From the Land of Lavalavas

(Note:  Now that we are back in CA and have time and consistent/fast Internet access, we will post some stories and corresponding pictures depicting our time in Micronesia.  This post was written from Colonia, Yap, on March 25.)

This is the lagoon in Colonia, Yap.  The building in the background but nearly on the water (the left building in the center of the picture) is the youth center where many of the church events are held.  Up on the hill and slightly to the left with the steep tin roof is the Yap Evangelical Church.  PIUs teaching facility is the lime green building directly behind the youth building but up on the hill.  The mission house, where we were staying, is parallel to the teaching facility and off to the left.

In background is a close-up of the Yap Evangelical Church, the red building off to the left but closer to the water is the mission house (where we were staying), and along the water, the light blue building is the youth building (on the right is the house where the Pacific Mission Aviation pilot and his family live).

Awakening to the thick air ubiquitous to Micronesia, I quickly rose from my bed in the mission house and donned my Chuukese skirt and the coolest shirt I could find.  Today I would have the privilege of worshiping with four different people groups in one day.  How cool is that?!  


Knowing that Micronesian church services essentially never start on time, I leisurely munched on a banana out on the porch that sits on a hill overlooking the lagoon and buildings below.  The first service I would attend would be a service for "Outer Islanders."  Yap still operates with a caste system, and the women from the outer islands, considered low-caste, are required to wear a particular type of skirt in public.  These skirts are hand-made on looms. They are woven with thread not much thicker than the common thread we use for sewing in the States; so, you can imagine how many hours it takes to hand-weave a whole skirt out of such thin thread!  The wrap-around skirts, known as lavalavas, have a solid background with stripes of various widths and colors, and are often worn with no shirts (as you can see in the final picture).  

From my perch on the hillside, I could see individuals, couples and families arriving at the church.  Like the diversity and yet coordinated theme found in a quilt, each woman with her beautifully woven skirt purposefully headed for the church.  Within half an hour of the designated start time, rich, melodic singing filled the ocean breezes, and I quickly scurried down the hill to join in the worship of Jesus Christ, our shared God.  

After the singing, Pastor Asael began to preach in his native tongue, Chuukese.  This is not the language of the Outer Islanders, but sadly, there is no pastor for these people.  Pastor Asael came to Yap as a missionary from Chuuk because there were no Yapese nationals willing/qualified to pastor.  Fortunately, the Outer Islanders understand about 60% of what Pastor Asael says since their languages overlap to this extent.  As Pastor Asael fervently delivered the Word of God, I discreetly exited and headed back up the hill, where the Yapese Evangelical Church is located.  I'll write about that experience on my next blog!            

A Real Man's Retreat

    One of my (Eric's) responsibilities while in Yap has been to speak at the Yap Evangelical Church men's retreat. Quite simply, this was the most unique men's retreat I've ever been to. A picture tells a thousand words, or so they say. It's certainly true here. Thus, I've added several pictures of our retreat facility, what the Yapese refer to as a "Man's House." Let me describe it as you glance through the pictures. All over the islands of Yap are men's houses; at least one per village. They are what it sounds like: Gathering places for men . . . only! They are constructed on a base of limestone rocks that form a large rectangle, perhaps 10 feet by 30 feet (or more), with the foundation being about three feet off the ground. Atop the foundation is built the house itself, with milled local wood siding topped with a high-pitched roof made of bamboo and coconut leaves. The roofs are made so well they really do not leak, as we found out during Friday's rain. Around the long side of the walls are several small openings to crawl through to gain entry. The rocks that make up the inside floor are covered with slats of split bamboo, and the room is divided the long way by a long straight piece of tree trunk. That tree trunk forms the communal pillow as each man lines up side-by-side with feet facing out toward the wall, on either side of the tree trunk. It's really rugged and, well, very manly. So manly, in fact, that there are no chairs, just your rear-end and some really hard bamboo slats atop a thick bed of rocks. Okay, though it may have been quite manly, it also quite hurt! Sure, the islanders sat down quite comfortably, legs all wrapped up "Indian style." As for this man, I could barely stand it; the walls were wet from the rain, so I couldn't even find any back support! Three full days later, my other end is still sore. Apparently, one guy noticed my desperate wiggling and miserable attempts to shift my weight around, so, genuinely confused, he asked me what in the world was the matter. I don't think he really believed me when I explained that basically, I never sit on the floor. Okay, true confession: I didn't sleep in the men's house with the others. To my surprise, Pastor Asael (eh-sigh-il) told me there wasn't enough room, so I "had" to leave and sleep on a real pillow in the bungalow down the road. I didn't argue.

    Back to the man's house. On one side of the room sat a few Chuukese guys, men from the neighboring island state of Chuuk. To my right sat about twice as many Yapese guys, concentrating on their beetle-nut chewing as much as on me. In the middle sat the great American ghost who could not, for the life of him, sit still. Nevertheless, amidst all my shifting, I managed to lead these men through a study of the biblical view of marriage. What I said, however, was not nearly as fascinating as the sharing that they began with. Pastor Asael asked the men to share what marriage is like in their culture. Eventually, the otherwise shy Micronesians began to describe things like the intricate details of arranged marriages, the exchange of the traditional stone money, the tradition of the boy moving into a small hut on the property at about age 14 to become a man, and the house where women go and stay a few days each month to be cared for by the midwives. As I opened to Genesis and revealed how men and women were created equal before God, and how Ephesians 5 so clearly instructs men to love their wives, they began to identify the ways their own culture serves to devalue women. Without any prompting, they began to question the normal practice of women having to wait until the man has eaten to his heart's content before she gets anything that might be leftover. They wondered if the man walking way out in front of the woman, a "must" in their culture, actually serves to demean them. Quite frankly, we sat there (uncomfortably perhaps), pondering the incredible image of loving our wives the way Christ loved the church (Ephesians 5.25).

    Now, as people share during Karyn's conference on parenting and marriage, it is all the clearer what a tough challenge this represents to this culture where there is a very strong hierarchy established even along an ancient caste system. It's a culture where power counts for everything. It's also a culture where to upset the "apple cart" would have profound ramifications, so all convictions must be translated into action very carefully. At the end of the day (as my deriairre cried for mercy), we landed on Joshua 24.15: "Choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve . . . but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord." We may not see whole cultures change in our lifetime, but all changes starts with me and my house.

    N.B. In case you wondered, Karyn and I are extremely cautious and highly sensitive to make sure we do not "tell" other cultures what's wrong with them. To be honest, we don't pretend to really know what's "wrong" with other cultures. The one thing we are certain about is that all cultures are extremely complex, mixed of "good" and "bad." In fact, partly to avoid "culture-ism" and to set the stage, I began our discussions by laying out a very critical overview of the devaluing of marriage in American culture.

The Saga of Getting to Yap

     So, I suppose it's obvious that I didn't get a blog posted before heading to Yap. Some of you know what it's like making preparations for a three-week trip when you're leaving the kids at home. Well, that's what I've been up to. The good news is that I am officially in Yap State, the Federated States of Micronesia. Instead of repeating the interesting factoids about Yap, I will refer to the blog we posted on March 15, 2011, since it contains all of the necessary background information. It's called "The First 24 Hours on Yap."

     Let me simply begin by stating that getting here this time was nothing shy of a miracle. In fact, it really seemed like someone didn't want me here! Go figure. In a nutshell, here's the saga:

• 6:00 a.m., March 16, I arrived at the Santa Barbara Airport (SBA) to catch my flight to Guam, and was told that my flight had been canceled and there were no other options available to get to Guam except to return on the 17th. 
• 7:00 a.m., March 17 (next day), I arrived at SBA, caught my flight to Los Angeles (LAX) and missed the connecting flight by five minutes. The agent said, “Why was your flight late, it shows you left Santa Barbara ahead of schedule?!” No explanation was provided, but I was informed that once again, it would be impossible for me to reach Guam on that day; I would have to spend the night at a local hotel and leave on the 18th. I suggested they have me stay the night in Honolulu (1/3 of the way to Guam). 
• 3:00 p.m. Boarded a plane in LAX, heading to Honolulu.  I was seated in a row with a couple who were inebriated, and an hour into the flight they became extremely belligerent.  They demanded more alcohol from the flight crew who were refusing to serve them. Infuriated, they yelled, cursed, threw a bottle, and, among other things, ripped up the in-flight magazine and threw it all over the floor. Five hours of intense conflict filled the flight, ending with police entering the plane and removing the unruly couple.
• Upon arrival in Honolulu, it became painfully obvious that my luggage had been lost.  At 11:00 p.m. (3:00 a.m. PST), after 20 straight hours of either being in an airport or on a plane, I was too exhausted to continue the battle for my luggage.  So, with no change of clothes or toiletries, I left for the hotel.
• Noon, March 18, still no luggage, I am praying that I will, in fact, be on the 2:25 plane for Guam.
• 6:00 p.m., Guam time. I actually arrived, just about on time, but I had no idea if my luggage had caught up with me. As I held my breath at baggage pick-up, low and behold, it appeared before my sight-sore eyes. Finally, something had gone right!

With some smiley PIU students.

     The sad reality, however, is that by now I was three days late. The essential time I had carved out to spend with PIU's women's dean was now whittled down to a few hours. The leisurely hours I had set aside to hang out with the women students, now nearly shot. It was a grand reminder that, despite my well-laid plans, ultimately, I do not call the shots. Maybe someday I'll learn what that was all about.
     So it seemed as if I had just arrived when I found myself shuttling back to the airport to meet Eric for the 11.59 p.m. flight to tiny Yap (his trip to Guam was smooth as glass!). From here, everything flowed. Greeted with the traditional flower leis once in Yap, we were brought to the mission house by our wonderful friends and co-workers, Asael Ruda and family. If all goes as planned (!), we will dive right into a men's retreat, a full day of preaching, lots of fellowship and consulting, and then the big parenting and marriage conference. 
  

I even got to sing in chapel with Jaynee!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     At least I made it . . . with my luggage in tow. More to come.

About Time!

Well, my title is meant as a double entendre.  First, it is meant to express the fact that it is about time that we wrote another blog.  The last time we wrote was on November 18, 2011!!  Second, the frustration I face is about time, as in concerning time.  Since moving back to California, I feel like I am chasing the wind!  I am a whirling dervish, doing my work in Micronesia using technology (Skype, Internet, and telephone), researching potential interventions to lower abuse rates in Micronesia, running kids to school, choir, band performance or sports practices, and personally trying to make the HUGE adjustments to living stateside.  (This lifestyle being one of the adjustments--the fast pace, high stress environment.) Sitting contentedly on a bench with a student, looking at nothing in particular while the mosquitoes hungrily buzz about me, and feeling no compulsion to speak because just being together is enough, is a far and distant memory.  Taking the time to have relaxed conversations with friends I meet in the grocery store is another nearly forgotten concept.  Now I (and my friends) race through the shopping in an attempt to get to our next obligation on time.  Heaven forbid I should lose my calendar!  Each day is packed with multiple commitments and no future plans are ever made without consulting each family member's calendar!  Sigh.........  So, I actually am proud of my compulsive, rather perfectionistic self, for not keeping up with this blog.  There was a time I would not have allowed myself to make this healthy choice, but instead would have pushed myself to get it written, regardless of the negative impact it had on me or my family.  I suppose that this shift in values stems from my work in Micronesia.  It is no longer simply with intellectual assent that I can say that relationships are far more important than tasks.  I still have a long way to go to successfully live this out, but I am grateful that living in Micronesia has moved me closer to this beautiful truth.  I know Jesus had some thoughts on this too.  Remember his conversation with Mary and Martha?  So, I can't promise when I'll be writing another blog, but hopefully it will be before Eric and my upcoming trip to Yap.  In the meantime, in addition to the gazillion commitments on my calendar, I am busily trying to prepare a five-day conference on marriage and parenting that I'll be presenting while on that trip, and I'm trying to do it in a way that keeps what's most important at the fore:  God first, others second, and myself (and my tasks) last! 

Another Sample of the Palauan Singing

For whatever reason, I was unable to upload this to the prior post (which is where I wanted it).  It shows the congregation singing a hymn acapella. 

Sunday with the Palauans

John Aitaro

I awoke at 5:45 a.m., a metal crossbar from the futon "bed" jamming into a rib.  With gratitude, I reminded myself how I would take a too-hard bed over a too-soft bed any day!  I was also thankful to be able to awake so early and feel "good."  If you know me, you know I'm a night owl, and normally would avoid 5:45 a.m. like the plague!!  But, my inner clock (still on California time), was registering 11:45 a.m.!  :)  Gazing out of my colleague's apartment window, I viewed the crystalline sea only 200 yards away--a reminder of the splendor of God. This was Sunday on Guam, Saturday in the states.  I was especially excited about this Sunday because I would be worshiping with the Palauan Church.

Promptly at 8:45 a.m., the Pacific Islands University van, filled with some of our Palauan students, picked me up.  Again, I was filled with gratitude for the blessing of not only being reunited with these precious students, but also being able to worship with them.  Arriving at the Palauan Evangelical Church of Guam, I was met with an enormous smile from the church's greeter and a former student of mine who has since graduated from Pacific Islands University.  John informed me that he and his wife are prayerfully considering moving to Portland, OR where there is a great need for a Palauan pastor.  I was super excited to hear this, as I have no doubt that John would make a FANTASTIC minister.  

Soon the service started.  The Palauan church has services in English twice a month, and services entirely in Palauan twice a month.  (Oops!  This is not accurate!  Thanks, Julie, [Pastor Andrew's wife] for giving me the "real scoop" on the Palauan church.  Please see Julie's note at the end of this blog.)  This was an all-Palauan Sunday.  Immediately, I was enraptured by the beautiful music sung in three part harmony.  Since moving back to the states, I haven’t been able to put my finger on why I have been a bit disappointed in church music.  At first I thought it was because of the amplification of multiple instruments which results in a MUCH louder environment than what I was accustomed to.  Then I postulated that because the lead vocalists were amplified so loudly, I couldn’t really hear myself singing.  And, I love trying to add beauty to the music by harmonizing—a difficult task when you can’t hear your voice over the amplification.  Well, as I sat in that service, savoring the music, I figured out why I LOVE Micronesian worship so much . . . . . . .the congregational voices play an equal, if not more significant role, in the music.  Voices are PART of the “band.”  Several songs were sung acapella, and I didn’t even realize there was no instrumentation until I reflected back on the song.  The strong harmonic singing was so full, that there was little distinction between songs sung with accompaniment and those sung without.  I enthusiastically joined into the singing, thankful that I knew how to pronounce the Palauan words for God, Jesus, Savior, etc., and I relished the exquisite harmony, and the sense that my own harmony was contributing to the beauty of glorifying God.

Pastor Andrew

Another fascinating aspect of the Palauan worship service was the interaction between the pastor and the elderly parishioners.  Their pastor, Andrew Immanuel, was born and raised on Palau.  He has his bachelor’s degree from Columbia University and his master’s degree from Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary (both U.S. schools).  As Pastor Andrew would read the Scripture, the elderly people in the congregation would correct his pronunciation.  There was no offense taken, and both the pastor and the congregation were clearly very comfortable with this format.  When, after the service, I asked our Palauan students why this was happening, they explained that the Palauan Bible is VERY difficult to read.  The Palauan language does not have enough words to communicate the many concepts of the Bible.  Therefore, many of the words are obscure or even borrowed from other languages (even Japanese).  The students explained that it is especially difficult for younger people to read the Bible because the language is “Old Palauan.”  I got the impression that this would be like having a young person read the Old English style of the King James Bible.  Because the pastor is fairly young, he needs the assistance of the elderly in the congregation to help him correctly read the Bible.  Interesting, huh?

 

Eating at a food court with the students after church 

That evening, I spent several hours playing volleyball with the the female students.

                  

First Day Back on Island

November 12 (First of the seventeen days I’ll be on Guam):  

Standing in front of the baggage claim, I diligently searched for my 50 pound black, nondescript suitcase containing 15 pounds of candy and chocolate (for my students), my lecture materials, and essentials.  I immediately realized my mistake.  I should have put something unique on my bag to make it stand out from the myriad other black suitcases.  After 20 hours of traveling, the last thing I wanted to do was lift each and every unmarked heavy, black suitcase searching for clues as to its identity.  Clearly, I wasn't the only one whose black bag was devoid of obvious clues of ownership.  On some bags, I actually had to unzip compartments to determine ownership by the contents!!  The elderly Chamorro man next to me noticed my predicament and immediately began hauling heavy, nondescript, black suitcases off the carousel and we entered into the easy banter I had so missed since leaving Guam.  Ahhhhhhhh.................  I felt myself relax as I once again entered into a culture that has become more comfortable than my own.  Soon the helpful man and his wife were kindly lecturing me on the importance of clearly marking my bag.  I noticed how naturally my speech had slowed and my vowels became more elongated--more in line with the accent of this region of the world.

Wayward bag found, I headed through customs and was greeted by the beautiful brown faces of several Pacific Islands University students and the women's dean.  Off we drove to the apartment I would be sharing with a young PIU English teacher.  In her sparsely furnished place, I was grateful for the futon "bed" (more metal than mattress) where I could lay my head.  Her generous hospitality would free up funds I would have otherwise had to spend on a hotel.  Plus, I would give her some money so she could run her air conditioner while I was at her place.  This was a luxury she rarely allowed herself because of the horribly high cost of electricity on Guam, coupled with her meager budget.  I was glad to bless her in this way, and happy myself that the air conditioning would allow me to sleep in the sweltering heat.  It was 11:00 p.m. Guam time (5:00 a.m. California time) when I finally dropped off to sleep, a prayer of thanksgiving on my lips.