Anna's Asian Adventures

Episode this: As in the days of Noah

2006-06-10T00:44:00.000-07:00

Weather is amazing. It is a powerful force we cannot control, yet we depend on it for life. Sometimes it is a helper, at other times an annoyance or hindrance; at once capable of either helping to build or of destroying livelihoods. It can be violent or gentle; it can make a place comfortable or barely habitable. Its changing nature makes it an ever-present, reliable source of commonality for the conversationally inept, and although there are certain patterns that one can observe, its unpredictable antics and endless variations elude the forecasting skills of even the most brilliant minds and sophisticated computer software. Despite all of these unknowns, however, two things about the weather are absolutely certain: a) that we all have to live in it, and b) we can’t help talking about it.

Growing up in Nebraska, I had plenty of opportunity to observe weather in most of its violence and beauty. Searing heat, devastating tornados, thirty degree temperature drops in a matter of hours, flash floods, droughts, bone-chilling winters, hail, wind, lightning, blizzards, and, more commonly, crystal clear blue skies. Really, I thought I’d seen it all.

Then I moved to Taiwan and became acquainted with tropical weather. And while on the whole the weather here lacks the moment to moment meteorological excitement that living in the Midwest provides, it nevertheless still manages to provide its own little challenges and weather wonders.

Like the last couple of days, for example, when the Chiayi area received what the natives call 大雨, literally “big rain.” That about describes it. Things started early Friday morning with thunder showers that managed to draw even me out of a most fitful slumber (I could have sworn that the bolt that woke me up actually hit the Practice Hotel…), and it’s been alternating between heavy drizzle and torrential downpour ever since. So in the past two days we have received over a foot and a half of rain, which is more than half of Nebraska’s average annual rainfall. This is blowing my little corn-fed mind. And it just keeps raining.

My mind keeps wanting to panic at all this water, but no one else seems too excited about it. The blasé attitude of most of the Taiwanese and the relatively quick drainage around here both seem to suggest that maybe this sort of thing has happened before. There has been some flooding on the roads, which is inconvenient to say the least, but to my knowledge nothing has washed out. Not too much else seems be affected, although we did get out of a half day of school yesterday. And I thought rain days were just for baseball players and construction workers…

Well, I just had to share that. I hope the weather is equally as interesting where you are.

Until next time,
I'm Peacefully and joyfully wearing my raincoat

Come and listen

2006-05-13T09:01:00.000-07:00

Two blog posts in the same month! Call the Vatican or whoever verifies miracles, because this definately qualifies as one. Truly, nothing is impossible for God. Anyway, here's the latest edition of my newsletter. Enjoy!

親愛的弟兄姐妹
Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

Well, usually I try and make my newsletters well connected, well-written, with an overarching theme, a catchy story, etc., but this time, God’s too awesome, and I’ve got too much to share. So what follows is a short conglomeration of different things that have happened in the past two and a half months. Come and listen to what He’s done…

I was sitting in my room the other evening, wallowing in an unwarrantedly grumpy mood, when I decided to check my e-mail (maybe there would be something good in it this time). I fully expected to find only the usual barrage of SPAM and life-business type e-mails, and doubted that I would run across anything important enough to justify putting off my bedtime another twenty minutes or so. Undaunted by common sense and sound logic however, I soon had my internet browser open and my inbox accessed. After a brief glance at both senders and subject lines, I noted with an ironic sense of satisfaction that my in-box did, in fact, appear to be devoid of anything of interest.

Appearances are often deceiving though, as they were in this case. The content of an e-mail from one of my missionary colleagues, Mike Kersten, left me amazed and confused. The Zhong Zheng University English Hala Club, which happens once a week on Thursday nights, has a variety of topics and activities in store for students who wish to practice their English for a couple hours, previous meetings have had anything from Ultimate Frisbee to photo scavenger hunts to English music and drama. Whatever may capture the interest of a Taiwanese university student seems to be fair game, including Bible study, apparently. Mike’s e-mail explained that this week, the members of English Hala Club, a fair number of which have started coming to our Friday Night Bible Study this year, decided that instead of a karaoke party, they would just as soon have Bible study. They asked Mike to plan it, which he was happy to do, and he in turn needed a guitar player or two. Hence the jaw-dropping e-mail. OK, yeah, sure, I can help with that. So we had Bible study last Thursday night. Mike led, despite a nasty headache that the Enemy had beset him with that evening, Mark Wolfram and I played guitar, and the whole thing went really well. God is awesome. He takes a “random” bunch of Taiwanese university students who speak English, puts a “random” bunch of missionaries in the general vicinity, and then they start wanting to have Bible study at their otherwise completely secular English club.

And then there was Easter. Besides all the obvious reasons why Easter is the best holiday ever, in Taiwan it’s particularly significant because it’s one of two times during the year (the other being Christmas) when our church does baptisms.

I should probably explain a little bit about baptisms here. In the Western world where a majority of people either are Christian or are at least familiar with Christianity, baptism is often treated with a kind of casual familiarity that tends to detract from its very real significance. Lots of people are baptized and then nurtured in a faith that continues to grow their whole lives, but for some, baptism is where their faith both starts and stops. For one reason or another, whatever faith that was planted at that time did not take root. Consequentially, baptism gets shrugged off, and life goes on without much thought being given to the matter. From what I have observed here in Taiwan, however, baptism is a very serious matter. The vast majority of people are not Christian, are not baptized, and still practicing traditional Chinese religion. By being baptized, however, a person publicly declares to everyone that they are officially Christian and not a part of that old way of life. And since that old way of life often includes ancestor worship and providing for their parents in the afterlife, being baptized is also sometimes looked on as turning one’s back on one’s family. It’s not a matter to be taken lightly. I’ve known of people who confess to being Christian, but delay their baptisms for quite some time, even years, while praying for God to work out their family issues.

But thanks be to God! This Easter we had three baptisms! One was a teacher at Concordia Middle School, and incidentally, the mother of one of my kindergarteners. The second was Lily Wasmund, the new baby girl that our volunteer coordinator Matt and his wife Dee Dee recently adopted (yay!). The third was a gal from a family where God has a masterpiece in progress. One of the girl’s older sisters was baptized about a year and a half ago. She has since witnessed to the rest of her sisters and brother, and God has done great things. Two of her sisters have been baptized now, one last Christmas, and the other on Easter. Praise God for His work in these three women, and continue to pray for them as they witness to their other three siblings and parents. I have rarely experienced such joy as that day when God added three more to His family.

Easter was also a time of celebration in the kindergarten. On Good Friday, instead of having normal English classes, we took a day out of the week for an Easter activity. We had different stations that the kids would go around and do. We had an Easter egg hunt, an Easter egg relay, Easter pictionary, an Easter craft, and the Easter story station, which was my privilege to run. I got to tell every one of my K-3 students that Jesus is alive! Even kids know the difference between dead and alive, and they all know that dead things don’t come alive again…unless it’s Jesus. “Where is Jesus?” I asked.

“Jesus is alive!” was their joyful response.

I realized that something more wonderful than I could have imagined had happened. They got it! They understood! Through barriers of language and culture and being wiggly five year olds, they understood! And I know they understood because three weeks later their parents were asking about it at our CELA new student recruitment meeting. Mothers who were Buddhist asked why their kids come home talking about Jesus. And while I was sorry for the conflict that some of my students are getting a taste of so early in life, I also rejoiced that God is present and is working in their young lives.

And somehow, God has seen fit to include me in all of this. I haven’t done anything spectacular or amazing or great. God has though. He’s the Vine; I get my kicks being a branch, just kind of hanging out. And what a blessing this time has been to see the fruit of the Vine!

May this newsletter find you all similarly rooted…

…In Christ,
Peace and Joy

Episode This: The Taiwanese Scrub

2006-05-02T08:51:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite pastimes here in Taiwan is frequenting the tea stands that line the sides of every major and most minor boulevards here on the beautiful island. Along with betel nut stands and fried rice joints, the tea stand is a prominent fixture in the unique Taiwanese business landscape, in their cold drinks and 冰沙 bing sha's (literally “ice sand”—they’re essentially slushies) offering a refuge from the nearly relentless tropical heat. These tea stands have an astonishing array of refreshing beverages, ranging from the ordinary green or milk tea to the more bizarre combinations of flavors, most notably those with beans, sour plums, and pudding chunks in them. Drinks are made to order: all the sugar, half the sugar, no sugar; ice, no ice; zhen zhu 珍珠 (big, navy blue colored tapioca balls—I call them “goo balls”), or not; etc. After a brief period of wild experimentation, one usually settles on a couple of stand by drinks and leaves the rest of the menu to the inexplicable Taiwanese tastes that created it. I myself am partial to fresh fruit tea (provided they don’t put tomatoes in it—tomatoes really are a fruit here) and, just lately, I’ve discovered kumquat lemonade for those times when a 700cc shot of a highly caffeinated beverage is just not necessary.

Today, after a typical day of typical school lunch (as far as what I think of school lunch, I think Crocodile Dundee says it best: “Oh, you can eat it, but it tastes like s---), I had a hankering for something a bit more pleasing to the palate and decided to head out to my favorite little tea stand, accompanied by the illustrious Miss Anna Meyer (hereafter referred to as “AB” to avoid any confusion). A small, family-run operation, the 学园 xue yuan (“school yard”) tea stand is celebrating its tenth anniversary of being in business this year. Their motto, “用心泡好茶” (which roughly translated means “Use your heart to make good tea”), speaks well of the service and quality there. In contrast to the average tea stand, they use real fruit and fruit juice in their drinks instead of just syrup, with the added bonus of mixing the tea in actual drink mixers. How can you go wrong?

Did I mention that none of these delicious drinks are over one U.S. dollar? Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous.

Happily anticipating the moments when our thirst would be quenched in such an agreeable manner, AB and I set out from the tea stand, holding icy drinks that sweated profusely in the steamy tropical atmosphere. It was there, on the way back to school from the tea stand, that we encountered the Taiwanese scrub.

“What, exactly, is a Taiwanese scrub?” you might ask. To answer to your question, you’ll first have to look back in your pop culture consciousness about five years or so to a song entitled “Scrubs,” the chorus of which goes something like this:

No, I don’t want no scrub
Scrub is a guy who can’t get no love from me
Hangin’ out the passenger side
Of his best friend’s ride
Tryin’ to holler at me (repeat)

In principle, a Taiwanese scrub is not so different from an American scrub, mainly insofar as I don’t want one and he “can’t get no love from me.” There are, however, a few key differences. First of all, the Taiwanese scrub can’t hang out the passenger side of his best friend’s ride, because his best friend’s ride is, in fact, a scooter. While it’s true that you can be hanging off a scooter (and the Taiwanese scrub often is since said best friend rarely has enough money to buy a scooter that will comfortably seat two people), I know for a fact that you sure as heck can’t hang out of one. Second of all, while riding a scooter, the Taiwanese scrub is never wearing a helmet, which is against the law and manages to make them look even more ghetto then they already do. Third, in contrast to the American scrub who merely TRIES to holler at me, the Taiwanese scrub actually succeeds in hollering at the object of his affection. After an enthusiastic “Hello!” which is the one English word he knows, he will continue to use Chinese to praise the beauty of the unfortunate target(s) of his attention. After passing by, the best friend will at first drive slowly away (weaving and swaying the whole time since its hard to keep turning your head around to look back and keep your balance when driving), and then gradually speed off toward whatever vocation occupies the Taiwanese scrub the rest of the day. The scrub, meanwhile, is still hanging off the back, gaping and smiling senselessly.

Oh baby, oh baby.

All in all, it’s an annoying experience, but when you look as good as AB and I do, you’re bound to get some of that. And, in honor of their leering cluelessness, AB and I (but mostly AB) have composed a short ditty of our own for the Taiwanese scrub:

No, I don’t want no scrub
Scrub is a guy who can’t speak English to me
Ridin’ with his helmet off
Breakin’ the law
Hollerin’ “漂亮 piao liang! [‘Beautiful!’]” at me (repeat)

My advice to the Taiwanese scrub: stick to the tried and true method of honking the horn (or getting your friend to) when you see a beautiful woman walk down the street. At least that way there is a small chance she will attribute your vulgar display to a traffic emergency or a vehicle malfunction rather than your own ignorance.

Until next time,
Peace and Joy

A few thoughts about Egypt

2006-03-02T21:36:00.000-08:00

To all who are still checking this regularly enough to discover new posts:
Here is the latest edition of my newsletter. I've decided to post these on-line, since the more technologically savvy would probably rather read them here than having them clog up the ole in-box. Anywho, hope you all enjoy it. :-)

親愛的弟兄姐妹們,
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

Greetings in the Name of the one who calls us out of the darkness and into his glorious light! Much has happened in the interlude since my last newsletter. At that point, there were still roughly three weeks left in our semester before Chinese New Year, and I was going through one of the worst periods of culture shock that I have yet experienced. Culture shock hits everyone a little differently and at different times. For some, culture shock takes its toll the first day in a new place; for others, it strikes after the first month; for still others it may take half a year. I typically go down somewhere around month five of being someplace different, but that’s just me. The way in which culture shock manifests itself also varies from person to person. I get really growly. I don’t want to speak Chinese because it reminds me I’m not at home; I don’t want to speak English because it reminds me of home—and that’s just painful. Same with food. And people. And everything. The phrase “Meiyou ban fa/ 沒有辦法” (literally “no solution/no way to handle the problem”) comes to mind, but there is a wide assortment of solutions that people try: some people throw things; others set their hair on fire; still others get really depressed and lock themselves away in a room for a week or two; some people find the nearest restaurant serving Western Food and alcohol, walk in, and proceed to consume whatever amount of each they need to take the edge off their homesickness; some people simply freak out, get on a plane, and go home. Me? I very calmly anticipated what my state of mind would probably be by the middle of January already last October. Then I happened to read the blog of a friend working in Egypt this year. And then I bought a plane ticket to visit said friend.
It seemed completely ludicrous at the time, but something told me it was the right thing to do. As the semester dragged on and on, especially after Christmas, I decided that it was a stroke of pure genius. There was no way I was going to go home, and I needed a break from Taiwan. God provided the resources and opportunity (sold car = plane ticket; two and a half weeks off for Chinese New Year = vacation time!), I had a good friend living there who would know how to get around and what to see, and I’m told that I’ll only be young once. Plus, it’s Egypt. Well…why not? So, although I would love to take this opportunity to explain the rich traditions associated with Chinese New Year here (I’ll sum it up by saying it’s like a combination of Christmas, Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July, and spring cleaning—Chinese style—all squashed together into about two weeks of festivities. It’s a poor explanation, I’ll grant you, but it will have to suffice for now due to space and time limitations), I’m going to opt to share with you some of my experiences in Egypt instead. As Monty Python would say: “And now for something completely different…”

The plane landed in the part of the desert near Cairo where someone thought it would be a good idea to pave a couple of landing strips and a put up a terminal building. Nothing looked familiar. A few of the passengers from the plane were speaking English, but that was about it. No one was speaking Chinese. I liked the place already.

I managed to obtain a visa, exchange some money, and get through immigration without too much incident, although associating uniformed Arab men holding guns with my security was a new trick for this prejudiced American. Chagrinned with my own narrow-mindedness, I vowed to break myself of the notion that the Middle East is a violent, scary place, filled with violent, scary people. Toward that end, I picked up my luggage, found my friend Jay, and we headed out from the airport.

The first five minutes on the bus toward Cairo were all I needed to assess for myself how much I didn’t know about the place. I looked around. Most of the people were men, although there were a few women. I noticed that almost all of the women save one or two were wearing the hijab (head covering). Meanwhile, Jay quietly started explaining things. The majority of Egypt is Muslim, and virtually all Muslim women save the very wealthy cover their heads when they go out. However, somewhere around between ten and twenty-five percent (depending on whom you ask) of Egyptians are Christians. So, if you see a woman without a head covering, chances are she’s a Christian. Interesting, I thought.

After getting settled and grabbing some dinner, Jay and I headed out to the Coptic Cathedral where the Coptic Pope was scheduled to speak that night. I had heard only the vaguest of references to Coptic Christianity before arriving in Egypt, much less that they had their own pope, but it’s not everyday that you get to see a pope, Coptic or otherwise, so I looked forward to hearing what he had to say. We walked through the gates of the Cathedral (there’s a wall built around it for protection) past armed guards and into the outer courtyard which was buzzing with activity. Jay explained that the Cathedral is a safe haven for many of the youths around Cairo. They go to school all day, where the study of Koranic Arabic fits in nicely between math and science class and where social interactions between Christians and Muslims are, by culture and by choice, minimal. After a long day of studying, they come to the Cathedral to meet with their friends, hang out, maybe go to an English class or some other activity there, and to not feel so different, so conspicuous, for a couple of hours.

Jay went over to a small stand and bought some bread. It was Christian bread, he explained.

Christian bread? What on earth was “Christian bread”? What did that mean?

After seeing my quizzical expression, Jay gave me a short introduction to three of the many breads of Egypt. The first he spoke of was Christian bread. Christian bread, which is sold at the Cathedral and some churches, is a white bread, round and flat, about the size of a small plate, with a cross stamped into the top. Only Christians eat it. He also explained that Muslims have their own bread, which is round, flat, and about the size of a tea saucer. It’s a slightly denser white bread and is eaten mostly at festival times, especially the month of Ramadan. Only Muslims and clueless foreigners eat that. Egyptian bread (the Arabic word for which literally means “bread of my country”) is a big, thin wheat pita, again about the size of a plate. Egyptian bread is the main staple of the people there, so everyone, clueless foreigners and all, eats it. (After trying all three, I decided that Egyptian bread was my personal favorite.)

I was starting to get a small feel for how deep the divide is between Christians and Muslims in Egypt, an awareness that would continue to grow throughout the week I was there. Jay and I finished our Christian bread and headed inside the Cathedral. Our white faces granted us automatic admission, but they were checking everybody else’s wrists at the door. Coptic Christians in Egypt receive a tattoo of a cross on one of their wrists while they are still infants, a cross they will bear for life. So, while female Christians in Egypt can be known by their lack of a head covering (and the tattoo), Coptic Christian men are hardly less conspicuous since a simple glance at their wrists will declare their identity.

We walked into the middle of Pope Shenuda’s address. The foreigner area, which provided ear pieces with English translation, was all the way in the front. This was slightly embarrassing since we were late and had to walk in front of everyone, but it afforded a great view of things, for which I was thankful. The Pope was giving a message about staying strong in the faith, following Christ, martyrdom, etc. Wait, martyrdom? What the…oh yeah, that was a possibility here. Understand, it is not illegal to be a Christian in Egypt, and it isn’t like there are death squads out to get Christians or anything; however, persecution is not uncommon. Equal opportunity employment does not have the same place in Egyptian society as in America. If your potential employer is Muslim and you’re a Christian, suddenly your chances of getting the job become a lot slimmer. You want to build a church or a Christian school, hospital, or a center for a Christian organization? You had better be prepared to wait, since, somehow, the paperwork for putting up those kinds of buildings always gets hung up in the bureaucracy. Meanwhile, a new mosque has gone up on the site across the street in half the time it took you to get your permit. And it is very illegal to proselytize (the gateman at Jay’s apartment was fired merely on the basis of a sketchy rumor that he was trying to convert Jay to Islam, regardless of the fact that he was doing no such thing). The bottom line: when passions are running high, and when it comes to religion in Egypt they’re always running high, stuff happens. The commitment to being Christian must be one hundred percent; sitting the fence is simply not an option, and you only need glance at your wrist to be sure of that.

Later that week, Jay and I decided to travel to a small town in upper Egypt (“upper” refers to up the river, i.e. south of Cairo). Jay had a couple of friends from his organization working there, and he thought it would be good to get out of the polluted haze of Cairo to see a different side of Egypt. So, we hopped on a train and three hours later hopped off in the sleepy little town of Minya. Besides Jay’s friends and a chance to get away from the noise and the fumes, there were also some really old tomb paintings up on the bluffs nearby that we both thought sounded like they were worth checking out.

Minya was a wonderful change of pace. The sky and the air were clear, and a horse or donkey pulling a cart of vegetables was a common sight. Overall, things were just a lot slower. I was told that Minya was a better example of the “real” Egypt than Cairo was with the all its noise, pollution, crazy traffic, and crowded streets. It certainly was different than what I had experienced so far, a difference I found delightful.

We checked out the tombs, which were amazing, even after 4,000 years. (It’s absolutely mind-boggling to me that the colors could still be so bright after such a long time; I don’t care how dry the air is!) What was equally as interesting to me though, was hearing about some of Eric’s (Jay’s buddy), experiences in Minya. If my understanding is correct, as you go up the river in Egypt, the proportion of Christians increases so that the further south you go, the more Christians there are in each town. That being said, the contrast between Christians and Muslims is just as sharp, if not more so, in the more conservative smaller towns as it is in the bigger cities. In Minya, for example, all Muslim women cover their heads. Eric also shared one story of some Christian neighbors of his who went across town to buy chicken simply because that butcher was Christian. Never mind that there was a Muslim man selling chicken just around the corner from their home. The Christians have to stick together, stick to the Christian team.

At first, going across town to buy chicken when there’s a butcher next door sounded pretty ridiculous to me. But, as I thought about it more, I could start to see how things might come to that. Every day, five times a day, the call to prayer issues forth from every mosque in Egypt calling the faithful to prayer. The call from one mosque rises up and mingles eerily with all the other calls to produce another sound in itself—a five times a day reminder that Christians are not in friendly territory, and a sound for which Christians have developed a strong dislike.

Still, no matter how much both parties might want to simply be rid of all interaction with the other, Christian-Muslim encounters are unavoidable. Christians and Muslims share the same country; they both eat the Egyptian bread—the “bread of their country”; and they both proudly claim the nationality “Egyptian.” However, the above example vividly illustrates how far people are willing to go (literally) to support their respective faiths—while, incidentally, excluding the other. For an Egyptian, religion is in every part of life. Religion is so engrained into one’s identity that objectivity towards that subject is out of the question: it is the lens through which one sees the world. Going the extra city blocks for dinner is not so much an intentional exclusion as it is the natural thing to do.

This presents a very challenging situation for everyone, the foreigners living and working in Egypt not excluded. And it is especially thorny for those interested in furthering the Kingdom of God. In the West, religion is largely hands off, and everybody is supposed to be left alone to do their own thing. For me, while I would care that the guy who owns the supermarket down the street isn’t Christian because I would rather that person know the love of Christ, that fact that we don’t share the same faith is not going to stop me from giving him my business. The kind of polarization that exists in Egypt is almost unfathomable to me. I’ve grown up being told that I should take Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I have a dream” speech seriously. “I have a dream that [people] will not be judged by the [color of their skin/hijab/cross on their wrist/gender], but by the content of their character.” The knee-jerk reaction is to storm in and tell people they’re wrong and need to change.

Which brings me back to my culture shock. The conviction that I’m right and that this is your culture’s problem and you need to change is at the heart of all culture shock, whether it’s in Taiwan, China, Egypt, or anywhere else. It’s the root of sin: the desire to have things one’s own way. And while I think we can all agree that every place has its problems and things that need to change, the change that needs to come is not one brought by people, per se. What’s needed is healing and wholeness, not a rearrangement of the old problems, and there’s only one source of that kind of healing that I know. All creation groans in expectation of it—the ultimate healing and redemption that will be brought about through Christ.

So what am I to do about it? It’s an extremely pertinent question. The problems of Egypt, Taiwan, or most anyplace other than your hometown probably seem really big and really far away. However, I feel it would be a grave error to think that distance will necessarily prevent us from having an impact in these places. Granted, you can’t just drive down to Taiwan or Egypt for the weekend, but God holds these and the people of every nation in his heart. And when we are close to his heart, the distance is not so great as it first appears. The Body of Christ has the unique opportunity to come together in fervent prayer and intercession for one another. Prayer is the first action. I am firmly convinced that the wonderful relationships that are in place and still forming every day here in Taiwan and the ministry opportunities that keep happening are a direct result of all the prayers being offered up on behalf of this mission.

Christians in Egypt need your prayers. Christians in Taiwan need your prayers. Christians everywhere need your prayers. I realize that if you’re receiving this newsletter, you’re probably already praying for your brothers and sisters in Christ around the world. Still, it’s never a bad thing to be reminded how important those prayers are. As far as what’s next, from prayer, God leads to action in different directions. True, it’s not always easy to know what action to take, (I don’t know how to go about solving most of my own problems, let alone the problems of other peoples and nations) but I do know Christ, who is quite literally the very embodiment of action. From Him, worthwhile action will naturally be forthcoming.

I came back happy to be in Asia again. I was excited to understand what people were saying and to have some idea of what was going on. And to find once again that as inevitable as culture shock is, the worst of it also inevitably passes. The time in Egypt was amazing. It was refreshing, interesting, and, well, really fun. All vacations should be that good. Still, I seem to be the most plugged into the part of God’s heart that’s in Asia, and it was good to get back.

Speaking of which, that brings me to another bit of news. I have decided to extend my time with LCMS World Mission through at least next year, but rather than remain in Taiwan, I feel that God has called me to mainland China. So, at the moment, I am deliberating between two different opportunities to work there: one in a city called Jiangmen in Guangdong province; the other in the city of Wuhan, which is in Hubei province. Needless to say, your prayers are much coveted as I myself pray about this decision.

May His peace and joy keep you,
Anna

What the...

2006-02-06T08:14:00.000-08:00

That doesn't look like Taiwan. What is she standing on? Wait a second...?

My friends, the above picture is but one example of the many faceted ways that blogs can be trouble. Or more correctly, what comes of it when I read them. Last October, I was innocently reading the blog of a friend of mine, Jay, who is working in Egypt this year. I'll reference his blog since it explains much better than I can what exactly he's doing there this year (see the entry "Care With Love: The Overview" for the specifics of his work; read the rest just because it's interesting). That day's account especially caught my attention as it went something like "So, I went to Mt. Sinai for the weekend and it was incredible..."

Well.

That was so cool I could hardly stand it. "I wanna go to Egypt!" I whined to my unsympathetic computer screen. As I finished reading that particular entry, I shook my head, green with envy. "Egypt. Hrumph. Now that would be quite the adventure. *pause* I wonder..."

Like space cowboys in the mindless sci-fi novels I enjoy now and then who skirt the edges of black holes for fun, I found myself flying dangerously close to the edges of my own curiosity. There were two weeks of vacation over Chinese New Year that I had no specific plans for, other than a vague notion that I would find a beach somewhere in Thailand on which to sun myself. Suddenly, without knowing quite how, I found myself on Expedia, doing a little harmless research.

Danger, Will Robinson.

I pointedly ignored the flashing red light on the console of my common sense. Hmmm, it was too expensive to fly from Taipei to Cairo. Way too expensive. But wait, all the flights connected through Bangkok. I knew there were cheap flights to Bangkok. I wondered what the price was from there... After some clever maneuvering and a couple of quick calculations in my head, I felt something happening to my face. The gravity of my curiosity was pulling my face into a small smile. Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!

Too late. I felt myself slipping over the event horizon as the face of Anna Horkey turned into something else entirely: the Face of Anticipation. For those of you who don't know or haven't witnessed the phenomenon, the Face of Anticipation is something that comes over me when I am irrationally, irrevocably excited about something. Beyond reason or control, it has a life of its own that can emerge with the mere thought of an upcoming event. While something as small as the promise of a good plate of curry or a game of ultimate frisbee could bring on a less severe version, the full blown Face of Anticipation manifests itself only in the face of something truly exciting. Usually, that means a trip to some exotic locale that I have been throwing around the back of my mind for a while. The last documented Face of Anticipation was on the way to Tibet. The picture below will give you some idea of the phenomenon, but can in no way convey the full effect of experiencing it first or even second hand.

Three months later, I found myself hopping on some poor Bedouin’s camel at the pyramids of Saqqara, hopelessly delighted at my own ridiculousness, shaking my head in bewildered wonder at God’s blessing, at His ridiculousness. Like all of God’s gifts, it was inexpressibly amazing, undeserved, and above all, good. I hope to write more on the whole experience a little later, but for now I’ll just leave you all with some eye candy.

Salem,
Anna

The obligatory photo proving I was there.

Another obligatory photo proving I was there.

Here's Jay, walking Lonely Planet and good friend, standing on the bluffs overlooking the Nile Valley. Notice that where the water stops, so does the green.

Here we are at Benni Hassan, where we looked at some 4000 year old paintings in the tombs built into the bluffs. The colors and scenes from everyday Egyptian life so long ago were amazing! And we had the trusty tourist police with us the whole time--there for our security, of course.

Here's some tomb paintings/carvings we probably weren't supposed to take pictures of...ooops.

Here I am, perched upon my noble steed.

You hear that? She called me a "noble steed."

After Jay explained for the 500th time that I was neither his wife nor girlfriend, this man took the opportunity to propose to me. I just couldn't see living the rest of my life in the desert though (or converting to Islam , for that matter), so I politely declined. I did, however, agree to have my picture taken with him. And then his friend gave me bunny ears! Punk.

The Africa cup happened to be in Cairo, Egypt this year. Jay happened to have a friend who got us tickets to the Congo vs. Cameroon game. Jay's friend was from Congo, so we cheered for them. They lost, but no one really cared because the Congo fans had a great beat going on the drums the whole game.

This Congo fan was even decked out in his tribal gear. He was dancing the whole game. I've subsequently decided that African soccer matches are the best.

The roof tops of Cairo. Jay said it was the clearest day he'd ever seen there. Usually the pollution and dust make it impossible to see most of the city. I thanked God for that incredible blessing and for the equally incredible view--if you look closely, you can see the pyramids in the distance.

Ah, kids. In the background is a horse and cart, a sight not uncommon on the streets of Cairo where people come in from the rural areas to hawk their wares, whatever they may be.

Street food...it's the only way to dine.

Here's an interesting picture of Cairo. Start at the bottom with a littered, unpaved street, work your way up to the banner in Arabit, top it off with a mosque and a blue sky.

Sunset over Cairo, and my vacation. This one's going to be hard to top...but I'll probably find a way. :-) Salem, Egypt.

Hey...Where'd the pirate go?

2006-01-03T02:38:00.000-08:00

So, the experiment to see whether or not you really could get enough of the cute Taiwanese kids on my blog has clearly gone horribly, horribly wrong. Occasionally, I use the links off of my blog because I'm too lazy to remember the actual addresses, and even I'm sick of the pictures. That will happen. But anyway, I'm back to the world of blogging now, well somewhat. The following post is my newsletter from November/December, so some of you may have read it before, but hey, at least it's not captain pirate anymore.

親愛的弟兄姐妹們,
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

Greetings in this New Year, 2006! We’ve all made it, amazingly enough. What may be even more amazing is you actually making it all the way through this newsletter since it’s a little longer. I’ve been using Christmas as a poor excuse for not communicating for the last two months; consequentially, there is much to tell. I usually try not to make these things too lengthy in an attempt to respect the fact that everyone has things to attend to in their busy lives, but I’ve decided to allow myself something of an exception in this case. You’re reading other lengthy epistles updating you on everyone else’s lives, why not your favorite missionary as well? ‘Tis the season, right?

This holiday season has been cause for much reflection on my part. That will happen when something so familiar is taken completely out of any context where one has previously known it. Replace pine trees with palm trees. Replace snow with the kind of weather that I typically expect out of mid to late October. Replace the typical Christmas program with a Christmas talent show. Replace “Silent Night” with “平安夜,” Ping An Ye. This year, I even celebrated Christmas with a different family, the family that God has given me in Taiwan. And that’s only the beginning…

The holidays have also been different this year because it’s the first time I’ve ever been in charge of anything. Apparently, the foreign teacher in the kindergarten gets to head up the kindergarten Christmas extravaganza. Every new teacher’s dream come true. *cough* While it’s true that I have participated in plenty of Christmas activities before, never before have I taken on the role of commander. Or, more accurately, had that role thrust upon me. I first became aware of this responsibility sometime in September when DeeDee (the wife of our coordinator, Matt Wasmund, who also, incidentally, taught kindergarten last year) pulled me aside and gently explained that I would “pretty much be the go-to-girl for the Christmas program.” I had no idea what that meant at the time, but I did know that I didn’t like the sound of it. I decided to handle the problem Taiwanese style; that is, put it on the back of the stove until you smell something burning. Periodic progress checks are in order though, so occasionally I would find myself having conversations that went something like the following (it’s translated for your convenience):

“Say, how’s the Christmas program coming? Do you need any help?” (Translation: “Hey, have you checked on Christmas lately? It’s not burning is it?”)
“Yeah, it’s coming. I’m almost done writing the lines and I’ve just about got the songs are picked out.” (Translation: “I stirred it a couple of minutes ago. It should be fine for a while.”)
“Great! Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do, if I can help.” (Translation: “Keep an eye on it. If you’re not careful it’ll boil over in a couple of weeks. Good luck!”)
To myself: Phewww, got through another one of those conversations. And they still think I’ve got things under control! Heh heh. You were right, Barnum. Hmmm. (frowning at pot) What’s in this pot anyway? What am I even cooking up here? Shoot. Who’s really the sucker in this deal…?

Meanwhile, November demanded some attention. There were two major events in November on top of the usual routine to keep us all occupied. The first was Thanksgiving and all the activities therein, and the second was the Asia Ablaze! Summit in Hong Kong over Thanksgiving weekend. First things first: the kindergarten “feast.” Maybe “feast” isn’t the best word I could use to describe it since they really didn’t eat all that much, but I guess when you’re five years old it doesn’t really take much food to make a feast, especially when it’s weird foreign stuff. By the end of the day, I had seen all three hundred plus kindergarteners (about 200 of which are my students) come through my room. The routine, performed in twenty minute increments, was basically the same for each class. Come to my room; sing “Hello, Mr. Turkey, how are you?” (To the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It”); say a Thanksgiving prayer led by yours truly; eat; and, finally, get shooed out the door since the next class was already waiting outside, their little mouths watering in anticipation. The “turkey” we ate was actually chicken since real turkey is somewhat difficult to obtain and expensive besides, but the kids didn’t seem to mind. I found out that some of my kindergarteners are vegetarians (vegetarian kindergarteners—now I’ve seen everything), which either means they’re the most socially conscious children I’ve ever encountered or that they’re Buddhist. I’ve also been told that some Taiwanese kids don’t really like meat that much. *shrug* In any case, everyone repeated after me as we said a Thanksgiving prayer to Jesus, thanking him for our food and many blessings. Also on the menu besides the chick—I mean “turkey,” were sweet potatoes, corn, pumpkin seeds, and apple cider to drink. The kids liked the food, I liked the break in the routine, and I think a good time was had by all.

November’s second big activity, following immediately on the heels of the Thanksgiving feast was the Asia Ablaze! Summit in Hong Kong. Missionaries and nationals alike from all over Asia came together in Hong Kong to talk about Ablaze! and, like the good Lutherans we are, discuss “what does this [Ablaze!] mean?” For me personally, Ablaze! basically boils down to follow Christ. If you have the heart of Christ and follow where he leads, I have a feeling that whatever Ablaze! is will follow. God is the one who is ablaze here. He’s the source. So, naturally, if you’re near the source, you’re going to catch fire yourself, and then the people around you will catch too, and on and on. Then, the specifics of how a heart on fire for the Lord manifests itself, in other words, how it applies practically to one’s ministry, can be left to the particular time and place where one is serving. The other half of Ablaze!, of course, is the resolution to reach 100 million people with the Gospel by 2017, the 500th anniversary of the Reformation. They kept saying that it was an ambitious goal. Personally, I’m with the lady who stood up and pointed out how small a percentage of the population of Asia 100 million people is. She was thinking of reaching people in the billions. Now that’s what I’m talking about! 100 million people is less than ten percent of the population of China alone! And Asia includes India, China, Japan, Indonesia…Come on people! We work for God! Think BIG!

OK, I’m a little excited about missions here. Probably a good thing since that’s what I’m doing. Anyway, back to the newsletter.

So, besides attending the sessions and talks by the keynote speakers, Team Taiwan was also asked to help lead worship at different times throughout the summit. It ended up being a lot of work, especially for Molly Hinz, who was basically the contact person/organizer on top of being our star keyboardist. We all worked hard though, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, I think it went rather well. At least that’s what all the people that came up to me said. Most of my part was playing guitar, but I was on vocals for a couple of songs, and the recorder even snuck its way into one of the hymns. I’m never quite sure how to take compliments after I’ve helped lead worship, because I basically see myself simply as a participant. Plus a microphone/instrument. On the other hand, it’s nice to have people acknowledge the time you’ve put into preparation and the gifts God has given you. Ah well. Soli Deo Gloria.

Here I am after a few misadventures in Hong Kong. We had some free time on Friday night, and I chose to go with the group that was braving the longest escalator in the world. After climbing about four stories of it, we decided to heed the signs that said it was closed and went back down. We were then going to walk along the harbor, but the harbor walk waa closed too. At that point, we decided to cut our losses, and go back to the hotel. After comforting ourselves with icecream, of course.

Asia Ablaze!, or ABLASIA as we like to call it here in Taiwan, was a time of refreshment, encouragement, excitement, reunion with old friends, and it gave me a lot to think about. I didn’t have a lot of time for pondering though, because as soon as our flight from Hong Kong touched down in Taiwan, the smell of Christmas was in the air—and it was burning. Shoot! I rushed to check on it. Turns out, it was only at a vigorous boil and a few drops had spilled over onto the stove. Still, the scent of charred Christmas lingering faintly in the air was enough to spur me into really taking the task seriously. Script written? Check. Songs picked out? Check. Do the children know any of this? Ahhh… Do any of their teachers besides me know any of this? Ahhh…

Thus began the madness. It quickly became apparent that “go-to-girl” was something of an understatement. I was essentially the mastermind, musician, artist, and general teacher. Cringe. As a pastor’s child, I have watched numerous people languish under the yoke of Christmas programs all my life, and I was less than excited to find myself similarly burdened. The one bright shining gleam of hope, the secret ingredient if you will, in all this nasty business is that once the homeroom teachers knew what to do, they absolutely drilled the kids on it. I discovered that my computer has a program for recording WAV music files (who knew?), so I recorded all the songs and then burned a CD for each class with their songs on it. That turned out to be a really good move since I noticed that there was a dramatic improvement in singing immediately following the introduction of the CDs into the classroom. Thereafter, I often heard my own voice echoing eerily down the halls of the kindergarten as the teachers blasted the songs from their stereos. It was definitely creepy, but I was willing to endure a few involuntary shudders on my part for the sake of the results, which were quite spectacular. Within a matter of days, the kids were solid on their songs. Now, all that remained was putting the thing together in Luther Hall.

I’ve decided that 300 kindergarteners, jabbering away like monkeys, and fifteen or so teachers all looking to you to tell them what to do is a little intimidating. I’ve also found that if you pretend you’re in control and that you know what you’re doing, people often mistake this for actually being in control and knowing what you’re doing. Or maybe they’re just willing to pretend too. In any event, I was far from being as alone as I’m probably making this sound. I was inexpressibly thankful for my Taiwanese colleague, Pearl, took on a lot of the logistical stuff as far as getting everyone seated and working out a few of the other inevitable kinks. I honestly don’t think I would have been able to face it all if she hadn’t been there. I was also very thankful for all my team members who, though they had their own Christmas pots to watch, were there to help take care of mine. They were drilling the kids in their classes and were there at practices as much as their own busy schedules allowed. These people made me look very good. As good teammates will.

During all this, I was not the most pleasant person to hang around. I tried to keep from verbalizing all the internal grousing, but enough got through the censor to annoy those in the general vicinity. Scrooge would have been proud. I spent a lot of time contemplating the reasons why we all go to so much trouble for Christmas. Outside of my missionary colleagues, most of the people I work with are not Christian. What does this mean to them? Is this just a performance? Even though the only message this program proclaimed was the Gospel (one of the more pleasant side effects of writing the Christmas program is that the message is whatever you make it, so I had the novel idea to make it about Jesus), was anything getting through?

Christmas wasn’t just about being unusually busy either. It consumed our thoughts and our time, both in and out of school. If there was anything to be dealt with, friends to see, or more leisurely activities to take part in (like a rousing game of Ultimate Frisbee, for example), our collective pat answer became “Sure! I’d love to—after Christmas.” Want to go see a movie? Sure—after Christmas. Want to come over to our house for a cooking lesson? Love to!—after Christmas. Would you like to get to know a Taiwanese family and get to practice your Chinese a little bit? Absolutely—after Christmas. Are you ever going to write a newsletter or update your blog? I’ll get around to it—after Christmas.

After Christmas. What would it be like? Why, we would have our lives back! The restoration of our freedom! The promise of “after Christmas” was something we all looked forward to with much longing and anticipation. Life would be better after Christmas.

Well, the kindergarten Christmas extravaganza went off without too many hitches. The CELA Christmas program went well. The middle school teachers performed their own skit. The students decorated some of the trees around campus with Bible story themes. We caroled, we made and ate Christmas cookies, we did another skit for the Christmas Eve talent show at church and the same skit again on Christmas morning. We stuffed ourselves like Christmas geese at the “Love Feast” put on by the church we all attend (everyone invites their friends and we all eat Christmas day lunch together out doors. Go tropical climate! Don’t worry; we eat under tents in case it rains. There were two hundred plus people who came to eat and share the love. It’s quite the affair—ahem, I mean event.)

And then…it was after Christmas. It’s what we had been waiting for all along, at least, we thought so. All the programs over, all the gifts exchanged, all the songs sung, all the feasts consumed. And, when all else was finally stripped away, all that was left was Jesus. Jesus. And it was then that I realized that I had been waiting not for “after Christmas,” such as it is, but rather for Christ himself. I was looking so hard for him. Jesus, where are you in the hype? In the busyness?
Not surprisingly, he was right where the angel said he would be. He is here! He is with us! In the manger, on the cross, out of the grave, into our hearts. He is here! After Christmas, he gave us our lives back. After Christmas, he brought us freedom. How they longed for him then! How we still long for him now! And it’s true in so many ways: Life is better after Christmas.

Most of Christmas still seems pretty silly to me. There’s a lot of nonsense that comes along with it all. Then again, I suppose Christmas never really made sense in the first place. A virgin with child? A king in a manger? Almighty God in man? Nope, no sense in that. Does this mean I’ll cut Christmas some slack next year? Mmm, I’m pretty sure that would take a Christmas miracle. God is all-powerful though, so anything could happen. You’ll have to check with me then. Until that time, I’ll revel in the post Christmas joy and wonder of Jesus.

May His love go with you through this New Year.

Peace and Joy.

Can you get enough? No, you cannot.

2005-11-01T08:22:00.000-08:00

Here they are, pictures of the CELA Kindergarten Halloween parties. They're sweeter than the candy they managed to get their little paws on...

Note: Captions appear below the pictures they are captioning.

It's Captin Pirate! Argh...

Trick or Treat! Happy Hallow...what's going on?

Assessesing the loot...

This kid's going to be a heart breaker

Me and the K-1 Cherries

Me and the K-1 Apples

This kid can't move, but he's Bee-utiful!

Here's Angela, our little angel

That's correct. I'm in a giant, orange pumpkin costume wearing an equally orange wig

Jason is just pretty excited about his Halloween candy

The Angel and Snow White wish us peace

Kindergarten Love

Identical twins Patty and Kim from the Butterfly class

Mardi Gras witch?

And, just for making it all the way to the end, here's a picture of Tango and I dancing. Bravo, Tango. See the entry below for details.

Until next time,
Peace and Joy

Anna L. Horkey's: A Series of Ridiculous Events

2005-10-23T06:32:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've updated this, and up until now I've been using the excuse that nothing terribly amusing or worth writing about seems to have happened to me lately. Well, last weekend all that changed, as you might imagine from the title. It's the kind of weekend that has caused me to stop and reflect more than once upon what kind of life story I find myself in. No definite conclusions on that one yet, but I don't really expect those results to start coming in for another twenty years or so. But anyway, I hope that for all of you who were getting slightly irritated by my lack of new posts for the last two weeks can forgive my negligence after you read this. Settle in. It’s long, but I’m making two promises: first, it’s worth it; second, I’m not making any of this up.

Last weekend actually had been some time in the making. The principle of CELA, Isabella, announced several weeks ago that her sister had invited the entire CELA staff to visit her and her husband at what we were told was some kind of resort for officers in the Taiwanese military. We were supposed to go a couple weekends ago, but the typhoon of my previous two posts prevented that, and we had to reschedule for last weekend.

I really didn't know what to expect from this little outing. I knew it was going to be interesting since we were going to be staying where officers stay (and those are always nice) and because when Isabella passed around a sheet to put in our order for dinner Saturday night, the options included pigs feet, steak, fish, chicken, and other things that sounded a little higher class than the curry or fried rice dinners that are my usual fare. The other thing that had me excited is that we were going to ride the train to this place, and previous experience in Asia has taught me that good adventures begin with a train ride. Other than that, I was pretty clueless as to what this weekend was going to entail.

But the world belongs to those who show up, so I found myself at the Chiayi train station at 2:00 on Saturday afternoon, waiting to board a train that would bear us on to further adventures. After two hours of watching the Taiwanese countryside pass by (and watching Thomas, the son of one of the teachers at CELA, and James, one of my missionary colleagues, tease each other) we finally arrived. There to meet us was Isabella's sister and Mrs. Zhou, driving a van and a nice SUV. This was getting better already. After fifteen minutes or so, we began to drive parallel to a wall with razor wire along the top. I began to realize that we would be staying on a base, not really a resort, per se, and not really quite what I'd imagined from the vague description we were given. Upon our arrival at the gate, Isabella's sister nodded curtly to the guard and explained that he needn't check our baggage, they're with me. He backed off, and we drove on.

At this point, I'm beginning to wonder just what rank Isabella's brother-in-law has attained in the Taiwanese military. It had to be at least colonel if his wife was telling the guards what was what. My anticipation began to mount. When we pulled up in the parking lot, we were greeted by a man in a khaki green flight suit who was introduced to us as Isabella's brother-in-law. He was very well kept, well-mannered, smiling, and had the air of one who had been thoroughly militarized. His posture was perfectly straight, and as he walked, his arms were slightly out from his sides, and he had a slow, stately gate. “Walk” is probably not the correct verb for how this man moved. Perhaps “strut” would be more appropriate, but it wasn’t cocky like a strut. It was simply the walk of someone with supreme self confidence. Either this man was a total ass or a total bad ass; there could be no in between with that walk. When I saw the glints on his shoulders, I concluded it was definitely the latter. That’s right, one general’s star for each shoulder. They might be heavy, but, oh, how they shine. I also decided later that he was one of a few people in this world who could legitimately wear a cape. So it would be a one-star general showing us around the base this weekend. Things began to fall into place in my mind. This was gonna be good.

We were shown to our quarters, which were in fact on the base, but were very nice. There was one big family sized cabin with at living room for the two teachers who’d brought their kids along. The rest of us each had half a cabin that was equivalent to a hotel room. Two beds, a bathroom, T.V., mini-fridge, etc.

“You want to go swimming,” said the general. Anne, with whom I was rooming, and I couldn’t settle on whether that was a command or an invitation, but we did know that the general said “swim.” Never mind the fact that it’s one of the coolest days I have experienced yet in Taiwan and the sun is going down. Never mind the fact that there is a respectable breeze out of the northwest. Never mind the fact that I’ve lost my voice because I have a cold. Never mind the fact that I would never consider swimming outside on a day like this in the U.S. The general said “swim,” so we suited up, jumped in the pool, and tried not to notice that it was freezing. Once we were in the pool, of course, we noticed that the Americans were pretty much the only ones who had braved getting wet on a cool, windy day. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure the swimming bit was an actual invitation that we were free to turn down and I probably should have taken advantage of that fact. But what fun would that have been?

We had just enough time to clean up before dinner, at which time I wished I had brought something a little nicer to wear. I didn’t worry about it too much since everyone else was basically in the same boat, but the instinct remained none the less. It proved correct when the general showed us to a banquet room where an evening gown on the arm of dress blues would not have been inappropriate. We sat down. I decided to copy Isabella’s every move. Don’t be the first to do anything lest you should commit a faux pas. Don’t drink your tea, even though you’re thirsty, if no one else has touched theirs. Don’t even look at your food until the general has picked up his own fork (no chopsticks at this meal—steak and chopsticks do not mix). They asked me how I wanted my steak. I told them medium, which is apparently a five (on a scale of ten) on the Taiwanese scale of steak ordering.

Then it was time for the traditional giving of gifts to the guests. In Taiwan, hosts give guests gifts. I’m never sure how I feel about this gift giving thing. I always feel like I should have something to give back, but really all I have to do, all I should do in this case, is accept graciously. I once heard someone say that you shouldn’t try to out give a culture that has been giving for millennia. Solid advice. Anyway, they gave us a cap with the IDF (Indigenous Defense Fighter, which was designed, manufactured, and is used only in Taiwan) on it and a nice little clock, also with the IDF on it. We thanked our hosts, and then the food started coming. Not before the general said a short prayer though. I really wish he had prayed in Mandarin so I could have understood it, but alas, you can never speak enough languages, and Taiwanese is not in my repertoire yet. So, I said a prayer of thanks for myself and prepared for some good eats. I was not disappointed. First, they brought an honest to goodness salad, a true rarity in Asia where every vegetable is cooked; next, a plate of French fries for our potato; and last, but hardly least, the steak. That was a good steak, my friends. And they had A-1 steak sauce on the table to boot. Be impressed. A-1 steak sauce does not appear often in Asia. A small cup of vanilla ice cream rounded off the meal quite nicely. Once in a while, it’s good to taste the corn fed beef of home.

After dinner, we were whisked away to the front hall of the officer’s mess, which doubled as a karaoke bar, complete with dance floor. Normally we would have walked there, but they deemed it too windy for walking (although it was apparently perfect for swimming), so they drove us instead, the general in his car, including flags on the front, with the rest of us close behind. Upon arrival, there were no less than eight officers there, standing in the walkway to welcome us, the front three or four practically falling over one another to open the car door for the general. I gladly opened my own door and followed everyone else into the hall. On one end there was a screen where the karaoke videos were projected, and there were couches with a coffee table full of fruit and other goodies in front of each arranged in a square-shaped U facing the screen. The general was already singing as the rest of us were walking in, doing a little dance step to the music all the while. I noted that he appeared to be a snappy dancer and that his voice wasn’t bad either. A true renaissance man. Then again, they don’t just make any old slouch a general. Why wouldn’t he be a fabulous dancer?

No sooner had I taken a seat than the general began to introduce the other officers. “These are my best pilots, good friends, best friends!” he proudly proclaimed. The general called off the names of fifteen or twenty of Taiwan’s finest fighter pilots, each one smiling in his flight suit. Their names and ranks were a blur, but I regarded each one thoughtfully as he was introduced and then sat down. Taiwan is in a delicate state of ambiguity regarding its status as a nation, and these men have committed their lives to defending that ambiguity against a nation with a billion people that’s only a very narrow body of water away. They work with equipment costing millions of dollars every day. They’re fighter pilots. Let’s talk about people with self confidence.

The pilot sitting next to me decided to start making small talk, which I politely started replying to the best I could. At that point, I began to dearly wish that I hadn’t lost my voice, because this guy was determined that I sing a song and enjoy myself. With my voice cracking madly, I tried to explain that normally you can’t get me to shut up, but that tonight a songfest was just not in the cards for me. It got to the point where I could see he was just going to pick out a song and then hand the microphone to me when it came up, and in order to prevent having to sing some obscure English song that someone in Taiwan thinks is popular in America, I eventually settled on “The Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel. The pilot put in the number as I held my head in my hands, powerless to change the situation. What was next?

Well, next was the pilot holding out his hand and asking me to dance. I have to admit, it took me a minute to process his invitation since no one else was dancing and I don’t really dance. I can’t say that I was really enthusiastic about the prospect since I usually limit myself to square dancing and polkas and this was neither, but there was no explaining that to him. So, after blinking a couple of times in surprise, I accepted with a “what-the-heck” shrug. He lost the beat a couple of times in the beginning, but once he got going he wasn’t bad. I found out that he was forty-three (at which point I was very aware that he was twice my age) and that he is living out his dream of flying in the Taiwanese air force. Considering how few people actually live out their dreams, I think that’s pretty cool. The song ended and we sat down, at which point I realized I didn’t really know this guy’s name.
“What was your name again?” I asked politely.
“Tango.”
Had I heard that right? “I’m sorry?”
“Tango. T-A-N-G-O. Like the dance.”
That’s what I thought I’d heard. I’d just danced with a Taiwanese fighter pilot whose English name was “Tango.” I spent the next couple of minutes rolling that one around in my mind. How do you get a name like Tango? For him does it just take one to Tango? Or does he need the requisite two like everyone else? Does he know how to Tango, or does he do his own Tango?

As I contemplated all the implications of having a name like “Tango,” some of the other pilots were doing their best to make us feel welcome, I guess. Or maybe they were just hitting on us. Unfortunately, “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’” was not on the list of songs we had to choose from (we looked), but it was in my head nonetheless. This whole “Top Gun—Taiwanese style!” thing was just a little too weird. I was pulled from my reverie by a couple of pilots who were making the rounds of all the females in the room. The one pilot, named Dollors, seemed particularly…confident in this endeavor. He toasted both Anne and I as we sat there, telling us that we were very beautiful (well, what can I say?), asking our names, what state we were from, etc., all the while seeming exceedingly interested in each answer. Anne ended up dancing with him at one point, I believe, and observed that he had a tough time keeping the beat and speaking English at the same time. Well, nobody’s perfect. Tango didn’t think much of Dollors. “Be careful of him,” he warned. “He’s not a good guy.” Interesting. You’re warning the ladies about your overly ambitious friend. Bravo, Tango.

Meanwhile, it was time for me to try and croak out my song selection. “Sound of Silence” indeed. I think silence would have been preferable to the sounds that managed to escape from my mouth. Aiyo.

The next to sit down and talk was Major Function. I wondered what his major function was or if he had any major malfunctions. Hard to say. Anywho, he was one of the few who actually talked to me long enough to find out that I speak Chinese. (I typically let people struggle along in their assumption that I can only communicate in one language until the conversation becomes painful enough for me to bust out the Chinese.) His English was actually pretty good, but during the course of the conversation it came out that I had studied in mainland China for a year. That immediately threw me onto a pond of thin ice since the next question is inevitably how Taiwan compares with China, and he didn’t want to let me get away with skating around the question. He’s one of the first Taiwanese people to really try and corner me about my opinions on such things. I chose to be prudent, made a couple of shallow observations about the differences between China and Taiwan (i.e. Taiwan tends to be more clean than China, China’s landmass is much bigger than Taiwan’s, etc.), and that more or less got me off the hook. Thankfully.

At that point, the evening was almost over except for one little episode involving Michael “International Incident” Vogel. The evening’s festivities had just been a little too much for poor Michael, who had decided to take a moment or two in the restroom—resting, I guess. Consequently, he missed the memo when it was time for us all to leave, and we all missed him when we got out to the cars. His absence was greeted with considerable concern, and immediately, every uniform in the place made it his personal mission to find the missing guest. They were securing perimeters, assigning search areas… “I will find him, sir!” I overheard one of the pilots say as he snapped off a salute in the General’s general direction.

Fighter pilots: they’re men of action.

After a few moments of intense searching, a tired, horribly embarrassed Michael was found in all of his rest-taking innocence. Crisis averted; the evening had a happy ending.

Since this blog entry is already quite lengthy, I won’t go into detail about all of Sunday’s activities other than to say they included touring a bit more of the base, including their golf course club house and one of the bunkers where they keep the planes. Those who wanted to even got to sit in the cock pit of one of the IDFs. That was really cool! The general was with us almost the whole time, except that he had to cut lunch a little short to meet with the vice president. The vice president of Taiwan, that is. Yeah. Have a great meeting, catch ya after lunch!

So that was my weekend hobnobbing with some of the higher ups in the Taiwanese military. I don’t know how or why these things happen to me, but one thing I do know is that it certainly keeps life interesting.

Until the next interesting thing,
Peace and Joy

We're all fine here...how are you?

2005-10-05T08:29:00.000-07:00

You know, the interaction between the landscape, weather, and the grace of God is a fascinating thing. The typhoon that appeared to have devastating potential on the satellite picture actually turned out to be pretty tame here in Chiayi. It was like a moderate Nebraska thunderstorm on and off for about 20 hours or so. The one at the beginning of September was much worse. Praise God for mountains!

Anyway, it's business as usual around here. I just wanted to let everyone know that none of us got blown away by the storm, and thank you for all your prayers. They are much appreciated!

Peace and Joy

Where's Taiwan?

2005-10-01T09:48:00.000-07:00

Where's Taiwan? Where's Taiwan? It should be right across the Straight from Fujian province in China, but I don't see it...oh wait, wait, I think it's under that typhoon. Yeah, that's gotta be it...I think I see a little speck of green through the eye...

Check out the Taiwan Central Weather Bureau to play more "Where's Taiwan!"

Creamed: Good for peaches, not for Pacific islands

2005-10-01T04:39:00.000-07:00

So, if any of you happen to check this in the next 36 hours or so (October 1-2), please pray for everyone's safety here in Taiwan. There is a typhoon coming. It is bigger than the island. Here's a satellite image as of 7:00 p.m., October 1st, Taiwan time to illustrate my point. Previous experience from the last typhoon tells me that I'm probably not going to have quick and easy internet access for about the next week, so don't expect a blog update for a while. I'm alive, I just can't communicate. Meanwhile, it looks like I'm going to be peacing out in the Practice Hotel for a while. It occurs to me that this blog entry might be a source of worry for some of you, which I'm sorry about, but we need your prayers, and I figure that this is as good a way as any to communicate that need.

Until next time,
I'm battening down the hatches with Peace and Joy

Be bold. Wear gold.

2005-09-25T04:47:00.000-07:00

弟兄姐妹们 (Brothers and sisters),

你好. (Hello.) This week, much to my delight, I'm discovering that the last three years of my college education were not completely worthless. Generally, I was confident that I would find some way to put what I had learned to use, but there were times during the last couple years when I would step back from what I was doing and wonder exactly what that was. I found my choice of major somewhat troubling since I'm from a place, Nebraska, where Chinese is quite possibly the most frivolous thing one could choose to study. And that's saying something considering that I was originally an art major. I had to confess, even to myself, that I didn't exactly know where this was going. Fortunately, my lack of a plan was compensated for by God's omnipotence, love, and blessing. Now I'm in Taiwan where having some Chinese under my belt, happily, is coming in quite handy. Sometimes my brain randomly thinks a sentence or two, sometimes even a complete thought, in Chinese (hence the greeting at the beginning of my blog). These occurrences are becoming more frequent the longer I'm here, as are my smiles each time it happens.

But enough drivel. I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m up to on this half of the globe.

My initial reaction: “Not much.”

I’m still teaching three year olds, who “will be very easy to cry” since they’re THREE and already in school. They’re warming up to me though. The one kid who used to begin to wail at the mere sight of me stepping into the classroom has mostly stopped and, furthermore, occasionally responds to his English name. Exciting stuff. To them, I am an alien, a novelty act, a cute freak they see at the English Circus twice a week. I consider any evidence that they remember anything I teach them progress.

I’m still racking my brain everyday trying to come up with new and exciting ways to make the alphabet interesting to five year olds who, at best, think English is a fun game they get to play three times a week with “Teacher Anna.” We’re on the letter “Dd” this week, dogs, dinosaurs, dimples and the like. I sometimes wonder if they're actually learning anything, if the strange sounds that come from my mouth every day will at some point make sense to them. It's hard to pinpoint exactly how much they know, but what I know is that whether or not they catch anything, they usually about knock me over trying to hug me before I (or they, depending on the class) leave the room. Even on the days when I have go-arounds trying to get them to be quiet, I still love ‘em.

What was pretty noteworthy last week was Matt’s announcement that Team Taiwan, along with most of the rest of the LCMS missionaries in Asia, is going to Hong Kong at Thanksgiving for what we’ve unofficially dubbed “Ablazia.” (Squish “Ablaze!” and “Asia” together and you’ve got it.) I’m pretty excited about this. Granted, Hong Kong at Thanksgiving isn't quite as good as Grandma's/Aunt Sue's at Thanksgiving, but if you're going to be in Asia during Thanksgiving, why not be in Hong Kong? I’ve only been to Hong Kong once before, and that was only for one very long, jet-lagged day. I’m excited to see what, if anything, I remember and what else I’ll see this time that I missed the last.

So I guess there’s a little more going on than “not much,” but not much more. Hopefully, should something truly noteworthy come up, the stars will align, the music will play, the dancers will be in step, and I’ll have the time and the energy to actually blog about it. Until then,

Peace and Joy

P.S. The title is the latest (well, latest that I'm aware of...I'm a little out of the loop) catch-phrase that Valpo, my alma mater, is using to promote support for its athletic squads. Valpo holds a lot of fine memories for me, but I still hate the colors. 沒辦法 (What are you going to do?)

2005-09-15T08:50:00.000-07:00

Episode this: Confidence is something one possesses before fully understanding one's situation.

There are a lot of exciting things I could write about tonight, not the least of which was the latest battle with the Dragonflies in the war for control of my classroom (they spent the better part of their 40 minutes of my class today contemplating their naughtiness back at the tables being as quiet as I could keep them--the smack was officially laid down--now I just hope it works...), but I think I'll move on to something a little lighter. Like the perils of living in a tropical climate, for instance.

(Note: the following information is part of a joint effort that can also be found on Anne Woodward's Blog. Check it out. :-) )

It all started when Callie (one of the Taiwanese English teachers) burst into the office with news of a snake in her classroom. Our reaction (or lack thereof): Stare blankly. Maybe a nod. Eventually two of us humored her enough to follow her into the room. The rest of this story was only heard, rather than experienced, because both Anne and this typist were pretty ambivalent about the whole situation. We didn't need to see this snake. We've seen snakes.

Well, so two of our boys went in there and poked at the snake, who was hiding underneath the unit of cubbies, in order to get him to pop out the other side. They, like us, were assuming garden snake. Apparently everyone forgot that we are in Tropical Asia. The boys poked the snake onto some upturned tape underneath the cubbies, where it stuck. They extracted the creature, which was longer than expected. Something was amiss, but being unable to put thier finger on exactly what, they continued to take care of the problem. They got a little more skittish when the "problem" flared, turning out NOT to be a harmless garden snake, but rather a cobra. Yep. They were trying to deal with an agitated, poisonous snake with their bare hands.

They were struck with a sudden awareness of their peril and a dramatic loss of confidence.

Happily, the tape kept the cobra on a short leash until he was contained. We're unclear about the apparatus and method, other than surmising that there was a mop involved at some point. Somehow, the snake got into a big plastic box until Calvin-the-all-pupose-fix-it-man appeared with an actual snake pole and a net. At least he looked like he had done this before. "Next time you have a snake, you just call me," he calmly advised.

We'll do. The lesson here: don't poke. Snakes, people, melons, fires, secret agents, hungry bears, top-secret CIA stuff...just don't poke.

Until next time,
Peace and Joy

2005-09-12T04:04:00.000-07:00

Episode this: Three Blind Mice

Well, all, there's really not much new news to report since the last blog except that we've had three mice blindly run into our set trap in three days here at the Practice Hotel. I'm told it's a new record. I guess it's not really that exciting. I just wanted to have a blog titled "Three Blind Mice" because I'm the sort of person that delights in irony, puns, and poetic justice.

So chuckle (or groan depending on the sort of person you are) and move along with your blessed day. :-)

Until next time,
Peace and Joy

2005-09-10T08:16:00.000-07:00

Episode this: Squirrelly kids and other rodents

I looked at my blog today on route to the BBC website and realized that a lot has happened since a week ago and I should probably update everyone on life here in Taiwan. Here goes.

The first exciting thing was the typhoon that came through last week Thursday. It was no Katrina (Pray for the Gulf Coast...), but there was a lot of noisy wind and rain and there was a forest in the parking lot afterwards. We got a typhoon day off of school, their version of a snow day, I guess. Fun stuff.

And there goes a mouse running across the downstairs window sills of the Practice Hotel...dang it...that little guy is quick! Anyway...

Well, last week was the first full week of school. It was long. I'm told that the first week always seems really long, and previous life experience has told me that the upcoming weeks will seem to fly by. Or at least that's the hope.

For the most part, things went pretty well this week. I sort of established a classroom routine at the beginning of the week. It felt a little too easy, but it seemed to be working. Until the dragonflies went nuts on Wednesday afternoon, that is. The dragonflies are probably my most physically active bunch of kindergarteners, and the lesson plan that day just did not work. (Ooooh! There goes another mouse! Running across the floor and past our set trap...dang...he's quick too!) Something was going to give. I could feel it. I did take some comfort in the fact that my Taiwanese co-worker said she didn't get much accomplished with them either that day, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that I would probably be dangerously close to bursting into tears at some point in the next twenty-four hours.

Well, Thursday seemed to be the day when things came to a head. My first mistake was staying up much later than I should have on Wednesday night. (Mouse! James is on the hunt...) For those of you who don't know me as well, that means that my threshold for how easily I cry gets considerably lower. The other thing you have to understand, is that on Thursdays, my morning classes are all K-1. Three year olds. Yeah. Three year olds. Basically, you can't do anything that takes more than five minutes, and even on your best days there is still a lot of crying and staring going on. So, in my Apple class, I got through my entire lesson plan and still had half the period left, which meant I ended up haphazardly stumbling through the last twenty minutes. There wasn't any crying, but there was more staring than usual.

Then, later that afternoon, the homeroom teacher from the butterfly class told me that the Apple teacher told her that they wanted more songs and activities where they move. OK, fine, I can take that in stride. She was probably right. I made a mental note to dream up more ways to make them move and continued on with the day. Then the dragonflies showed up for the last class of the day. Class went OK, but the homeroom teacher wanted to talk to me about figuring out the best way to work with her group of kids. More evidence that Anna doesn't really know what she's doing. OK, I can deal with that too. I want to be a good teacher. Frankly I need the tips. Then, a little later after that, one of my Taiwanese co-teachers, Judy (she's great! I get a kick out of her), sat me down and showed me how it was done. The things she said were very helpful and they were all things I needed to know and she was very kind and only had my best interests in mind. However. It was still all I could do to keep from balling my eyes out on the spot. I managed to keep the tears out off my face, but my nose was running and I knew she could tell that I was upset. I was trying so hard not to be upset for her sake because in Chinese culture, showing a strong emotion like anger or crying is just not done unless it's a REALLY big, hairy deal. And if I was crying, I knew they (my K-1 co-teacher, Peggy, who is a sweet, wonderful person, had joined the conversation by this point) would never tell me all the things I needed to hear.

In the end, Peggy and Judy gave me lots of helpful hints, told me not to be upset, and then sent me home. I took their advice, and Friday went a lot better. I think I'll be OK. We'll see, I guess. All the same, I'm glad the week is over and that I have the weekend to sort of not think about it. Usually I just wouldn't think about it at all, except that I guess I'm pretty much in charge of the Kindergarten's Christmas spectactular and they want some sort of a plan by next week. This ought to be interesting, as always.

Well, that's about all the news from Taiwan this week. Tune in next time to see if we catch any of the three blind mice running around the Practice Hotel, to see if Anna will in fact make it as a kindergarten teacher (Mouse! It wandered in to the trap but didn't take the cheese, then it went around the corner into the kitchen!), and to see how hard and fast Christmas is coming. (Mouse!)

Until next time,
Peace and Joy

2005-09-01T07:34:00.000-07:00

So yesterday was my first day of school. From the other side. Yesterday I had four groups of K-3s come through, the bees, the ladybugs, the dragonflies and the butterflies. They were adorable! First we did introductions. One by one they introduced themselves to me, after which we did the calendar and prayer wheel. Believe it or not, this took about 25 minutes. Then I sent them coloring little letter "Aa" worksheets that had apples and alligators, etc. on them while I took their pictures. I have 190 of the little darlings in all, so I took the pictures to hopefully help me remember their names. I've included a few shots of the little posers below.

I still need to get the crickets up there, but that will hopefully be taken care of tomorrow. The story of the day tomorrow is that they get to hear about an old woman who swallowed a fly, which started off a chain of events that eventually led to her untimely demise. It should be entertaining. :-)

Until next time,
Peace and Joy

2005-08-28T09:58:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't posted for a week, and the guilt was just too much for me, so I'm finally getting around to blogging at one a.m. Monday morning. Surprise, surprise.

Anyway, I'd like to use this blog to comment on a few of the creatures here in Taiwan. The climate is different from where I grew up, obviously, so there are other fun creatures that I hadn't experienced in life before now. I had previously thought that I was living in the tropics, but I guess I'm technically still in the sup-tropics since I learned today that the tropic of Cancer is about 10 miles south of where I actually live. Apparently it runs right through Chiayi. Who knew? But I digress.

We'll work from small to big on the critters I suppose. The first are what Anna (Meyer) and Anne have dubbed "los banos." They're these tiny little bugs that don't really do anything except fly into our bathroom and die there. They're a little bigger than gnats, I suppose, but not by much. There are an impressive number that accumulate if we don't sweep at least every other day. They don't seem to pile up anyplace else except our bathroom, but that's probably because the bathroom windows, though screened, are open, and the rest of the windows in the house are at least mostly sealed.

Next are the geckos, not to be confused with Geico. They run about pretty much wherever they feel like, and no one thinks them a nuisance, although occasionally one might find fecal evidence of their prescence, because they deem them "cute." Well, I have to admit that I find them oddly fascinating myself. Maybe it's because we don't have geckos in Nebraska and a car insurance company made them famous. Or maybe it's because they look cool, or because I enjoy it when they surprise me by running across my desk in the middle of another day in the CELA office, or because they make this neat little clicking noise. I don't know. Whatever the reason(s), they're fun.

Then there's the monkey. Our school has a pet monkey. Her name is Ah Shan (although everyone one says it "Ah San" for some reason), and you can hear her periodically throughout the day (usually at feeding time) from just about any place on campus, supposedly whooping for joy. I'm a little skeptical about the joy part of that. I kinda want to set her free and then make a movie about it, see if Michael Jackson would write a song for me, but then I remember that the movie thing has already been done, and, anyway, I like my job and don't think it's worth losing over a monkey. Besides, once you get past the fact that you're putting an animal into a captive situation it should never be in, you have to admit that she does add a lot of character to the place. Her history is largely lost in the mists of time, but the best we can figure is that she is some kind of South American howler money. Evidently, she was some older lady's pet before the woman died, at which point she (the monkey) became the charge of the school. And she's cute. Really cute. If you go up to her (sadly, quite small) cage, and put your hand close to the hole in the mesh part of the fence, she'll stick her hand through the chain link part and hold your finger. Then, when you try to pull away, she'll hold tighter. I vacillate between pity, wanting to set her free and always wanting her to be there just because she's so cool. Poor creature.

Well, that's about it for tonight or I'm going to fall asleep on my keyboard. 'Til next time,

Peace and Joy

2005-08-20T08:01:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been in Taiwan for about three days now, and all my buddies have beaten me to the blog. A lot of it has to do with the fact that I don't know where to begin. Well, I have to start somewhere. How about...food. That will do, I suppose. Everybody eats.

I have now partaken of most every dish that I get dreamy-eyed about when I refer to my time in East Asia, with the exception of eggplant. I haven't really been in charge of ordering thus far, so that may explain it. All in good time. Meanwhile, my palatte has been reaquainting itself with GOOD curry, not the stuff I attempt to throw together at home, spicy hot pot that leaves everyone at the table sniffling with happiness, and a wide variety of cold drinks from the myriad of tea stands that rivals even Starbucks in their prolific abundance around here. There even appear to be a number of ways to obtain about any kind of Western food I should crave while I'm here. Hey, hey!

Living conditions are great. I have a really nice room and a soft mattress, which is exciting since I was expecting a Chinese "table bed" (as I like to call them). Most of my English teacher/missionary colleagues live with me on Concordia School's campus in the same building, the Practice Hotel (we're not sure what we're practicing yet...perhaps this will become clear in time), but a few live elsewhere either on or off campus.

Jet lag, as always, has been a little strange but not too bad this time around. I think I've had better luck sleeping through the night than some of my less fortunate comrades.

At this point, I'm trying to sort through how I feel about Taiwan. I guess I'm going to explain it this way. To me, China has become a very good friend. About three years ago, I started to get to know China, and the more I spent time with that friend, the more I liked him/her (gender neutral language annoys me, but after 4 years at Valpo I can't seem to help myself). I miss my friend.

Now I'm meeting my good friend's younger sibling. The family resemblance is uncanny, unmistakable, quite striking, really. Yet they are two, not one, and they are different friends. It's odd, it's strangely familiar, it's bewildering. Pray that the Lord would help me through this time of transition and teach me to love Taiwan like He does.

It's late for me, probably early for you. Or vice versa. Ha. Until next time, Peace

2005-08-11T14:34:00.000-07:00

OK, so I lied and it turns out I'm posting at least one more time before my imminent departure.

You may or may not know that I like to eat curry. Those who spent any time around me while I was in China might even go so far as to say that I have a fettish or obsession with it. But there's just something about that obnoxious, yellow goodness pleasing so many parts of my pallet that always leaves me sighing with contentment every time I partake of that scrumptious dish. Oh, curry. Anyway, for those of you rolling your eyes at my unabashed partiality for this bit of Asian cuisine, here are TWO articles from the BBC citing the potential benefits of eating curry early and often. Bon apetite!

(Note: you might have to copy/paste these links into your browser since I'm not very computer savvy and am not sure if they will actually link up to the site from my blog once I publish it.)

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/3641922.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/3651035.stm

On a more serious note, if you all could pray for my dad, that would be great. Without going into the gory, somewhat complicated, raising-one's-figertips-to-one's-temples details, I'll just say that the congregation in South Sioux is REALLY hard to work with. My dad is a candle on his last millimeter or so of wick, if he's got that much left. Pray for his strengthening, wisdom, and discernment as he continues to shepherd this...weird, frustrating flock.

Until next time, Peace

2005-08-10T20:47:00.000-07:00

Well, this might be my last post before I leave for Taiwan since I either am or should be busy. Consequently, I either won't have time to post, or I'll feel too guilty about taking the time to do it and won't post. Then again, I might find myself with a spare moment and the inclination. I've been in kind of a writing mood lately, which, for those of you who don't know me very well yet, is a very rare thing. Too bad I didn't have more of these in college...

This entry is going to be mostly a reflection on things that have happened to me within the last week or so. Something that's exciting but trivial in the long run is that I decided that I wanted to be like all the cool kids and acquired an ipod. My sister, the sworn enemy of all easy-open peach cans, wanted to get involved in my mission, and since my financial support is taken care of (Jesus is awesome! Yay!), she decided to get involved by putting my music and pictures at my fingertips in the form of a 5.9 oz., 20 GB magic box. Although I'm tempted to rave about it here and now, that would be largely pointless since a) you can find out all about it on their website or at any of a dozen other sources, and b) it will only inspire a swift violation of the 10th commandment (it may not be my ox or donkey, but you'll want it as soon as you hear about it). Suffice it to say, it's faaaaabulous!

More fabulous than my ipod, though (and that's saying a piece), was my weekend. Now, I feel that I need to preface this paragraph with a little history about myself. Most of you know that I'm a PK, Pastor's Kid, and that part of the territory that comes with being a PK is that your life is subject to sudden and abrupt change with one ring of the telephone. To be fair, I suppose everyone's life is subject to swift and abrupt change, nothing in life is certain except death and taxes and all that rot, but a lot of people have the luxury of bumbling along, blissfully supposing that their lives probably won't be much different tomorrow than they were today or yesterday. Their life courses are going to stay right on track. Naturally. Time, a sinful world, and a gracious God see to it that that illusion is duly shattered, after which point life actually gets interesting. But I digress. Anyway, the long and short of it is that PKs often get the shaft when it comes to having roots, a definite place to call "home." To some extent, this is also true of my sister and me, but I found out this weekend that maybe it isn't as true as I once thought.

I went home last weekend. My dad's second call was to a small, rural parish in Tilden, Nebraska. I was about four and a half when we moved there and about fifteen when we left. During that time, the place kinda grew on me. I realize that few people consider Nebraska a beautiful place. I realize that there are no breath-taking mountain views or enchanting ocean vistas. I'm aware that Nebraska is considered by some to be the most mind-numbingly boring place on the planet. (A recent issue of “Weekly World News” even made the incredible claim that it wasn’t a real place. You can supposedly read all about it in an upcoming book entitled “Nebraska My Ass-ka.” I can’t wait to pick up my copy.) Those people are entitled to their opinions. I will happily commend them to the fine states of Colorado and Maine. I know it's corny (ha!) but, to me, there's something about rolling corn fields as far as the eye can see and watching thunderheads come at you across the vast plains that is strikingly beautiful. I grew up surrounded by corn fields, magnificent, clear, starry skies at night and bright, sunny, blue ones during the day. Life was slow, and like all those who grow up in the Midwest, I was entrusted with learning the art of appreciating the more subtle beauties of life, like watching your garden or cornfield grow and knowing what time of year it was not just by the temperature, but also by seeing where the constellations were in the sky. It's funny what you see when you take the time to look around.

The most beautiful thing of all, though, was the people, most of them farmers. Farmers, like the land they work, do not at first glance strike one as particularly beautiful. Their tanned faces betray the many hours they’ve spent in the sun, their fingernails most likely have dirt underneath, and a few of their hands are even missing a digit or two. They do not lead particularly exciting lives either. They stay in one place for most of their lives, doing hard, risky work. Their hopes and plans for the year can all go up in smoke after a twenty minute hail storm. Yet they stay. They're tied to the land and to the weather and to their neighbors who work just as hard and take the same risks. And they almost without exception have a very keen understanding of the concept "every good and perfect gift comes from above." Their livelihood is the Creator and His creation, and they trust Him with their lives, year after year.

Somewhere along the line, probably about the same time I was learning to love the land, the people grew on me too, and, amazingly, my family and I grew on them. Growing takes a long time. You don’t even know it’s happening. But like I said, it’s funny what you see when you stop to look around. And when I stopped and looked around last weekend, I saw Tilden, Nebraska. It didn’t just grow on me, it grew in me. And I had grown up, none of which I realized until just that minute. For the first time I saw my home. I saw the church I grew up in and realized that I will always consider it my home congregation. I saw people whom I love and who love me. I saw what a precious, precious gift my childhood was. And in all that, I saw the God that loves me more than I understand.

That love is too powerful for me to think about for more than a moment. The notion is too overwhelming, and I am not big enough. So, I turn my gaze from home and look in the more uncertain direction of the future. It’s about as clear as when I take my glasses off and look out into the distance with my minus ten vision. Well, as long as I keep Jesus in front of me…

So, I suppose this entry falls under the “there-was-enough-sap-there-to-supply-the-maple-syrup-industry-for-a-year” category. That’s what comes of blogging late at night, I suppose. Next time, I’ll try to have some entertaining travel story with less philosophy to weigh it down. I'll make it shorter too. Goodness this was long-winded! Until then, Peace.

2005-08-05T17:55:00.000-07:00

Episode this: My sister vs. an easy open can of peaches. Or several...

(Hey, blogs are supposed to be for the inane as well as the informative as well as the deep, profound, unanswerable questions of life. You risk reading any of the three any time you visit.)

So, my sister, whom I love dearly, occasionally likes to indulge in canned fruit. She's on the go a lot, so really, it's not a bad idea. She buys a four pack of 100 calorie each, supposedly easy-open, cans of diced peaches in extra lite syrup.

Jane vs. the first. In Jane's dorm room, she reaches for a late afternoon snack. Peaches, diced and ready to eat in extra lite syrup. Perfect. Expecting little resistance from the peaches, she pulls back on the tab. What is this? It doesn't open; furthermore, the top part of the tab detaches from the rest of the tab. Well, what to do but pull harder. She hands it to her college graduate sister. I pull back with no success, but being essentially uninterested in its contents, I apatheticly hand it back with a shrug. Jane gives it another go. This Division I athlete has been strength training for months. No insolent little can of peaches is going to stop her now...unless the tab breaks completely. Frustrated but lacking an acutal can-opener, Jane moves on to the second can.

Jane vs. the second. The weak link in an apparently immpenetrable line of easy-open peach cans, the second one offers little resistance, and Jane gets her snack. Blood sugar crisis averted.

Jane vs. the third. Yesterday, Jane again reached for a can of peaches to quell her afternoon sugar low. Thinking the first can to be a manufacturing anomaly, she trustingly reached for the third can and pulled back on the tab. Well, someplace there may be millions of peaches, peaches for me, millions of peaches, peaches for free, but not then, not there. She broke the tab again, in much the same way she did the first one. Disgruntled, she moved on to a different snack.

Jane vs. the fourth. Today, after not really eating lunch, Jane grabs a few quick eats from her room to consume on the way to the mall to spend time with her sister. Among them is yet another can of peaches. Determined not to be thwarted again and this time to fully enjoy the slimy, syrupy goodness that only canned peaches can offer, she briefly considered the can. Perhaps her opening technique had been faulty. She again consulted her college graduate sister. Again, I shrugged with a combination of apathy and amusement. I held my breath. No dice, diced peaches, that is. She did however, before breaking the tab off completely, manage to create a small hole in the top. With a wrinkled nose and a disgusted look at the can, she sucked out the mere nectar of the elusive peaches. Frustrated, she pounded at the top with a plastic fork with little success other than making the hole marginally bigger. "That's a hundred calories I wasn't able to consume!" Jane glowered at the can, a mixture of frustration, disappointment, and genuine sadness on her face.

Well, 1 out of 4 ain't bad, right?

For whatever reason, this is, in my opinion, the funniest thing I have either heard or seen all week. I commented to Jane that I noticed there were a lot of unopened peach cans littering her life lately. She called me a slutface and glanced ominously at the can sitting next to me and the computer.

Perhaps you think this blog entry was a waste of your time and not funny at all. Maybe you think it's one of those things you would just have to be there for and ought not to be published. Well too bad. I thought it was funny.

Until next time, when I hopefully write something more worth reading,

Peace

2005-08-03T08:40:00.000-07:00

So, here we have a long awaited up-date. I realize that it's been a while, but I've been at camp, and I'm using that as my excuse. Internet access at camp, while better this year than it ever has been, is still mighty sketchy, and anyway, you're supposed to be there with your kids, not somewhere else checking your e-mail. So, I'm afraid that being a good cabin leader and taking care of kids at camp has come at the expense of my blog. (No new updates on another inane blog--what a loss.)

But now I'm back to the world of technology and insanity and running around; for better or worse, the blog update must inevitably follow. I can't quite leave the realm of camp well enough alone, however, without commenting on it for at least one more post.

I love camp. I love hiking around the place, lugging my two ton guitar around everywhere, I love the water slide, the rope swing, the clear blue skies and brilliant starry nights. I love playing my guitar so much that my fingers become blistered and then eventually so calloused that when I drum my them on a table top it sounds like my fingernails are hitting it instead and I lose most of the tactile sense in the tips. But most of all, I love the people. I love working with all the ridiculous children that come through the place, and all the ridiculous things they say and do and expect. I love how at the end of the summer, I don't want to leave my new family, the people I have pranked and been pranked by and have spent the summer with, torturing kids.

One of my favorite ways to torture kids is to never satisfactorily answer questions from a few specific categories. These categories include schedule questions (i.e. "What are we doing next?" and "What's the woods game tonight?"), the ever popular "What time is it?", and any and all inquiries about the menu at the camp dining hall. I say I never answer them satisfactorily because sometimes I do in fact answer these questions. It's just that the answer is in Chinese. The children are initially amused to hear a language so different from their own, but eventually they stop asking or one of their friends memorizes the schedule and they ask them. A few of them end up getting frustrated with me though and ask me "Why won't you just tell us?" I usually just smile and give them some answer that has an alarmingly parental tone.

I caught myself wondering, though, why won't they just follow me? I'm their cabin leader, why won't they just trust me to get them where they need to be, when they need to be there?

At about that time, God chimes in with words to the effect of Look who's calling the kettle black. As He always does, God had a solid point there. I've been badgering God about "What am I doing next?" for the last year or so.

I have no words. I've got nothing. Except, "I am trusting you, Lord Jesus, trusting only thee..."

Well, that's enough for this post. Until next time...His Peace.

2005-07-09T08:44:00.000-07:00

So, just when I think that I'm going to be at the height of summer ennui, God provides things for me to do.

The other day, I got a call from my buddy David, whom I've worked with at Camp Luther (the one that's in Nebraska, NOT Wisconsin) for the last two summers. He's working there again as the program director this summer, a job which I personally find too troublesome to bother with, but he seems to do alright at it. Anyway, I had told him eariler this summer that if they were short a counselor or two and needed someone, I would check my schedule and see if I could get there.

As it turns out, I could get there for this and next week. Which is good, because otherwise I'd be home alone--mom and dad are on vacation, probably eating much more icecream than is healthy for me.

Camp has been good. I've got blisters on my fingertips, a uniquely painful condition, from playing guitar so much, and I get to play with kids all day. Plus the staff here this year is small but absolutely fabulous, and it's truly been a joy getting to know them a little. Fun times.

I had a pretty good cabin this week. They were a little squirrelly (sp?), but after hiking up a hill or two, they tended to settle down--well, a little anyway. I also found that they, as nearly all children seem to, had a well developed sense of justice. I never knew so many things were unfair at camp.

"Why did they get to go first?
Why do they get s'mores?
We never get to do anything fun!"

Indeed. I thought about inviting them to examine some of the injustices of life in their favor: they live in a big house in America where their parents take care of their hearts' every whim and desire, they get to come to camp, and they don't have to worry about catching some deadly disease, not having enough food to eat (let alone s'mores), or even sleeping some place that's less than comfortable; I also seriously considered introducing them to the concept that the world is not fair in general. But, then I remembered that neither of those strategies had ever been very effective for me until I encountered a few beggars and people living in less than great conditions myself. So, I endured a little whining and smiled to myself as I remembered that, after all, this was a short week because of the 4th of July, and, anyway, they would be going home soon.

As I thought about it a little more though (I think too much), I realized that the little turkeys had a point. Really, they weren't complaining about the unfairness of the situation per se, they were more complaining about the fact that it seemed to be the sort of injustice that was in my power to correct and I just let it go. It made me ponder the somewhat alarming number of injustices, big and small, that I just let go and live with every day. Maybe I should have whiny kids around more often.

Nah. Injustice in the world, reality, that stuff is too heavy for this place. Who needs reality at such a young age anyway? Moral of the story: shut up and let the kids have their air conditioning and s'more induced sugar high before bed next week.

2005-06-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling philosophical lately. I think it's because I have too much time on my hands. That will happen when you are living with your parents and have no friends your own age at home. I know I'm supposed to be spending all this time with my family before I go live on the other side of the world for a while, but frankly, this is a lot of time. Don't get me wrong, I love the fam and all, but...well, yeah, it's just that time of life. Time to be out of the house. This summer has been like a long, dull plane ride: I'm not where I have been and I'm not yet where I'm going, and I'm pretty stinking tired of just sitting here.

Hmm, there I go again.

Anyway, what I really meant to comment on and get all philosophical about was this whole fundraising/friendraising/whatever-you-call-it phenomenon. God is truly amazing. Back in April when I told mom and dad I was going to be a missionary, they expressed their well-meaning parental misgivings about my decision, and I spent most of an hour and a half defending God's promise of provision inbetween sobs. In the end, all I could say was, "I know I'm not screwed, I just don't have any physical evidence to back that up." Outside of God's Word, of course, which, for whatever reason, we are often a little too skittish to trust.

So now, having dispersed my letters to the wind and as I receive my pledge reports week by week, I am truly amazed to find out I was right. When I essentially told my parents that God would come through for me, I believed it enough to act by it, live by it, but, I am ashamed to admit, there was a part of my mind that was calculating how much each of my meager possessions was worth at auction. Just in case.

It's interesting the lies that Satan can get us to believe. There's the one about people not caring about mission work in general, there's the one about how no one remembers some dumb pastor's kid that wants to run off to Taiwan now, there's the one about people being too worried about their own congregations to give to someone else, there's the one about people not really caring about some (fill in nationality) person on the other side of the world...on and on they go. And there's just enough anecdotal evidence for us to think about it, maybe give it a little credance. After all, we've all know people who don't care and don't want to...

Wake up!!! I'm in partnership with the owner of the universe, the one who has always kept his promises, the one who loves me. Satan's lies only lead to inaction, indecision, fear, sin, ultimately death. We've been called away from all those things by grace, by the love of Christ. God's promises are certain. They lead to action, freedom, and life. And they ALWAYS have.

Bank on that.

I have more thoughts about other aspects of this experience, but they'll have to wait. That's enough for today.

Peace of Christ

2005-06-19T13:41:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. Now I've got a blog just like everyone else...but, like cell phones, they're just so darn handy! This way you all can see pictures I post and such, and you have the added bonus of an inbox that's not clogged up with three page e-mails.

Click on the archives to see what I've been up to lately!

Peace,
Anna
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