, and where he lives. My heart broke even more when he shared with me, even if it was brief…

“I have been working for three years,” he said. He lives in Cikokol [chi-co-col], about 30 minutes from Lippo Karawaci, and he works for nine hours a day. That might seem typical, but he looked so young, maybe a little bit younger than I am, and I just thought about everything he didn’t say. That he couldn’t afford to attend university, or maybe he did finish his first diploma but couldn’t find a job outside of the hospitality, and serving realm. I see this every day here in Indonesia. People without access to higher education cannot possibly have the qualifications to get higher skilled jobs, which pay more money. To work at somewhere a waiter in a restaurant like the young man I was talking to today is not the most coveted job at somewhere in the world like the United States. People attend universities and seek higher education just so that they don’t have to work in jobs like these, so that they can aspire to something higher.

I just feel so challenged, because I took things like an education at the University of Michigan for granted, even complaining about my homework loads, and even about professors who couldn’t fathom just how much homework I had from my other classes! I see now what a privilege it was to be able to attend any sort of institute of higher education, and I feel challenged about what I will do with what I have, and to challenge others to think the same.

I also have to admit tangentially that I have been very exhausted over the past couple of weeks. I think I caught a virus last week that had me feeling so tired, even though work was not particularly the kind where I had to overexert myself. This week, I realize it is lack of sleep – partly lack of discipline on my part to go to bed at decent hours, when I have the opportunity to, and partly because of things that have to be done here out of necessity. In any case, I found myself not being able to see straight one day, walking dizzily down the stairs at work and struggling to stay awake. I do feel so weary sometimes, and realized that day that I have been operating out of my own capacity and my own strength.

I remembered the verses in Isaiah 40:30-31, which say something like [not verbatim], “But they that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like the eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not grow faint.” Weary and faint were exactly the right words to describe just how I felt. I looked up the word “wait” that day, because I wanted to know what it meant to get that strength from God – like, really know it. I realized that waiting is not just an eager anticipation of something delayed or something not attained, but I realize also that waiting on the Lord has been very much a me-centered thing. I wait on him for strength, I wait on him for things that I can get – for me! – rather than waiting on him, as in really, genuinely wanting to execute every single action in my life to meet his needs (as if God has any, because he is so big and he is God…) and to live my life as a person in waiting, waiting on this being who I claim to be my King, to live my life as to satisfy the desires of his heart, as opposed to mine. To wait, as if to serve, to be a servant, to be a waiter upon him. I felt extremely encouraged and refreshed as I was meditating on these things during my lunch time (which was spent outside, in a thatched hut classroom, listening to the rain!) Refreshed to think that I can find my strength and rest from being weak, and from total and utter dependence upon Christ.

Really easy for me to pity the waiter I had spoken with from this morning, even just a few minutes ago. And then I look at myself, this kid who has spent all of her life building up her resume with things and accomplishments just to aspire to something greater. But what if something greater is found in those things that are the least? In aspiring not upwards, but to the things that seem so lowly in the eyes of the world? So, where do I want to go from here? In the physical sense, I plan to pack up my computer in the next few minutes and jet home and shower and run back to the bus station to Jakarta. But in the heart-sense, I have no idea where I will be in a year, what I will be doing, what direction God wants me to go in – but I do know this: I want to be waiting on the Lord. I want to be a waiter.

::on thanksgiving::

I really miss fall, actually. I miss it so much in fact that I have a picture of autumn-ripened vines draped over the University of Michigan Law School (the side facing South Quad, my former domicile of two of my college years, of course) as my desktop – and also my screen saver is autumn leaves, which appears every time I step away from my desk. (Yet another reason for my colleagues in the Lokal Marketing department to believe that I truly am crazy…) [Side note: my mother recently sent me some Michigan leaves from home, which is helping the autumn withdrawal. Thanks, Marme].

University of Michigan Law School (Fall 2007) (no, this is not Indonesia)

I always think Thanksgiving when it comes to fall, and I am happy to write that we are currently gearing up for our first Thanksgiving Dinner in Indonesia, and it has been really interesting scavenging for the availability of traditional Thanksgiving foods. (We have a couple here at HMCC of Jakarta who work in the US Embassy, and have two 16 lb – US sized – turkeys standing up in their freezer, waiting for us to dress and stuff them at the end of the month! One of the challenges has been finding ovens in which to actually bake the turkeys, because many Indonesian homes are not actually outfitted with them, including our own apartments. Fortunately, some of our life group members do have ovens – and I am sure you will be reading about our Thanksgiving preparations and dinner towards the end of the month. Stay tuned!)

Thanksgiving preparations have challenged me on the thankful heart. Yesterday, I had a fleeting moment of homesickness as I was thinking about keeping in touch with people from home. My roommate Sarah and I were in our room last night, talking about correspondence with people, and it was the first time I admitted to myself in the almost four months that I have been away from home that sometimes I do feel so disconnected, and to say that I feel like I am experiencing how it feels to be on the receiving end of “out of sight, out of mind.” I don’t mention these things, though, to elicit a barrage of e-mails or blog comments or snail mail. Really. I mention it because it is easy for me to jump to all sorts of conclusions when I don’t hear from people for a while – too busy to contact me, don’t care about me, they forgot about me. As soon as I thought about those things, I felt like Princess Mia (Anne Hathaway) in “Princess Diaries” at her coronation speech, telling her audience all of her excuses for not wanting to accept the crown because “I am not this or that” and then she says poignantly, “And then I realized how many stupid times a day I say the word ‘I’.” How easy to become inwardly focused as things here have settled somewhat into a routine!

And then I remembered all of the relationships we are building with people here, and seeing some of them challenged to love Christ even more. I thought about the people who have been curious to know more about this Jesus and why he is worthy of our worship. I also thought about the people who do write (e-mails, snail mail, even packages!) on a somewhat regular basis (thank you!) – and are even lifting up prayers for our team, even though I might not see any sort of electronic or paper proof of it (thank you so much!) (Actually, I shouldn’t be pointing fingers, because I myself am actually very behind on correspondence with people outside of Indonesia…I hope that those of you awaiting those well-thought out responses I promised weeks ago will allow me to impose upon your patience for a little while longer...) I felt very foolish to realize the ungratefulness of my heart, and that I need that heart of thanksgiving every day – whether I am at home where everything is comfortable and familiar, or luar negeri [overseas; luar – out, negeri – country].

Since being away, I know I am learning things that might be very basic – but still important. I am learning that it is one thing to learn lessons that shape our character – and it is another thing to continue to apply those lessons faithfully in our lives everyday. (Easier said than done!) This is also probably basic and obvious for anyone reading this, but I guess I myself had to come to Indonesia to realize this! Thanksgiving (which I am so excited for at the end of this month!) is an attitude of the heart, and having settled into a routine and experiencing the grind of working 8 hours and then “doing” ministry during and after, I realize how important it is that followers of Christ are “transformed by the renewing of [our] minds.” I can learn or realize thankfulness, but it is effectively useless unless I practice it everyday. I hope some of you, no matter where in the world you are reading this, can be challenged also to have a heart of thanksgiving every day.

And to anyone reading this, “I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you I always pray with joy…” especially to the believers, “because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this: that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus…”