tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27809579253620448642024-03-20T01:40:34.335-07:00Keelan's East Timor ExploitsKeelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-68623969835400181902011-03-15T06:28:00.001-07:002011-03-15T06:28:48.737-07:00Eyes Like Jesus<div class="yiv104454190MsoNormal">Today during recreation time I was sitting and talking with a group of teenage orphan girls. One of them gazed into my eyes and, in all earnestness, said, “Wow, you have eyes like Jesus!” The other girls all enthusiastically nodded their heads in agreement. I was confused. Eyes like Jesus? What does that mean? I asked for clarification, but didn’t get a satisfactory answer. Surely they didn’t mean my eyes look like Jesus’ eyes. Who knows what His eyes look like?</div><div class="yiv104454190MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="yiv104454190MsoNormal">This girl’s statement stuck with me through the rest of the day. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand what she meant by this, but I felt honored and flattered. What a compliment to receive! Beauty is fleeting, but “eyes like Jesus”…wow! As I reflected on the meaning of this statement later, I came up with 2 possibilities:</div><div class="yiv104454190MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="yiv104454190MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst"><span><span>1.)<span> </span></span></span>Maybe they saw (but didn’t realize) the reflection of Jesus in my eyes. After all, I was looking at THEM, and these girls always show me Jesus’ love and goodness through their kindness, smiles, laughs and camaraderie. </div><div class="yiv104454190MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst"><br />
</div><div class="yiv104454190MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><span><span>2.)<span> </span></span></span>Jesus’ eyes looked on all of creation with LOVE. He saw the good in others. He saw their faith, their potential. Could it be that I am starting to see the good in others and the beauty in all of creation that surrounds me, too? It’s easy enough to find faults in others and in the broken, sinful world we live in.<span> </span>I think I have done this pretty naturally most of my life.<span> </span>But it is a challenge to choose instead to see the bright side of life.<span> </span>Has my time here given me a different outlook, a new perspective, eyes that look on the world with hope, love and joy instead of doubt and criticism? </div><div class="yiv104454190MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><br />
</div><div class="yiv104454190MsoNormal">I guess the first explanation is more probable, but the second explanation is something that may be GRAUDALLY occurring in me and something I would like to STRIVE toward. </div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-26478993527024436652011-03-05T06:00:00.000-08:002011-03-05T06:00:54.073-08:00Cravings!!<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1px;"><img height="205" id="il_fi" src="http://www.nathan-miller.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/VanillaBean_Box1.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.648438) 2px 2px 8px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 8px; padding-left: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="260" /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Cravings…they’re everywhere!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I believe I have grown pretty accustomed to East Timorese food-or, at least the food served here at the convent-and I honestly really enjoy it! The biggest surprise to me was seeing white rice and bread served at every meal! There is an abundance of green vegetables (which are almost always dripping with oil!), breadfruit (actually a vegetable), corn and potatoes, as well sweet, delicious fruits served for dessert such as bananas, mangoes, grapefruit, apples, oranges, pineapple and jackfruit! We eat eggs and fish often, and have chicken or pork once or twice a week. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Although I eat well, over my time here I have experienced some pretty strong cravings for foods from back home: Most notably:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The color of the altar server’s robes at Sunday Mass remind me of Bluebell Vanilla Bean ice cream! It is very hard to concentrate on the readings when I am salivating over ice cream!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The other day on one of my morning runs I passed a hut where I smelled the distinct aroma of BBQ! Oh how I longed to be at Harold’s Restaurant chowing down on some brisket, sausage or turkey, cornbread, green beans and a nice peach cobbler for dessert!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We had red beans the other night for dinner. Their smell reminded me of refried beans, and I instantly hearkened back to my love of Mexican food and Casa Herrera (where I had my farewell party way back in September!). I think this will be the first restaurant I go to once I am back in Abilene (family and friends take note)! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My Bath and Body works hand sanitizer is a wonderful (Christmas) scent called, “Caramel Apple Spice”. I really love it! Although I have been using it for a few months now, today for the first time the scent reminded me of Swedish Fish candy! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Other things I have been craving (for no apparent reason): goldfish crackers, waffles, cereal and oatmeal, Wendy’s chocolate frosties, my mom’s chili and my Nana’s mashed potatoes :D</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Whew, I better wrap this blog up…just writing about these things makes me hungry! As a footnote, I would like to emphasize that I am really so grateful to be here and blessed to have 3 meals a day (and snacks available to me, too).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I am eating much better than many East Timorese people, so I don’t want to sound like I am complaining. I’m NOT. I just thought you might enjoy reading what foods I miss. Oh, and the next time you reach for your favorite snack (or any of the items listed above), please say a special prayer for everyone here in East Timor!! Thank you and God Bless! :D </div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-24619547590419299412011-02-14T02:21:00.000-08:002011-02-14T02:21:46.590-08:00Valentine's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://farm1.static.flickr.com/157/384323992_5fe67df84d.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.flickr.com/photos/lilcrabbygal/384323992/&usg=__yq0nLXvhClXf3eKAnDbJ4WGR4qs=&h=500&w=500&sz=132&hl=en&start=51&zoom=1&tbnid=Vy45JTxdsX_iKM:&tbnh=130&tbnw=130&ei=ngFZTeH9Do3fce3xjZQN&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dheart%26start%3D40%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26gbv%3D2%26tbs%3Disch:1&itbs=1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="320" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:Vy45JTxdsX_iKM:http://farm1.static.flickr.com/157/384323992_5fe67df84d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://parkcountylibrary.org/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/love.bmp&imgrefurl=http://parkcountylibrary.org/2009/06/03/powells-new-books-for-june-are-showing-the-love/&usg=__IHwtN1qw6bc_j5FNnrHV_1pv82s=&h=346&w=347&sz=353&hl=en&start=22&zoom=1&tbnid=xn-BRfGWqycciM:&tbnh=120&tbnw=120&ei=5v9YTaGGJY3fce3xjZQN&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dlove%26start%3D20%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26gbv%3D2%26tbs%3Disch:1&itbs=1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 331.45pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>For many people, a perfect Valentine’s Day might entail strolling along the beach/park/lane, hand-in-hand with your significant other, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ear. The highlight of my Valentine’s Day here in East Timor was a little different. Valentine’s Day afternoon found me walking along a dirt road, hand in hand with orphan girls exuberantly singing Christian songs as we made our way to religious education classes! It was a blast! As these beautiful, spirited, caring, Christian girls and I sang and sauntered to the chapel in the glorious February sunshine, I felt so blessed, joyful, and of course, LOVED. What an unforgettable way to spend Valentine’s Day!</strong></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 331.45pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Wishing everyone a very fun, blessed, sweet and chocolate-filled day!</strong></span></span></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-62010485518517578202011-02-06T03:52:00.000-08:002011-02-06T03:52:47.730-08:00Baucau OW!<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img height="160" id="il_fi" src="http://www.askfitnesscoach.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/band-aid-celeb-charity.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.648438) 2px 2px 8px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 8px; padding-left: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This past weekend I went on a shopping trip to Baucau, the second largest city in East Timor. I was desperately in need of some “retail therapy.” I didn’t know I would end up needing a different kind therapy by the end of the trip!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Baucau is just an hour away by mikrolet. This was my first trip alone on the mikrolet, but I didn’t mind. I’ve been here more than four months, so I was confident getting there and back would not be a problem. The ride to Baucau was quite pleasant. There were only 8 people in the back of the bus and NO animals, so it was spacious and familial. An older lady kindly passed around the homemade rolls she had not been able to sell at the market earlier that morning. We stopped at a well along the way, and the majority of passengers got out to rinse off. Upon returning to the bus, a man passed around cologne for everyone to share. The group also asked me a lot of friendly questions about my work here in East Timor. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Baucau bus “terminal” is at the end of a long street lined with dozens of shops. Some huts sell convenience items and snack foods, others sell cheap jewelry, makeup, hair clips and bands and other knick knacks, while still other shops sell clothes. There are upper and lower end clothing shops. I began by browsing through the lower end shops which sell new or slightly used clothes that have been donated by various organizations from around the world. In each shop, hundreds of clothes are just thrown onto tables (not even folded) and it is your job to dig through them to find what you are looking for. As you can imagine, there is no “order to the madness”. For example, there are no Women’s, Men’s or Children’s sections, so of course there are no further subdivisions such as “Women’s tops” or “Men’s jeans”. It’s kind of like going to a huge garage sale. If you like a top but it’s not your size, there’s very little chance of finding another one-there’s generally only one of each type of blouse, sweater or pair of pants. If you’re not sure if something is your size, take an educated guess because there’s no dressing room, either. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the very first shop I stopped in, I was elated to find a super comfortable brown wrap-around cardigan with a Talbot’s label! It’s not common to find clothes with tags from stores I have heard of, much less a pricey store like Talbot’s! I wasn’t really looking for cardigans or cool weather clothes, but I figured I would ask how much it was anyway. I was floored to hear the shopkeeper say it was just $2! I couldn’t pass up this fantastic deal! I also found a bright pink half button pullover sweater that would go well with a camisole underneath. It was just $1.50! After having such great success at the first shop, I was very optimistic about the rest of my shopping trip. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Unfortunately, I was unable to find another top that fit me or was appropriate for wearing to teach (which was my primary objective). I browsed through several “higher end” stores, but all of them seemed to carry the exact same merchandise. I am not sure where these shops buy their clothing, but it is clear it all comes from the same place. I find it very interesting (and disappointing) that all the clothes in these stores are either very dressy and gaudy(imagine sequined or bedazzled blouses, skirts and dresses to wear to church or a special occasion) or seem to be catered towards teenagers. There was only 1 size of every blouse-junior small. Furthermore, all the teenage blouses have kiddie cartoon characters on them! Definitely NOT appropriate for a teacher to wear! Where DO young adults in East Timor shop for clothes?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At one point while I was shopping, some teenage students eagerly approached me and started conversing with me in English. I was honestly suspicious of their friendliness and thought they might be pick pockets! It turns out they were just very excited to practice their English skills with me. I was happy to be able to help them out!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After unsuccessfully browsing through dozens of stores, I returned to a lower end store where I had seen some decent tops earlier in the day. I figured maybe I had been too picky before and if I browsed through the selection again I might just find something that could work for my needs. I was <span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">DETERMINED to buy something. I was desperate! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I took a dozen or so blouses into the dressing room and I remember remarking to myself how quaint it was. The “door” was a simple curtain, the walls were bamboo, and there was a small, jagged edged mirror opposite the curtain. This was the first dressing room I had seen in a lower-end store, and it was more spacious and better lit than any other dressing room I had visited all day. There was even a long wooden rod hanging from the ceiling on which to hang clothes. I officially felt like a native as I maneuvered myself around in the dressing room and tried on my clothes. Several times, tops would fall on the dirty, rocky ground. Yuck! I quickly picked them up and dusted them off.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After trying on most of the tops, I only had 1 “maybe”. That’s okay, I’d saved the best ones for last! As I pulled a red and black flowered blouse over my head, my left hand swooshed down and my pointer finger knicked the rough edge of the jagged mirror! It hadn’t hurt that badly, but I knew I had cut my finger, so I immediately drew my hand closer to my face to inspect the damage. I couldn’t believe my eyes- there was a deep S-shaped gash just below my knuckle that ran all the way across my finger! But why didn’t it hurt, and where was the blood? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I stared at my finger, DARING it to bleed. I KNEW a cut like this should bleed profusely. After a few tense moments, my finger DID begin to bleed….and it didn’t STOP! Uh oh, what should I do now?! I squeezed the two sides of the cut together and applied pressure, but to no avail. I needed something to stop the bleeding, but what could I use? The only things I had with me were the 2 sweaters I had bought (too precious to ruin) my own shirt, and the dozen shirts I was trying on. My blouse was haphazardly buttoned, but I ran out of the dressing room and asked the storekeeper standing on the other side of the shop for a tissue. Of course, I didn’t know how to say this in Tetum, so he came over to me to clarify what I had requested. I was afraid to show him my hand-what if blood made him queasy? I had no other choice, and I lifted it to show him what I needed. He played it cool, although I could tell he was very surprised. He ran over to the register to see if he had anything. Nope. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Another lady happened to be in the shop, and she suggested he rip a garment. I wasn’t sure if he was going to follow her advice. He scrambled to a table and rummaged through a pile of clothes to find a suitable “bandage”. I don’t know exactly what he was looking for (ironically, they were all pretty junky shirts he was sifting through) and I wished he would just choose one! He didn’t seem to find one he was willing to sacrifice. Back at his desk, he picked up a white, flowery blouse. Surely he wasn’t going to use this? I thought he must have given up and decided to ignore my dilemma altogether.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">By this time my entire hand was covered in blood, and the blood was dripping to the dirt ground below. I was reminded of 2 things: First, I recalled all the drops of chicken blood I have seen scattered on the ground during my time here in East Timor, and secondly, I pictured Jesus’ crucifixion. I wonder how much blood there was during that? It occurred to me that if this had happened in the U.S., I could sue the store later! I snapped back to the situation at hand: What was I going to do? How was I going to change back into my clothes without getting anything of mine or the shopkeeper’s bloody? Thankfully, the shopkeeper came over with the makeshift bandage he had made from the flowered blouse. I was able to soak up and wipe off most of the blood from my hand and tie the material around my wound. I quickly returned to the dressing room to change into my own clothes, but I wondered what I should do next. Should I get treatment or keep shopping? I really needed tops! Thankfully, a voice of reason inside my head told me what to do: “No, don’t be crazy, you can’t keep shopping. You need to get help!” As I left the store, I thanked the man and handed him $2 for the ruined blouse. I only had 1 other dollar bill with me, and I needed it for the mikrolet home. Besides that, I had only $10 bills in my wallet, and I KNEW the blouse wasn’t worth that much. I felt badly, as though I should have given him more money, but at least I gave him something, right?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once back out on the street, my mind started racing. What should I do now?! I didn’t have a cell phone with me-why, oh WHY had I decided to leave it in Venilale? True, I haven’t used it the entire time I’ve been in East Timor, and I NEVER expected to need it today, but it’s still always good to carry. My first thought had been to call the sisters I am staying with in Venilale or my parents and ask for their advice. I realized that they didn’t know how bad my wound was and would tell me to do the most practical thing-go to the hospital. Although I wished someone could tell me what to do, I realized that even if I had a phone, I needed to make my own decision. No one could help me with this! I think I have mentioned in a previous post that I feel most alone here in East Timor on U.S. National holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. I would like to amend this statement by saying that I feel most alone when I am injured or sick. Nothing makes you grow up faster than handling a “crisis” on your own!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I recalled seeing a sign for a clinic just past the shop where I had bought my two tops earlier in the day, so I headed there. I wasn’t sure which building the clinic was, so I returned to the shop and asked the ladies working there if the clinic was open. The first one said yes, but the second one corrected her and said it didn’t open until 2. It was only 12:30! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What to do now? I could go to the Baucau hospital, but I didn’t know where it was, how to ask for directions (although I supposed that would be easy enough to figure out), or, most importantly, how I would pay for my treatment. I had brought $60 in spending money, but no credit cards. How much would this cost to treat? What if it was just a scratch and nothing serious? I didn’t want to pay for a band-aid! ON the other hand, what if it required stitches? I would prefer to have these done by someone I know in trust in Venilale. Yes, I would return to the Venilale health clinic and get treatment from Sr. Caroline. Even though Venilale was at least an hour away (depending on when the mikrolet would be leaving), I would rather be THERE around 2 p.m. than in Baucau at that time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Even with a plan in mind, a flurry of thoughts continued to run through my head. How serious WAS my injury? Was I being foolish to try to make it back to Venilale? My finger started to throb, I was confused, unsure what to do next, angry that I had not thought to bring my phone, and I felt VERY ALONE! How had I gotten myself into this predicament? I was injured in a foreign country without a cell phone or credit card, and help was more than an hour away! This was NOT good!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I decided to stick with my original plan-I would catch a mikrolet to Venilale. My bandage was sopping with blood, so I decided to buy a washcloth to serve as an extra bandage. I stopped at the first shop I could find. They charged me a whole $1 for a cheap washcloth, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I then stopped in a convenience store to buy snacks for the trip home. I had eaten an early breakfast and I was hungry and knew I should get some fuel. It would only complicate things to be lightheaded or weak while travelling. I had stopped in this store earlier today and the woman offered me ice cream. I thought that would be a wonderful treat for the ride home, but there was no way I could eat ice cream while applying pressure to my finger. Instead, I decided it would be better if I bought a frozen orange jelly drink to use as ice for my finger. I also bought a yummy looking package of chocolate biscuits. Grand total = 65 cents! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I didn’t know the black bag my grocery items were placed in would come in so handy. I decided to stick my hand in it to hide my gory finger. I didn’t want to upset anyone with the sight of my blood. To my surprise, however, everyone who happened to see my finger didn’t seem grossed out at all. They were concerned for me, but NONE were queasy or turned away in disgust! After buying my necessary items, I was relieved to hop onto a mikrolet that was almost full (this meant we would be departing for Venilale shortly). I was happy I was able to sit in the back left hand corner of the mikrolet, across from a mom with her infant baby and 7 year old boy. They kept me entertained and calm. The lady suggested I go to the hospital in Baucau. I asked her if it was close, to which she responded affirmatively. Just then, the mikrolet started to move. I thanked her but told her I would just wait to get treatment in Venilale. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The ride home took more than an hour, but I was feeling much more calm by this point. I had prayed for the Lord to help me, and I truly believed He was with me. I was icing my finger, eating food, the bleeding was controlled, and I was on my way to get treatment. Everything was going to be okay. I shared my chocolate cookies with the little boy across from me. He was so happy!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once I arrived in Venilale, Sr. Caroline was nowhere to be found! After searching for half an hour or so, she finally showed up at the convent. She had been on a house call visiting an elderly lady suffering from chills and a fever. More than 2 hours after I had cut my finger, I received treatment for it. Thankfully, I DIDN’T need stitches. I was interested in seeing the cut again-it stretched all the way across my finger in an S-shaped pattern. At least I’ll have a cool scar, right? Sister twisted and contorted the wound, then squeezed it together. She then applied some antiseptic solution, and I braced myself because I knew it would sting. Still, when the first drops landed in the wound, I jumped and pulled my finger away in pain. Well, at least I didn’t scream, I suppose! The second round of Betadyne was just as painful, but I willed myself not to move or let out any audible discomfort. I was really glad to get it disinfected-who knows what germs were on the mirror or the blouse I used as a makeshift bandage?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was relieved to have been treated, but as I half expected, there wasn’t much treatment necessary. No, it hadn’t been a “life or death” situation, and I could have waited even longer to get it treated. I was now really grateful I hadn’t gone to the hospital in Baucau. They likely would have charged me an arm and a leg for a simple bandage. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My finger has improved little by little every day. The accident occurred on Saturday, but my finger didn’t stop bleeding without pressure being applied to it until Thursday. I couldn’t bend my finger all weekend, but I was able to use it to write notes for my classes Tuesday-Thursday. Washing my hands and bathing is difficult to do without getting the bandage wet, and I have decided to postpone doing my laundry for a week or two (hopefully I have enough clothes to get by in the meantime). All in all, I am thankful I am okay and that my accident wasn’t severe. However, I don’t think I will be going clothes shopping in Baucau again anytime soon! I guess I will just have to survive with the clothes I brought with me. I AM on a mission trip, after all, so maybe this is a sign I should focus more on my service and less on my appearance!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh, and for those of you wondering how much a shopping spree in East Timor will cost you (including unexpected emergency treatment), here is a breakdown of my Baucau shopping expenses:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Mikrolet to Baucau = $1<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Talbot’s sweater and pink pullover = $3.50<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Makeshift blouse bandage = $2<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Makeshift washcloth bandage = $1<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Frozen drink ice pack and chocolate cookies for a snack = 65 cents<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.5pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;"> <div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">+ Mikrolet to Venilale = $1<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Grand Total: $9.15 for a 2 hour bus trip, 2 sweaters, first aid and snacks. Not too shabby!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-47219157297925093322011-02-03T03:36:00.000-08:002011-02-03T03:36:34.200-08:00B-A-N-A-N-A-S!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="199" id="il_fi" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRaK17cecVzKsLNqSh4hw55CbGa2WlDu4xqL7KG5SHcFH0cETXvMQ&t=1" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.648438) 2px 2px 8px; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 8px; padding-left: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="254" /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">It’s no secret-people here in East Timor LOVE bananas! First and foremost, they are served after every meal for “dessert” (yes, you read that right. No chocolate cake, no cookies, just fruit for dessert). Sometimes, as a special dessert treat they are mixed with diced avocadoes and sugar. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Bananas are also a staple snack food. Fried bananas are really delicious and sold at any local market (you can buy 6 for 15 cents), baked bananas dipped in oil and topped with sugar are a favorite Christmas present to give and receive, store bought snack size banana layer cake snacks are also available. A common snack at the orphanage is boiled bananas. To prepare these, bananas (with the peel) are added to boiling water for 10 minutes or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After peeling, they are ready to eat! I prefer plain bananas, though-boiled bananas are hard (consistency of a baked potato) and not very sweet. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Thus far, I have tasted 3 different kinds of bananas. The most common kind looks and tastes very similar to bananas sold in the U.S., but they are half the size and a little sweeter. Another kind of banana has a dark green peel, appears more diamond shaped than round, and are the typical length of bananas sold in the U.S. These are good for preparing baked or fried bananas. The third kind of banana is called a “boat banana.” They are so named because they have the largest diameter of any bananas found in East Timor (as big as a boat!). How thick are they? It is hard to grasp your hand around the circumference of one. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have a red peel and are a little TOO sweet for me. They are not mushy, but they have the taste of a mushy banana. I have trouble finishing a whole one on my own. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Often, patients will bring in bananas as payment for their treatment at the clinic (we ask for a 50 cent donation)! Sister Caroline and I always appreciate this healthy snack when we work long hours and we are very grateful for their kindness and generosity.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Naturally, with an abundance of bananas, legends have evolved surrounding them. For example,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sometimes you will find 2 bananas that are fused together. Many Timorese people believe that if a woman eats these, she will have twins! The sisters were telling me of an elderly nun who adamantly holds to this belief and refuses to eat fused bananas even today!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Interestingly, with the creativity in incorporating bananas into so many meals and recipes, I have yet to taste banana bread, banana cream pie, banana splits (no freezers in Venilale, so this isn’t really possible) or banana pancakes. I hope to prepare banana pancakes and banana bread as special treats for the sisters sometime during my stay here. Anyone else have any banana recipe ideas? Please let me know!<o:p></o:p></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-1110554866464115312011-01-30T04:18:00.000-08:002011-01-30T04:18:39.051-08:00Laura's Legacy<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last weekend we celebrated the commemoration of the death of Blessed Laura Vicuna. She was just 12 years old when she died. Despite her short life, Laura made her days count. <span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">One day, remembering the phrase of Jesus: “There is no one greater than the one that gives his life for his brothers," Laura decided to give her life in exchange for her mother's salvation. As time passed she became seriously ill with pulmonary tuberculosis</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">. </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">Before she died, Laura told her mother: “I die, because I asked Jesus two years ago; I offered my life for you, asking for the grace of your salvation. Before I die, Mother, would I have the joy of seeing you repent?” Mercedes tearfully answered: “I swear, I will do whatever you ask me! God is the witness of my promise!" Finally Laura smiled and said to her mother: "Thanks, Jesus! Thanks Mary! Goodbye, Mother! Now I die happy!" On January 22, 1904, Laura died of her disease, weakened by the physical abuse she previously received from Mora, having offered her life for the salvation of her mother.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here in Venilale, we celebrated this occasion with a mass (as usual) in Laura’s honor. Although I arrived at the church 15 minutes early, there were NO seats in the entire building! I should have realized that a mass in celebration of a child (soon to be) saint would be attended by every school child in the village and surrounding areas. Some students, sisters and myself brought chairs down from the school to accommodate for all the people! I have never had to bring my own chair to church before! Sporting events-yes. Church-no. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the evening, the high school students put on a performance complete with singing, dancing and retelling the story of Laura’s life. It was a really fun time and the show lasted more than an hour and a half! Afterwards, we prayed a novena in Laura’s honor. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am sure Laura had no idea her actions would affect not just her mother’s life, but the lives of millions of people today who remember and celebrate her shining example of a (short) life filled with love of God and neighbor. Her example shows that no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. No life lived for God, no matter how seemingly insignificant, is ever lived in vain. </span><o:p></o:p></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-37469222079818207442011-01-18T03:28:00.000-08:002011-01-18T03:28:57.980-08:00un-BALI-vable<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizihgBlKDya5uRimziOManxsobyyvc1-tHIk6eYj-jFBKfRcPv5aE980XdKo19sLb34oRI6b-09vWThFRz7XPliGHZUfR3nwv131ZNdKmRrnkQLW_DhPMtDwMTz8wyGHEDcF4qAsXdCIs/s320/Bali+076.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining on the beach-the perfect ending to a perfect day!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizihgBlKDya5uRimziOManxsobyyvc1-tHIk6eYj-jFBKfRcPv5aE980XdKo19sLb34oRI6b-09vWThFRz7XPliGHZUfR3nwv131ZNdKmRrnkQLW_DhPMtDwMTz8wyGHEDcF4qAsXdCIs/s1600/Bali+076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My one day in Bali was absolutely incredible! After a short one and a half hour flight from Dili, I arrived in Denpasar at 11 a.m. Two Italian sisters (one named Sr. Paola has lived in East Timor for the past 20 years) accompanied me. They were heading onto Jakarta after their stay in Bali. I was very grateful for their company. They arranged for us to board at a Salesian convent in Denpasar which was just minutes away from the airport. Sr. Paola also planned the activities for the day, which was a welcome relief for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We bought fruit and bread from a roadside stand on our way to the convent, and dined on sweet mangoes, tomatoes and roast beef sandwiches for lunch. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the afternoon, one of the sisters at the convent served as our chauffer and drove us to a temple along the seashore. Although Sr. Paola speaks Tetum and a little English, whenever I asked her a question in either language, she never seemed to know what I was saying or asking. It was very frustrating! Thus, I had very limited information as to where we were going, what we were doing, how far away anything was, etc. I expected we would walk to the temple. We drove. I thought it would be a quick trip. The drive was more than 1 hour! I didn’t mind; it was a great way to see a lot of Bali in the limited time I had. I am getting pretty used to receiving very little information and being OK with that. Sometimes (or ALL the time if you live in East Timor) you just have to go with the flow. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, how to describe Bali? It is very…oriental. Almost every building, whether it was a home, shop or business, had a thatched roof. Along our drive I saw dozens of small temples, and statues of gods and goddesses. We drove down narrow streets lined with dozens of vendors selling food, clothing, souvenirs and knick knacks. We also drove on larger streets with heavy traffic and stoplights (which are very rare in East Timor). There are more motorcycles and motorscooters on the roads than cars. They precariously weave and zig zag in and out of traffic, and bunch up in between vehicles at stoplights. Vehicle drivers must be VERY careful not to hit one of them. I don’t know how there aren’t more accidents. Although the scooters are small, I saw families of 4 or 5 riding on some, a passenger on another scooter carrying 2 metal ladders, and a lady carrying several clear plastic bags filled with fabric. She looked like she could barely hold onto all of it!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We passed through the urban downtown of Denpasar and I saw several restaurants and furniture stores, as well as stores selling surfboards, glass and wooden crafts. I was happy to see some businesses I recognized from the United States-Circle K gas station, McDonald’s, KFC, and even an A&W Restaurant! The road on the last leg of our trip wound through rice fields, which was really very scenic. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The temple grounds were packed with tourists from all over the world, and I heard many different languages being spoken. Upon entering the temple compound, you had to walk half a mile or so to the coastline. The road downhill to the coast was packed with small souvenir shops selling “I Love Bali” t-shirts, hats, bags, magnets, stickers, etc. It was difficult for me to grasp the concept of rupiahs. How could something relatively inexpensive cost 200,000 rupiahs? I didn’t have a conversion calculator on my phone, so I was very confused as to how much everything cost. I didn’t see anything that particularly caught my eye, so, while I took a lot of pictures, I didn’t buy any souvenirs. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We reached the coastline and the view was breathtaking. There were signs warning it was “High Tide”, and the water was slamming against the rocks just a few feet from where the tourists were allowed to stand. A group of a dozen Chinese tourists tried to take a picture on a large rock, but their attempt was interrupted by a huge wave that splashed up on it-they only narrowly escaped! Interestingly, I took more photos of the cliffs, beach, rocks and ocean than I did of temple buildings. I kept wondering when we would see the temples up close. I then remembered reading previously that many temples do not allow access to tourists. This was the case here. Therefore, I got several pictures of the outside of the temples, but none from inside. Oh well, at least the scenery was really beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After exploring, we stopped in a café for refreshments. As we approached our table, I laughed when I saw some diners sipping from coconuts-this is something I had only seen on t.v., although apparently it is common among natives in East Timor as well. I was elated when Sr. Paola asked me if I would like to try some coconut myself! I eagerly agreed, not knowing that she meant I would get my very own coconut! These coconuts were huge (easily the size of a size 4 soccer ball), and I didn’t even know if I would like the taste! I had tried coconut milk at the convent in Venilale once, but it was sweetened and served in a glass. I hesitantly took my first sip, trying to play it cool so the sisters wouldn’t know how concerned I was about liking it. The liquid was clear and was relatively tasteless. I breathed a sigh of relief-I could definitely drink this! Now I just had to worry about finishing the whole thing! I couldn’t help but smile as I sat there at the café drinking straight from a coconut along with 3 others sisters. I recalled that last year at this time I was flying to New York for my last semester of college. I never imagined that a year from then I would be soaking up the sun, exploring temples and sipping from coconuts in Bali. God is so good! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There was a fee to use the restroom, and thankfully, after drinking ALL of my coconut juice, I didn’t have to go. I did worry that I might not be able to make the long ride home, though. We didn’t head straight back to the convent after our excursion. Instead, we stopped at a relatively plain looking restaurant with seafood displayed on its porch. I didn’t care what the place looked like-I was excited to get the chance to eat seafood! To my surprise, we were escorted through the restaurant, out the back and onto the beach! We were seated at a table just a few feet from where the waves splashed onto the shore! What a spectacular view! There was a nice island breeze and the sun was just setting. We were in paradise! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The sisters discussed what to order amongst themselves, but I had no idea what they requested. They either spoke in Italian or Indonesian, neither of which I speak. I DID hear the word calamari, and although I am not a picky eater, I REALLY don’t like that dish. I hoped we weren’t getting any of that. No one asked for my input, so I just decided to count my blessings instead of focus on the fact we might be eating something unappetizing to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Within a few minutes, we received spicy soup and peanuts as appetizers. <span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">I choked a little as I tried to swallow the first spicy spoonful, but managed to do so without drawing any attention to myself. Although it was spicy, it was soooo good! The shelled peanuts really complimented the soup and helped to counteract its spice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Before long, our dinner was served. A basket of rice was brought out, along with 2 small bowls of a green vegetable (it appeared to be kanko) and a platter of fried calamari (I don’t mind calamari if it’s fried)! It looked good, but I had my doubts as to whether this would really be enough food to satisfy all 4 of us. I should have known the sisters didn’t order just 1 dish to share…they ordered 3! Promptly, two more dishes were brought out. One platter contained two very large, grilled red snapper fish, and the other platter had spicy jumbo prawns! I was so excited! Now I wondered how we would EVER manage to eat all of the food in front of us! Pineapple, melon and watermelon slices were served for dessert! Everything was absolutely delicious…Yum!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As we dined, we were treated to a spectacular sunset. At nightfall, bright fireworks shot off from nearby and flickered over the ocean before fading into the darkness. It was a perfect ending to a perfect day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">All too soon, we had eaten EVERYTHING on the table! Thoroughly stuffed, we waddled back to the car and headed to the convent. I couldn’t believe my time in Bali was already over! At least it had been a wonderful day</span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">! </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-46745600273372800912011-01-09T03:11:00.000-08:002011-01-09T03:11:01.114-08:00DILI-gence<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Happy (belated) New Year! January is here, which means the students and orphans have returned to Venilale and classes begin on Monday. I couldn’t be more excited to greet them-there’s only one problem…I’m not IN Venilale right now. Yes, once again, things here have NOT gone as I would have planned or anticipated. I was told late Tuesday evening that I would have to leave by mikrolet early Wednesday morning for a Visa interview in Dili (a 6 hour bus ride). I was summoned to Dili for a pointless Visa interview last month (it consisted of 2 questions: Where are you staying and what are you doing? Both of these questions were answered by the sister who accompanied me), so I was not too excited about returning again-especially since the orphans would be returning to Venilale on the same day I was leaving the village.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">To make a long story short, at my meeting I was told I need to go to Bali for at least 1 day to complete the extended Visa application process. I cannot get any answers from anyone as to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why</i> this is, which has left me feeling more confused and isolated than ever. The good news is that I will be able to travel with a sister from Dili to Bali on January 14. The bad news is I will return on January 15. If I have to travel to another country, I wish I could at least explore it a little. Unfortunately, I must remain in Dili until my departure for Bali on Friday. I know it’s not the end of the world, but after waiting a month and a half for the students and orphans to return from vacation, I was eagerly anticipating their arrival this past week. This also means that I will miss my first week of teaching English at the high school. Interestingly, there is also a 23 year old Australian nurse named Caroline who is volunteering for 3 weeks in Venilale. I got to spend 1 week with her before I was unexpectedly called to Dili. It was very, very nice being able to speak English with someone, and I am disappointed that I can’t spend more time with her, too.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">I’m sorry if this blog seems a little less upbeat than some of my other ones, but isn’t the purpose of a blog to share the GOOD and the BAD things that happen? Plus, often you can learn much more from bad experiences than from pleasant ones. Throughout my mission experience I have been praying for patience, obedience and trust in the Lord. My long stay here in Dili seems like the perfect time to practice these principles. At the beginning of my mission trip, I stated that I didn’t know why I was being sent to East Timor. I find my thoughts returning to a similar statement-why am I being forced to stay in Dili? This time, though, I am okay with not knowing the answer. I trust that God has a reason for my stay here. I might not feel very useful, and I certainly don’t feel like I need a break (on the contrary, I am ready and eager to start a new school year), but I am letting go of this need for answers and understanding and instead choosing to trust God and believe He knows what He is doing. He doesn’t ask for our input. He only asks for our willingness to follow Him. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">So, while I still feel confused, I have also discovered a newfound sense of peace and contentment. Yes, I wish I was in Venilale, but I know everything is going to be okay. God’s in control, not me. My past 4 months here have shown me that God really does know what He’s doing. Even if I don’t understand His plan, I can trust it. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to hurt you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">So what exactly have I been doing here in Dili?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Praying, drying dishes, sweeping floors, walking around the convent, sleeping and journaling mainly.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Things here in Dili have been very slow, but I have been trying to make the most of this relaxing time before things really pick up on my return to Venilale. I am trying to make lemonade out of lemons. When I was summoned to Dili, I assumed it would be an overnight trip (as my past 3 trips here have been). I asked a few sisters how long I would be staying, but none of them knew or could give me a definitive answer. To be safe, I brought along 3 shirts, but only 1 pair of jean capris and 1 pair of blue flip flops. If I had known I would be staying longer, I would have brought exercise clothes, a skirt for Sunday mass, a comb and hair gel(I only brought a brush), a book to read or study, etc. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Fortunately, I got the chance to go to a supermarket the other day. I was looking for a skirt to wear to Sunday mass and athletic shorts (neither of which I really expected to find there), and maybe a snack or two to satisfy my sweet tooth. I was so excited to get the chance to shop in a “real” store again! I walked through every single aisle, slowly browsing over the various items for sale. I was shocked to see the prices of everything here-it was all so expensive! Generally goods here in East Timor are very cheap, but here at this store (where mostly Caucasian ambassadors and diplomats were shopping), all the prices were ridiculous! A knock-off brand of Raisin Bran cereal was $12! One of my favorites, Rice Krispies, was $9. A box of cake mix was $3, a can of Seaweed flavored Pringles was $2.50, a 12 pack of Extra gum was $2.50, chocolate bars ranged from $3.50-$5, a very small bottle of shampoo was $5, a small bottle of peanut butter was $7, and small bags of gummi candies were $3. I’ll admit, I have REALLY been craving gummi candies in my 4 months here, so I begrudgingly paid the hefty sum to get my hands on a bag of some racing car-shaped gummis. They were definitely worth the money-they were delicious!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">I had fun shopping around, but I still had not found a skirt to wear to church the next day or athletic shorts to walk/lounge in. As I exited the store, I saw some huts across the street, so I headed over there. At the first hut I stopped in, the clothes for sale were heaped in huge, messy piles on tables. They also had a distinct, musty smell to them. I didn’t stay very long. After browsing through a few a huts, I came upon a place that had some nice looking ladies blouses. Upon closer inspection, I found a rack of skirts and shorts. I saw a cute just-below-the knee dark gray denim skirt that said size M. The size description was clearly not very helpful in determining if it would fit. As you can imagine, in this hut that didn’t have walls, there were certainly no dressing rooms. There was no way I could chance trying the skirt on right there in the hut. Everyone was staring at the “malae”. I wasn’t sure if the skirt would fit, but it was the best thing I had seen all day and I was feeling adventurous. I bought it anyway-I was elated to hear it was only $3! What a find! I also bought some gray athletic shorts with pink trim. They were pretty ratty looking, and probably weren’t worth the $2 I paid for them, but all in all, I think paying $5 for 2 articles of clothing is a pretty good deal!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">I don’t know how long I will be in Bali (it looks like it will just be an overnight trip), but I will make sure to post all about my exciting adventures next week! <o:p></o:p></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-53210015384136315212010-12-27T02:17:00.000-08:002010-12-27T02:17:08.591-08:00Christmas!Please read Christmas Eve post first for continuity....<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">I attended 8 a.m. Christmas mass with the sisters this morning. For some reason I didn’t expect it to be crowded, but, just like last night, the place was packed! Today, however, the whole service was just an hour and a half long. I guess to make up for the fact that mass started 10 minutes early last night, mass started 20 minutes late this morning. The opening song was to the tune of “Oh Christmas Tree”. Surely they weren’t singing about a Christmas tree for the opening song of Christmas mass! They also sang Joy to the World and Gloria In Excelsis Deo, which I enjoyed hearing again. Interestingly, the light display that lit up the nativity scene in the back of the church played music that could not be turned off, so for the entire duration of the mass the congregation was serenaded to the tune of “Silent Night” playing over and over again.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Father Manuel’s homily was long-as usual-but apparently it was very good. I asked Sr. Brigida what he had said later during snack time. He referred to examples in the Bible of God showing his awesome power. Nothing is impossible for God! He also described our heart as having a door on it with no handle. This means that God can’t simply come into our hearts, we have to open the door and invite Him in. He urged us to invite the Lord into our hearts this Christmas. I was happy to note that I had already done that! She said he also told a story about some people who saw Jesus. They asked Him what gift He had brought for them. He opened his arms and said, “Me!”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After mass I decided to walk around Venilale and take pictures of the precipios. In East Timor, families do not decorate their houses with light displays. However, many families get together to build an elaborate nativity scene called a precipio. The precipio often includes a stable, the Holy Family, signs wishing passersby a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, and lights that are illuminated at night to make it really shine! Families place a stereo inside the precipio and gather to eat, drink and be merry all week leading up to Christmas! Each precipio is different, but all are unique and beautiful! I found 9 on my walk on Christmas Day! <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I thoroughly enjoyed my Christmas walk around the village of Venilale. I greeted everyone with warm wishes, and most people cheerfully returned my friendly greeting. Several kids joined me on different segments of my walk. They were fascinated by me, a malae. Their boisterous, happy, carefree nature and laughter was contagious and really put a sparkle in my already fantastic week. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lunch was absolutely delicious! I entered the dining room 5 minutes early to help set up. Plate after delicious plate was dispensed from the kitchen. After each plate came out, I was sure that was all that would be served, but there was a very long line of dishes to be eaten! There was grilled chicken, pork in a spicy sauce (reminded me of Indian food I have tasted), fried calamari, a mayo/corn/peas/beans mix, spaghetti with cheese sauce, kankun, eggplant parmesan, and white rice, of course! I had a little of everything except the last 3 things.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I joined the sisters at the convent down the hill for afternoon prayer and dinner. We had a nice time together and I really enjoyed their company. After dinner we watched Christmas Day mass at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome on tv. I watched in awe as I remembered with fondness my visit there just 1 year ago! I couldn’t believe I had been there! As the camera panned out to show the interior, I was blown away by its beauty. I had actually seen that in person?! Wow, just incredible. Again, I was mystified by God’s goodness. Last year I was in Rome and had no idea where I would be a year from then. Now, here I am in East Timor. I still feel as if I must be dreaming!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I would like to close this post by listing a few similarities and differences in the Christmas celebrations here in East Timor.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have already noted my favorite East Timor celebration-the building of precipios! I even spotted a precipio right in front of the police station! Unfortunately, this would NEVER happen in 21<sup>st</sup> century America!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 1.5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Yes, I am living in a community with sisters, so my viewpoint is a little biased, but there seems to be a very strong emphasis on the true reason for the Christmas season here in East Timor. Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas, is a very special and meaningful time of prayer and preparation for Jesus’ coming commemorated in the Catholic church. East Timorians take this season very seriously and several events are offered to help spiritually prepare oneself for Christmas Day. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: 1.5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">a.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Novenas-In the last 9 days leading up to Christmas, novena prayer services are held in churches throughout the country. These are half an hour in length and include singing, prayer and a short Bible reading with a reflection on the passage by the priest. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: 1.5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">b.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Retreats-the Salesian sisters hold half-day retreats at churches in nearby villages. These retreats can include lectures and discussions on various topics. One discussion was about how increasing globalization has changed the meaning of Christmas here in East Timor. The retreats end with a mass and confession. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: 1.5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">c.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Christmas Eve and Christmas day mass-growing up, I only remember attending 1 or the other. Yes, people attend both in the U.S., but I don’t believe it is very common. Here, it is expected to attend both masses. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: 1.5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">d.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->At the church in Venilale there was only one Christmas Eve mass, but I am sure this varies depending on the size of the church. A new tradition at Christmas Eve mass for me was kissing baby Jesus!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 1.5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Presents may be exchanged among family members and special friends, but it is not really expected or very common. One of the sisters shared with me that children will give their godparents a special gift. Common gifts include exchanging livestock and crops. The Salesian communities exchanged baked goods with each other. Interestingly, taking family day trips to different cities in East Timor are becoming a popular Christmas traditiion. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 1.5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Interestingly, I saw wooden cutouts of Santa Claus’s alongside some of the precipios. People know who he is, but do not grow up believing he comes to their homes and brings them gifts. He seems to be just another decoration. The other day as I rode through Baucau I saw a man carrying a baby wearing a Santa hat! So cute!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 1.5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->East Timorians put up decorations just a few days before Christmas. I know this varies from family to family in the United States, but growing up, my family always put out Christmas decorations right after Thanksgiving so we could enjoy seeing them for the whole month leading up to Christmas. Here, no one puts up any decorations until Christmas week! I didn’t see many decorations or Christmas paraphernalia for sale at the local market, but I did see a few strands of Christmas lights. Almost every home has a small (artificial) Christmas tree.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Whew, sorry for such long posts, but I wanted to give you all a glimpse of how truly blessed and special my Christmas was! I pray that you all had wonderful celebrations with dear family and friends as well! You were (and still are) in my prayers!<o:p></o:p></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-6671910084961515562010-12-27T01:46:00.000-08:002010-12-27T01:46:05.728-08:00Christmas Eve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPACduJ1R6e_BRiM3enUdD30qFpAf6jgYcp1eUVlqXLTdAGZ3f4cjVNAe1Da25FWYrafH-oV6ONB581tdBMiIwf81wr47nBMxyQiefZZUeAagdLzDfLJs2uV5IX3ThMC9T-QCEgWxkpbw/s1600/Christmas+050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPACduJ1R6e_BRiM3enUdD30qFpAf6jgYcp1eUVlqXLTdAGZ3f4cjVNAe1Da25FWYrafH-oV6ONB581tdBMiIwf81wr47nBMxyQiefZZUeAagdLzDfLJs2uV5IX3ThMC9T-QCEgWxkpbw/s320/Christmas+050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;">I started off my Christmas Eve day with a run up to my Psalm 23 spot. I brought my iPod along and listened to music the whole way. The sunrise over the mountain was the most magnificent I have seen in my 3 months here in East Timor. The morning had dawned warm, bright and beautiful! I laughed when “Let it Snow” came on my iPod. I changed the words to “Let it Shine”, which seemed much more appropriate. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;">Most of the day was spent working alongside sisters, orphans and parishioners helping to decorate the church for the Christmas services that evening and the next morning. The decorations were simple, but everyone took time and effort to make the church look its very best.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;">A long red carpet spanned the length of the entire center aisle of the church and completely covered the altar. Beautiful, fragrant pink, yellow and white flowers had been brought in from gardens around the Venilale area to make flower arrangements for the altar. I was told these flowers are unique to this area, and they were truly beautiful and unlike any I had ever seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large banner was hung behind the altar that read “Jesus is born today”.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sr. Dolores and I went around the inner perimeter of the church and hung up impromptu “flower pots” made out of tall plastic water bottles out of which a hole had been cut. I wasn’t sure how these water bottle planters would turn out, but they actually looked very nice once the flowers were added. You would have had to look very closely to see the water bottle planter holding the arrangement in place. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While we decorated, a priest and several altar servers practiced their entrance procession and reviewed their roles for the mass. The choir was also practicing, and it was a real treat to hear some Christmas songs I recognized, including an Alleluia chorus, Go Tell it on the Mountain, and Joy to the World! <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;">I was REALLY starting to feel in the Christmas spirit! These preparations for Christmas mass seemed so similar to the preparations back home! It was so neat to see that even in East Timor, people go to great strides and effort to make the church look special for Christmas. Why? Because it is a VERY BIG DEAL! I was far from home, but the meaning of the season is still the same. God is just as much with me here as he is back in Texas. In fact, I feel that in many ways I can better experience Him here without the distractions I face at home! I didn’t feel so homesick after all. I felt…joyful!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 338.95pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At one point, I was sitting beside jovial and always upbeat Sr. Noemia as she prepared bows. She leaned towards me and softly said, “When there are a lot of people around, I feel very shy” in Tetum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was very surprised to hear this. Sr. Noemia? She is always so positive, upbeat, outgoing and energetic. I never would have guessed she was so shy! She asked me if I “hanoin familia” –do you miss/are you thinking of your family?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like this is a trick question. If you say no, people think you are insensitive. If you say yes, people feel badly for you. I said yes<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(which was the truth) anyway. She confided that she missed hers, too. She just transferred to the Venilale convent from Dili last week, so I can understand why she might be feeling a little out of place. It had never occurred to me before this conversation that she might be feeling this way, though. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t alone in missing my family. I admit that I often forget how “human” sisters are. Surely they don’t suffer through some of the same emotions, feelings, problems and concerns that I do, right? Wrong. As it turns out, although sisters live a consecreated life, they aren’t that different from you and me after all!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lunch was less than appetizing-2 vegetables that I have tried but do not like were being served, along with fried sardines and the staple white rice. For some reason, this drab meal really put a damper on my spirits. I imagined the honey baked ham, lasagna, ravioli, steak, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffed shells and other delicious items I would be eating if I was at home. I prayed that God would open my eyes to see how blessed I was-at least I had food to eat, which is more than many people here in East Timor and around the world can say. I felt so guilty for feeling the way I did, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. I missed home! <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">On the plus side, the “dessert” was good. I tried passion fruit for the first time! I watched as Sr. Dolores cut hers in half, squeezed the two halves into a glass (including the black seeds), added water and sugar, and drank it. She encouraged me to try it myself. I was apprehensive, but figured I would give it a shot. It was actually very sweet and delicious! Sr. D then proceeded to eat the white inner “rind” of the passion fruit. She said it was good for your stomach. I tasted it. It was kind of bitter. I am sure it has fiber, so by “good for your stomach” the sisters probably mean it “clears you out”. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a long day of working in the church and a less-than-appetizing lunch, I was hoping delicious food would be served for dinner. “Santa” didn’t come early- we had a pretty bland meal-fried artificial crab leg meat, white rice and some kind of diced carrot and cabbage veggie mix. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sr. Olga informed me during dinner that mass was at 10 p.m., but you would need to be there by 8:30 to get a seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I squeeze in pretty easily somewhere if I arrived later than that, but I showed up at the time she suggested to pray, reflect and get the whole “Christmas eve mass experience.” The church was almost empty when I arrived, but I didn’t mind getting there early. The electric organ played upbeat songs to entertain the congregation before the mass began.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Despite the weather having turned cooler, foggier and rainier this evening, by the time mass started the church was packed! As I looked around the church I saw unfamiliar, brown faces. That’s when it really struck me. God did not come just to save Americans, Caucasians, people in my church or the United States. He came to give hope and to be the Savior of the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>whole</u></b> world! It was incredible to think that we here in East Timor were some of the first to celebrate the Christmas Eve mass around the world. It was more incredible to think that millions of people will be attending church services just like this one (in different tongues, different places, different times, different weather, different circumstances) in recognition, honor, and celebration of a tiny event that happened more than 2000 years ago. Jesus came into the world. Not just for ME, but for that man sitting in the choir, for the teenage girl in front of me, for the shepherd I met the other day on my run, for ALL of us! He gave us ALL a hope and a future! Why a manger? Because he wanted to come to OUR level, to meet us where we are.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I may have been the only Caucasian and the only person who couldn’t understand the mass, but I felt like I belonged. I was a fellow Christian, a fellow person rejoicing in Christ Our Savior being born! I wasn’t alone, I was in community with millions of Christians all over the world today and this week! I may not be with my family or participating in the usual traditions, but the real reason for the season hasn’t changed. I am still celebrating the same event. Jesus came into the world, and he is Universal. He is with me here in East Timor, in Texas or wherever I may go! God is a good God!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 411.6pt;">The door behind the choir was open, bringing a cool and refreshing breeze into the church. Unfortunately, this also swept the blanket off of the tiny baby Jesus doll on the altar by the lectionary. One of the orphan girls got up from where she was sitting on the left wing of the church and promptly placed the sheet back over Jesus. After returning to her seat, the next gust of wind blew the cloth right back off again! A small, but audible chuckle resounded through the church. Poor baby Jesus! Isn’t it bad enough he didn’t have a crib for a bed? Now he didn’t even have a blanket to keep him warm!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An elderly lady came up a few minutes later, folded the cloth in half to make it heavier, then laid it across Jesus. Problem solved.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 411.6pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 411.6pt;">To my surprise, we began mass at 9:50-10 minutes early. The mass seemed to go by quickly, although it ended up being just under 2 hours long. I had read the mass readings beforehand so I would have a better idea of what was being said. I was glad I had done this. The Gospel reading was from Luke and told the birth story of Jesus. I was able to follow along pretty well as the priest read it. Although I knew the story, I found that I felt a sort of joy and sense of wonder as I heard it, as if I was listening to it for the first time. Again I was reminded of how great God’s reign is. Every year I have attended mass I have heard this story in English. This year I was attending mass in a country where just about 1 million people speak the Tetum language. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 411.6pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 411.6pt;">Regardless, they were all Christians, read the same Bible and believe the same things. It is just so awesome to share a common belief, hope and joy with millions of people all over the world! I hadn’t even heard of East Timor at this time last Christmas. Now I was fully immersed in a mass here! I was hearing the good news of Jesus’ birth in the gospel. Jesus transcends time, place and language. There is no barrier He can’t cross!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 411.6pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Although I have heard this story dozens of times, I was captivated as I listened to the priest. I listened in wonder and awe, as if this was the first time I had heard the good news of salvation. I felt like the whole church was holding its breath! Suddenly, a cell phone rang! I was shocked and a little angry! The breathless church breathed a sigh of frustration. I wondered how many people in this whole congregation even HAD phones? What was the chance of one going off literally right before the birth of Jesus was announced? Still, I quickly put this annoyance aside and listened in reverent awe to the rest of the story. Awesome, as always.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The choir sang beautifully throughout the entire mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After communion they sang “O Holy Night” in English! At this point in the mass, I had tears in my eyes. I didn’t know if it was because I was thinking of my family or because I felt overwhelmingly happy and peaceful. I had just finished praying, and stood up with the other sisters. The rows in front of us were still kneeling, so I got a very clear view of the choir and of the priest. When they started singing “O Holy Night” in English, I got chills! I felt as if God was speaking right to me, as if this was a gift to welcome and accept me here in Venilale, East Timor! I proudly and strongly sang along, not afraid of sounding off key. Sister Teresa asked me to please find the words in my songbook so she could sing along in English, too! I felt sooo happy! I felt like I belonged! I felt blessed!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At the end of mass, Father said the final blessing and thanked everyone who had helped to prepare for the mass this evening. A bat suddenly swooped in from somewhere in the back of the church and flew just above the congregation’s head. It zigged and zagged to and fro. I couldn’t believe that no one screamed or even flinched! I saw a couple of altar servers try to shoo it away, but there was no big commotion. These people are fearless! The bat actually ended up perching on the window right beside me just over my head! I was creeped out, but also fascinated. I got a good chance to see what a LIVE (as opposed to the dead bat the girls at the orphanage had shown me last month) bat looked like up close! <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I thought the mass was over at this point. I thought wrong! The entire congregation then lined up to kiss the baby Jesus doll that had been prominently displayed on the altar. Apparently this is a Portuguese tradition. Two lines formed, and I soon discovered there were two baby Jesus dolls-one was Caucasian, and the other had brown skin. You couldn’t tell which color baby Jesus you would kiss until it was your turn in the line, but it seemed funny to me nonetheless. I was happy that I ended up in the line to kiss the brown baby Jesus-I didn’t want to appear racist.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I felt awkward and unsure as I approached the doll. I couldn’t see where everyone in front of me was kissing it. Was there a designated spot?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike when I kissed the Blarney Stone last year in Ireland, there was no wet spot from the accumulation of other people’s spit that indicated where I should kiss it. When it came my turn, I saw that Jesus’ knee was bent and jutting out, so I kissed that. I think that was the right place to kiss Him. I felt awkward but relieved to be done, and proceeded back to my seat. When everyone had finished, the priest and the altars servers proceeded out of the church and the congregation followed. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To my surprise, after the service ended, the sisters all we all gathered together and we headed to the dining room! The cheerful sound of Christmas music playing from a stereo greeted us as we entered the room! There were presents brightly wrapped in red paper under the tree, and table was beautifully set with cheerful yellow placemats with a picture of a bouquet of yellow roses on it. The napkins were elegantly folded at each place setting.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We all greeted each other with a cheerful “Boafesta!” and hug. Then Sister Olga encouraged us to find our present under the tree and open it. The sisters all received Tetum faith books (they looked interesting, maybe I could borrow one and try to read through it) and I received a lovely pink, navy blue and gold patterned tais purse! The sisters are so kind to me in letting me live and eat with them-I really didn’t need anything. Still, this was SO generous and sweet of them!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After we opened presents, we sat down to feast! The table was set with dark chocolate cookies, fruit cake, a white frosted cake with raisins on top, and a bowl of oranges and apples. The beverage selection included a sweet wine from Portugal (I tried a little, but of course, I didn’t like it. I’m glad I didn’t take too much!), milk, Energen chocolate or vanilla packets (these are sort of like hot chocolate, but not as smooth or sweet), packets of cappuccino, Tiger beer, apple or grapefruit juice. Although everything tasted delicious, I was surprised to discover that my favorite thing was the fruit cake! I had never actually tried one before. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Christmas song, “We’re simply having a wonderful Christmas time!” came on. At that moment I just felt soooo happy and joyful. Yes, I WAS having a wonderful Christmas!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had looked forward to experiencing an East Timor Christmas, but I never imagined I would actually enjoy it. It was so cool to hear a familiar song in a new setting and not feel a twinge of longing or regret, of missing home. No, instead I was joyful. I was having a very wonderful Christmas time! Surely this song was referring to this exact moment that I was sharing with all the sisters. I could have sat at that table all night, just soaking in the joy and happiness I felt. There is nowhere else I wanted to be at that moment. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and before I knew it we were clearing the table. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was serenaded by festive Christmas music playing from somewhere up the hill as I headed back to my room that night. It wasn’t hard to count my blessings before I turned on my iPod and listened to more Christmas music as I drifted off to sleep…<o:p></o:p></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-23400993833900076782010-12-20T05:20:00.000-08:002010-12-20T05:20:48.729-08:00Psalm 23 Place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-ZtkFIhFqs-b0KIyjwNB00OQYoo5OUld3e6Uvc8Ntg08SSzP32BF7ac28aHZTvGT-KKxto0CDMlngJO236jpBQ716sfNEafPijOZZc-qDsHnZgMZW79BNIfbhONjWU-Tk80X6GIoaBI/s1600/Psalm+23+025+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-ZtkFIhFqs-b0KIyjwNB00OQYoo5OUld3e6Uvc8Ntg08SSzP32BF7ac28aHZTvGT-KKxto0CDMlngJO236jpBQ716sfNEafPijOZZc-qDsHnZgMZW79BNIfbhONjWU-Tk80X6GIoaBI/s1600/Psalm+23+025+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">A few weeks ago, while out on one of my morning runs, I found the most beautiful, peaceful spot I have ever encountered. I have dubbed it my “Psalm 23 Spot” because it looks just like I have always pictured the scenery mentioned in that psalm. <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The spot is located at the top of a very long, windy hill with a rocky path lined by tall trees. I had trekked up part of the hill on previous runs, but I had never had the time, energy or nerve to continue further. On a day when I was feeling particularly adventurous, I finally reached the summit. It took 30 minutes running at a quick pace to reach it, but it was well worth the effort. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As I neared the “summit”, I could see more and more sunlight around each twist and turn along the path. I kept telling myself that I would stop at the next turn, then the next turn, then the next turn, until finally I stepped into the glorious morning sunlight. The very first thing I saw was a wooden cross with a majestic mountain behind it. There were clouds surrounding the mountain, giving the rising sun that was shining through a mystical glow. It was beautiful! As I approached the cross, I could see there was a cemetery behind it filled with old, pastel-colored graves.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I continued walking another minute or so, and suddenly I had the most exquisite view of the valley and rice fields below, with towering mountains beyond that. I thought I must have reached Heaven! I’m sure I heard God whisper to me, “If you think this is AMAZING, just wait!” I have never in my life seen such a stunning view! Ahead of me I saw horses and sheep grazing on the hillside. Below, along the winding path, I could see people walking up (and eventually into town). I wondered if these people, who see this incredible view every day appreciate it as much as someone who is seeing it for the first time. Can you ever really appreciate something you have always had and known?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I will never be able to describe it justly, but I pray that I can always remember it! As you can see from the photo I have included, I tried to take a picture to capture its beauty, but I am afraid no picture will ever do it justice. The glory, magnitude and sheer beauty of this place cannot be captured in a picture from a digital camera. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This past Saturday morning I decided to head up to my Psalm 23 spot and quietly reflect and pray for a while. I had a lot on my mind and wanted to sit down and try to work through some of these things. I found a fantastic spot with a great view. I sat down on a smooth rock in the glorious sunlight beside a babbling brook winding downhill. Everything seemed so peaceful, perfect and quiet. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My solitude was swiftly interrupted by the sound of laughter. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two little boys, about 8 and 4 years old, standing roughly 20 feet away from me. Their mouths were open in wonder, and they were just <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gazing at me. Bliss interrupted. I shouted out a friendly, “Bondia!” and was greeted by more awed silence. I tried not to pay attention to them. I figured that after my novelty wore off, they would run off and play by themselves. I closed my eyes to try to focus and to make myself even less interesting to them. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">No such luck. Once again, the silence was broken by their laughter. I soon discovered that they were playing a game in which the older boy would push the younger boy closer and closer to me, while the younger boy would try to resist. Within a few minutes, we were within a few feet of each other. My peaceful ponderings were NOT going according to plan. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">How could I relax, meditate and sort through my problems with kids laughing in the background? I soon realized how ridiculous this question sounded. I recalled Jesus saying, <span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;">“<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Let</span></span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;">the little</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">children</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">come</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;">to</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">me</span><span style="color: black;">, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these (Matthew 19: 13-15). He also said, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">child</span><span style="color: black;">ren, you will never</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">enter </span><span style="color: black;">the</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">kingdom</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;">of heaven.</span>” (Matthew 18:3). </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These kids weren’t a nuisance, they were a solution! I believe God sent them to remind me to just relax-some things don’t need to probed, pondered and figured out. We just need to have faith like a child! Kids have tons of questions, but they are also perfectly content to just BELIEVE, embrace and accept what you teach them. They don’t need to have all the answers to believe in something. They just do. I may have lots of questions and concerns, but when it comes down to it, all I need to do is let go and let God. God is in control. He just wants me to relax, trust Him and ENJOY life (like these kids). <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Yes, sometimes we just need faith like a child. These kids are living in extreme poverty, yet I bet they don’t worry about what they will be eating at their next meal. They are carefree and are enjoying my presence. Whatever problem I am dealing with can’t be as extreme or severe as malnutrition. If the good Lord is providing for their needs, surely He is taking care of me, too. The very first line of Psalm 23 says , “The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I pray that the Lord’s peace be with all of you this Christmas season. May you recognize God’s love, goodness and beauty in yourself, in others and in your surroundings. May you find rest, safety, strength, and courage in the New Year. Finally, may you be daily reminded, “The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want. My cup overflows.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Psalm 23<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In green pastures you let me graze;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">To safe waters you lead me;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">You restore my strength.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">You guide me along the right path for the sake of your name.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Even when I walk through a dark valley, I fear no harm for you are at my side; <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Your rod and staff give me courage.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">You set a table before me as my enemies watch;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">You anoint my head with oil;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My cup overflows. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Only goodness and love will pursue me all the days of my life;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I will dwell in the house of the Lord for years to come. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-47400005090248719752010-12-17T02:46:00.000-08:002010-12-17T02:46:13.953-08:00The 12 Days of Christmas…East Timor Style!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 2;"><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On a typical day in Venilale this is what you’d see…. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 2;"><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">12 Billion stars</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">11 Malaria patients</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">10 Dozen laughing orphans</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">9 Pre-aspirants dancing</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">8 Men with machetes</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">7 Nuns a praying</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6 Hours of power</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5 Oinking pigs</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4 Hours to a real town</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3 Mikrolets</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2 Geckos in my room</span></b><b><span style="color: #336699; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And a malae in a foreign country (that’s ME)!!</span></b><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 2;"><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 2;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Hope everyone is having a safe and fun holiday season! Thank you for your continued prayers and support! I thank God for you and pray for you every day!</span></span></b></div></span>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-27578703398048908952010-12-08T03:17:00.000-08:002010-12-08T03:17:10.368-08:00Feast of the Immaculate Conception<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #555555; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today (December 8) is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. This is a national holiday in East Timor that is celebrated with a mass in the morning and, as the name implies, <i>feasting </i>(at least we feasted at the convent) on delicious food at lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #555555; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In honor of this special day, I have included a short devotional I found online about Mary, the Mother of God. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">“What would happen if one morning, during the middle of your daily routine, an angel appeared and told you that God had a plan that would completely change your life? How would you respond? This is exactly what happened to Mary, the Mother of God. Luke’s gospel narrative tells of how the angel Gabriel appears to Mary and proclaims,</span></span><em><span style="border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-color: windowtext; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: windowtext; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: windowtext; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; font-size: 12pt; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"> “You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”</span></span></em><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Let’s consider Mary’s situation when confronted with the news that she would bear God’s Son through the virgin birth. What might this mean to her? Mary was probably about 16, perhaps even younger. She becomes pregnant. Given the societal mores of the time, she could have fully expected that she would be disgraced, that her fiancee Joseph (who knew<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">he</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>wasn’t the father) would abandon her, and that she would probably never marry. It’s also important to understand that Jewish society in the first century took a real hard line on “blasphemy,” as later accounts of Jesus’ ministry and death make clear. A young, single woman claiming that God had made her pregnant would have encountered trouble.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">We can try to imagine ourselves in Mary’s shoes, but I don’t expect we can ever really grasp the enormity of her situation. Mary must have known there could be problems. But rather than focusing on the size of her problems, she chose to trust in the size of her God. “I am the Lord’s servant,” she replies. “May it be to me as you have said.”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Mary offers one of the most powerful examples of a person submitting to God's will, surrendering self and setting aside fears about the future. It is a response that ultimately has little to do with Mary’s age, gender or marital status. Mary’s example of a life yielded to God’s purpose speaks powerfully to us even today, more than 2,000 years later. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">God touches our lives often, in ways we almost never expect. While we may feel confused by His plan, we must aspire to Mary’s faith. We need to try, as best we can, to be the Lord’s servants, entrusting ourselves to His care as we walk through each new day in His world.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #555555;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I love Mary’s response to the angel Gabriel. She doesn’t argue with him or complain, as I fear I probably would. My response might be something along the lines of, “Wow, that’s certainly a nice offer, but not really what I had planned for my life. I was just hoping to get married, settle down, have kids and live a nice, quiet life here in this little town.” On the contrary, Mary is willing to give up her own hopes and dreams for the future so she can fully serve the Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What a fantastic example for all of us! Personally, I feel like I can relate Mary’s experience to my call to serve as a missionary in East Timor. I have always wanted to serve as a missionary, and when I was presented with the opportunity to serve in this country, I was excited, but uncertain. The truth is, I had always pictured my missionary experience a little differently. I imagined serving:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Later in my life (after I became a doctor)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For a shorter stint of time<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In a country that spoke Spanish or English<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alongside my husband or other English speaking colleagues</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">God’s plan for me to serve as a missionary in East Timor didn’t fit any of these preconceived notions that I had formulated. Thus I was hesitant to accept this invitation to serve in this country at this time. Mary had to worry about abandonment by her fiancee and even family, public disgrace and humiliation, and uncertainty about what the rest of her life would bring. My trepidations paled in comparison to hers. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">I may not have been as eager or willing as Mary to accept God’s call, but I am glad I said “yes”. I have come to discover(as I am sure Mary did and countless other Christians have) that making the choice to serve God isn’t always easy, but it is definitely worth it. I pray that I can look to Mary as an example of perfect Christian service in all my future decisions. God is in control. Let it be done to me according to HIS word.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Happy Feast Day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-21378152412720475812010-12-04T02:11:00.000-08:002010-12-04T02:11:21.288-08:00Babes (and bugs) in Toyland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSZueZIROPtG4JfDr_DI2u4EomQw8yh20PetSumQKhtbOSeJGKAtYbeE3d2OAv_c0nZObgMRxRnllx7f_IRC0pdeHYPuFShis2FjqwnBpI2TwcIsl8XMEpsM7G_-HnIlXZaLR_aNfBxU/s1600/V+Birthdays+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSZueZIROPtG4JfDr_DI2u4EomQw8yh20PetSumQKhtbOSeJGKAtYbeE3d2OAv_c0nZObgMRxRnllx7f_IRC0pdeHYPuFShis2FjqwnBpI2TwcIsl8XMEpsM7G_-HnIlXZaLR_aNfBxU/s320/V+Birthdays+006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">On Saturday afternoons I open a large toy room in the Escola do Reino for the village children to come and play. I see these children during the week, and we exchange friendly greetings, but this is really the only time that I get to spend time and play games with them. The school was built in 1933 and is no longer in use. It is pretty much just a large storage building that houses the toy room and about a dozen old computers that don’t work. Fun fact: If you GoogleEarth Venilale, East Timor, this is one of the only 2 buildings in the village you can see a picture of online. I know you are pressed for time, so I have included a picture I took of the school for your convenience. Consider it an early Christmas present :P<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Konde is the “keeper of the keys” that unlock the school and the toy room. He is also responsible for turning on the water and electricity at 6 p.m. every evening for the seminary, school and convents. He is not the most responsible man, and the electricity is rarely ever turned on at the correct time. Although he lives in a small hut behind the school, he is rarely there and is a very difficult man to find. He is nice enough to me, but I have heard rumors that he likes to bet, so on the weekends he is often at cock fights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One weekend I was unable to open the toy room because he was out betting. That was difficult to explain to the children: “Sorry kids, I can’t open the toy room for you this week. The man with<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the keys is out betting on cockfights. Better luck next week.” No, that’s not what I said. I just told them I was unable to find Konde so I couldn’t open the room. The looks of disappointment on their faces were almost unbearable. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;">Today I was able to find him without too much difficulty. Unfortunately, I had more trouble than usual opening the toy room, though. I entered through the back door, but the front door wa<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">s deadbolted shut. For whatever reason, the deadbolt was stuck, and I couldn’t budge it! I tried using my hand, the base of my umbrella, and finally a tin can to move it. The children were peering in through the windows, and could see that I couldn’t open the door. I had never had trouble before. They were all standing there so excitedly and expectantly, and I felt so embarrassed! Why couldn’t I open the door? Thankfully, I eventually did get the door open, and</span> the large group of kids rushed in. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;">I noticed that one boy remained on the porch, crying and jumping around. What was he doing? Was he joking around or was he hurt? He wouldn’t stop moving long enough for me to evaluate what was wrong with him at first. I finally saw that his toe was red, but it didn’t look like blood, it looked like someone had drawn on his toe with a red marker. As I looked more carefully I saw that it was, in fact, blood. But what had he done? Was he in need of help? The clinic isn’t open on Saturdays, I didn’t have any band-aids or other medical supplies with me, and no one else was around to help me. What to do?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;">As grace would have it, I looked up from my position on the porch and saw 2 nuns walking towards me (but heading to the orphanage). These nuns were visiting from another convent, and I didn’t know their names. I waved at them, and they waved back. Then I motioned for them to come to the porch. I ran out to meet them and explained the problem as best as I could in my broken Tetum. One offered to help and followed along behind me. She was able to ask the little boy what had happened. Apparently one of the other kids had opened a door and the boy’s toe got caught under it. She offered to take him to the convent to get Sr. Carolina (a nurse), but he didn’t want to go. He was starting to calm down and the situation was now under control. I thanked Sister for her help and she left. I was glad this boy wasn’t seriously hurt and that, while I wasn’t able to provide medical assistance to him, I was able to handle the situation effectively. Although the boy was fine, he didn’t stick around to play. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">The kids are always so excited for me to open the toy room. Numerous children throughout the week approach me and ask me when and if I will be opening it again. I open the room every Saturday, so I am not sure why they ask me this, but I enjoy talking with them, so I don’t mind. I am glad they enjoy playing with the toys so much, but in all honesty, there is not a great selection to choose from, and many toys are defective or damaged. I don’t think American kids would be too impressed by the toys offered, but these kids are so grateful and excited for the chance to play with them once a week. There is a little kitchen play set with a few pots and pans, but no food. Despite this, today I had a delicious imaginary meal of eggs and kankun (a leafy green vegetable) that a young girl served to me. There is a damaged kid-size foosball game in the corner that is beyond repair. There are also legos, miniature dump trucks, memory card games, and cardboard dolls with cardboard clothes. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">About three dozen kids came in to play with the toys this afternoon, which was more than usual. Some teenage boys were among the first to enter the room. They goofed around on a couple of the toys designed for little kids, but left within a few minutes. I was very grateful. The first few times I opened the toy room for the kids, they were very quiet and did not say much to me. I guess they were “sizing me up” and a little shy about the new “malae”. I felt awkward and unsure of myself, but I knew they enjoyed playing with the toys, so I continued to open the room every week. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">I guess I have finally received their stamp of approval because this week many of the kids talked with me like we were old friends. I had a chance to chat with a couple of young girls for a while, which was great. I was a lot better at understanding what they said to me, which I was excited about. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Despite the lack of toys, we still managed to have a fun afternoon. Over the course of a few hours I built lego houses and monuments, learned how to draw and color the East Timor flag, sang and danced “This Time for Africa” with a group of boys (they really got into it and were so funny to watch), and was amused by magic tricks the kids performed for me.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">“What were these fantastic magic trick?” you ask? Although a magician never reveals her secrets, I suppose I will tell you anyway. One boy had a button that was gold on one side and black on the other. With a flick of the wrist (and some pretty impressive dance moves thrown in there too), he “magically” changed the color of the button from black to gold. Every time he performed his trick I “ooohed” and “aaahed” enthusiastically. Another kid borrowed my rosary ring and put it on his middle finger. He then held out his middle finger and ring finger, which were side by side. He whipped his hand behind his head and then put his hand in front of me again, this time holding out his pointer and middle finger. If you do the trick fast enough, it appears that the ring is changing fingers because it is “moving” from the finger on the right to the finger on the left. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reality, it always stays on the middle finger. The only thing that changes is the fingers that are extended: the first time the middle and ring finger are extended; the second time the middle and pointer finger are extended. I had never seen this trick before, so I was confused at first. I quickly caught on, but played along as each boy in turn showed me the trick. I was planning on using this trick on all my family and friends back home, but I guess I can’t do that now that I just revealed the secret to all of you. I suppose this will be a good way to gauge who is actually reading my blogs! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">At one point among all the kids laughing and playing I heard a really weird noise. It sounded sort of familiar, but I could not quite figure out what it was. Was it the sound of insects? Where was it coming from? I soon discovered that several of the kids had caught bugs on their way to the toy room and had brought them along to play. One boy was holding a handful of cockroaches! When he opened his hand to show them to me, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Somehow I managed not to scream or look like I was disgusted and absolutely creeped out by them. I would like to think I am getting better at handling shock, fear, fright and confusion. I don’t know how to really test this hypothesis, but I find that I am a lot less jumpy than before. This doesn’t mean I am less disgusted or creeped out, I am just better at hiding it (I think). I didn’t want to give these kids (who outnumbered me at this point about 25<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to 1) a way to tease me. I was the authority figure here! I moved away from that kid and walked towards the door. A girl came in carrying a long string. At the end of the string was a cockroach! She was using the string as a leash! Yuck! At this point I was thoroughly disgusted! Out on the porch, I saw one kid slowly squishing a cockroach with the front wheel of his dump truck. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, as I was putting away blocks, I found another cockroach among the legos. Bleh! <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Perhaps because it is the Christmas season, the kids must have thought I was feeling particularly generous today. A small group approached me and asked if they could each take a dump truck home with them. I told them no, they had to stay here. Truthfully, I would love for the kids to take the toys home. It doesn’t seem fair or make much sense for the toys to be locked in a room and only played with once a week. But if I gave all the toys away NOW, there would be no toys left in the room for the children to play with every Saturday. I told the kids they could take the toys home in May, but for now they needed to stay here so that everyone could play with them. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">These sound arguments were not satisfactory to the kids. They continued to approach me, asking if they could take toys home with them. First one kid would ask me. Then another kid would follow after him. Then another. And another. And another. Literally every kid present asked me at least half a dozen times if they could take the trucks home. I became very exasperated. What part of NO didn’t they understand? Despite this, they kept approaching me with various motives for why they wanted to take the toys home. One kid reasoned that his toy was defective and he would be happy to take it off my hands for me. Another kid explained that he wanted to give the toy to his younger sister. I told him it was very generous of him to want to bring something to her, but I suggested that SHE should come to the toy room instead. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">I was getting frustrated because they would NOT stop asking. They weren’t even PLAYING anymore-they were all just standing around asking me. I contemplated closing the toy room right then and there. If they were going to act that way there was no reason I should keep it open. I looked out the window to see that it had just started to rain. It had been beautiful and sunny when I opened the toy room an hour and a half ago. I figured the kids probably didn’t realize how frustrating they were being, and it wasn’t really fair to punish impoverished kids for wanting to have a toy. It would be especially cruel to send them home in the rain. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">When it finally stopped raining, I decided to close up shop. When I announced I was closing the room, everyone just stood there, as if to say they weren’t ready to leave. I thought this was odd since only a handful of the kids were playing. The rest were just asking if they could take toys home. If they weren’t going to play with the toys here, why should they be allowed to take them home? I was surprised to find that the kids nicely helped me to pick up the entire toy room, which had understandably become quite messy from such a large crowd. Some of the boys had jokingly picked up the kitchen set asking if they could take it home. As you might expect, as we were putting up the toys, I was repeatedly asked by the kids if they could take the trucks home.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Finally the place was clean and I ushered them out. I was surprised to see two bigger boys stand at the doorway, guarding against any kids who might try to sneak out toys. I was so surprised to see the honor system in effect and being enforced with and by these kids. Yes, I had told them they couldn’t take a toy out of the room, but it would have been so easy for any one of them to grab one and run away. They must have known that if they tried anything like that, they would be banned from the toy room, and even worse, shunned by the other kids. At one point, one older boy DID sneak out a little toy by hiding it in his pocket. Many of the kids had jokingly waved goodbye carrying toys out of the room, but they all brought them back. The other kids saw this boy sneaking out a toy and chased after him, but he ran away. It was clear they were all very angry with him for breaking the rules. As I said, they all COULD have taken a toy if they were really determined, but they DIDN’T. I was very proud of them. They have very few material possessions, but they have been raised to be good, Christian kids with morals and values.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">The two older boys stood guard at the door, and it became a kind of game for the younger kids to try to break through the barrier with toys. Even if a kid did make it through, they promptly gave me the toys back before leaving. Wow, truly incredible, generous kids. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">I locked the room and started on my quest to find Konde. As I was approaching Konde’s hut, I saw 2 dogs laying on the ground in front of me. No big deal. Stray dogs are commonplace here in East Timor, and besides a few barking as I passed by them on my morning runs, I haven’t had a problem with them yet. As I moved closer, they got up and started barking at me. I stopped in my tracks, but they started running towards me, growling and barking even louder. I was really scared at this point, but again I didn’t scream. I just turned around and started walking quickly in the other direction. I wanted to run, but I knew there were a lot of seminary boys around and I didn’t want to look even more ridiculous than I already did. Why, in such dangerous situations, do I think more about how dumb I look than the actual danger present at hand? Thankfully, several seminary boys from several different buildings all ran out and shut the dogs up by yelling at them. I had tried that in vain before turning to escape, but it hadn’t worked for me. Regardless, I was IMMENSELY grateful to these kind boys who had come out to rescue me. Everyone is just so kind to me. I am truly blessed and grateful. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">It looks like I survived another Saturday playing with the village children. Hopefully next week will be less terrifying. <o:p></o:p></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-86711652571492573942010-11-18T02:09:00.000-08:002010-11-18T02:09:54.922-08:00Thanksgiving Poem<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Hello Everyone,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">I realize Thanksgiving is still a week away, but I thought I would go ahead and post a poem of Thanksgiving to start the Turkey week of right! I hope you enjoy it and have a very happy Thanksgiving! </span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxT6h2UYtKuR0XfhvI6CzOWZxvJ_oZJCAeUSS57XZRoUtmO5TqH9vGd5Dko87ozIDvA1Hf9i1TTQRGEEMgn1IhNPU6lgqDGYRt0MOKMSVurTXENzy45YDHVRvNoqPRsUYYTsLWuaeBwCQ/s1600/Kids+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxT6h2UYtKuR0XfhvI6CzOWZxvJ_oZJCAeUSS57XZRoUtmO5TqH9vGd5Dko87ozIDvA1Hf9i1TTQRGEEMgn1IhNPU6lgqDGYRt0MOKMSVurTXENzy45YDHVRvNoqPRsUYYTsLWuaeBwCQ/s320/Kids+012.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Officially the biggest squash I have ever seen!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">I may be spending Thanksgiving here in East Timor,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">But there are certainly many things that I am thankful for. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">This year I am a pilgrim who voyaged to a foreign land,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">And discovered something greater than I could have ever imagined.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">I may not gobble a 10 pound turkey,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">But my eyes can feast on the incredible scenery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Mountains, valleys, fields and plains,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">No snow or cold, just sun or rain!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Weekend trips to the ocean,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">And swimming in November-what a notion</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">!</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">I live in a convent surrounded by nuns,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">But who knew sisters could be so much fun?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">Days filled with fun, prayer, games and laughter,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">I finally found my happy ever after.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Communication barriers, bumpy roads and car sickness<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Make this an experience I will never forget.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Don’t worry mom and dad, I don’t feel lonely,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">The geckos, mosquitos, and slugs like to keep me company.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">I won’t see floats in the Macy’s parade,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">But in the clinic I’ll administer first aid.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">No favorite food fresh from the oven,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">Instead, I’ll dish out medicine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">No football games on t.v.,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">I’ll be outside soaking up Vitamin D.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">No alarm to set for black Friday shopping deals,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">Though I’ll be awakened early anyway by pig squeals.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">I won’t be home with family and friends,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">I’ll be playing instead with dozens of orphans.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">We’ll sing and dance and laugh all day,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">That’s something to be thankful for-wouldn’t you say?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"><b>This year no mashed potatoes or candied yams,<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"><b>But I’m still so grateful to be where I am.<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"><b>And so for all these blessings I say “obrigada” (Tetum for thank you),<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"><b>What more could I want? Zip. Zilch. Nada.<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"><b>To loved ones back home- I thank God for you every day <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"><b>Please continue to pray for my mission here in Timor-Leste!</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-58632458993176943672010-11-15T01:55:00.000-08:002010-11-15T01:55:15.188-08:00“Take chances, make mistakes. That's how you grow. Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fail in order to practice being brave.” Mary Tyler Moore<div class="MsoNormal">An excerpt from my journal dated September 24, 2010: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>“Today at the Dili Health clinic as I was waiting in the cramped, stuffy, hot waiting room to get my X-rays done, I saw Jesus in an injured little boy who entered the waiting room with his dad. He had a makeshift cast on his left arm that was in a cloth sling. He was hunched over and coughing uncontrollably, visibly in pain and distress. After his dad filled out the paper work, the boy came and sat right beside me on the bench. Between coughing spells he looked up at me with big, brown eyes and a tear-drenched face as if to say, “Help me please!” I had no idea what I should do. I wish I could say I did what I longed to do-gave him a reassuring pat on the back and told him everything would be okay. Instead, I just sat there in fear of breaking some unknown social norm. It was not as if I knew that boy, and I didn’t work in the clinic. Who was I to step in and try to comfort him? What if I scared him instead? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I looked around the waiting room I couldn’t help but notice everyone else was also staring at the boy, probably also longing to help him in some way but not knowing how. I realized that this fear I had, and this frustration I felt in not knowing how to help was not something unique just to me. It was a feeling shared by everyone in the room. I am not sure if reaching out and comforting a strange boy in an East Timorese medical clinic waiting room would have been socially acceptable, but I believe that compassion trumps social norms, and therefore in the future I will let my heart, not my pride, guide my decisions when it comes to comforting and helping others. I won’t make this mistake again.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An excerpt from my journal dated November 15, 2010:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">“Today at the Venilale Health Clinic I was working dispensing pills as usual, when 2 little girls (aged 12 and 9?) peeked their heads around the corner and grinned at me. I am used to kids shyly smiling at the “malae”, but these girls' faces lit up as if we were old friends. Did I know these kids? My mind raced as I tried to figure out my connection with these girls. For the next 10 minutes I saw them peaking at me from around corners and through windows, always with big smiles on their faces. When I actually talked to them and said, “Boatarde”, they laughed in delight and smiled even bigger. Were they here to be treated? They seemed too cheery and upbeat to be sick. I later noticed the younger girl had a big white bandage around her thumb. Surely she would have it examined, right? Why was she in such a good mood? <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Soon, the older girl was called in to see Sr. Carolina, and her mom accompanied her. The younger girl with the bandaged thumb was summoned to the “wound care room” where the nurse began removing the dressings. Before he began, the girl was smiling big and broadly, as usual. As the nurse began removing the dressings, she held her hand out as far as she could and turned her body to the left and hid her face behind her shoulder so as not to see what he was doing. As soon as he removed a layer of the dressing, she would turn back around to peak at what had been uncovered. There were several layers to the bandage, so this occurred several times. I had been told she had cut her thumb, so I was anxious to see the damage. Each successive layer that was removed brought me greater and greater anticipation. How bad was it? Would I be able to handle it? What if I fainted?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">At this point the nurse said she would have to soak her finger in water before he removed the rest of the dressings because he didn’t want to cause further damage to her finger. She ran off to do so. Drats. This was just like a commercial break at the most suspenseful part of a movie on tv. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">After about 5 minutes, the little girl returned and sat back down hesitantly. Her mom was still preoccupied in the other room with her older sister. This time, I decided to sit down beside her instead of just standing and staring from across the room. She was obviously very anxious and in a great deal of pain, so I did something I was too afraid to do 2 months ago-something I longed to do but was unsure was “okay”. I patted the girl on the back and put my hand on her shoulder. I wanted her to know I was there for her. I told her she was very brave. I may have been too scared or intimidated to do that two months ago, but I vowed I would not make that mistake again. There are plenty of mistakes I have made more than once (hey, some mistakes are just too fun to just make once, right?), but this was one I vowed I would NOT let slip by. I think my presence was a comfort to her. She was obvious very curious and interested in me while she was waiting to be seen, so I knew my presence wasn’t a nuisance to her. I’m not sure if I was much help, but I hope I was at least comforting to her. At one point the mom came in the room, and I stood up to offer her my chair. She insisted it was fine and motioned for me to continue sitting there. I stayed with the girl as the last dressing was removed and saw the injured finger- it was pretty gruesome. Her entire last metacarpal of her left thumb was completely missing. The area was very red, and-was that a BONE I could see?! The girl turned and looked in fascination. If it was me I think I would have puked!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">I asked when this had occurred-5 days ago. I wondered how she had cut her finger, how it had not gotten infected, how she wasn’t screaming in pain and what the family did when it first happened. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get answers to any of these queries. The nurse deftly bandaged her finger, but before he finished I was called to the other room to help Sr. Carolina once again. I waved goodbye to the little girl and headed off. I didn’t even know her name, but I felt like I made a special connection with her that day. She returned a few days later to have her bandages changed, and when I saw her that time I lit up too, as if I was greeting an old friend. I still don’t know much about her, except that she lives nearby and her name is Bendita. Isn’t it weird how you can feel a special connection with someone you barely know?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 1.5in;">Moral of the story: if you are still alive, it is never too late to right a wrong. God is good. He gave me a second chance, and this time I was prepared to follow through on my promise I had made to Him. I wonder what He has in store for me next?<o:p></o:p></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-22120084299017804062010-11-13T02:03:00.000-08:002010-11-13T02:03:04.455-08:00Santa Cruz Massacre 11/12/91<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“On November 12, 1991, Indonesian troops fired upon a peaceful memorial procession to a cemetery in Dili, East Timor that had turned into a pro-independence demonstration. More than 271 East Timorese were killed that day at the Santa Cruz cemetery or in hospitals soon after. An equal number disappeared and are believed dead. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">East Timor was a Portuguese colony for more than 250 years and then became an Indonesian province, before seceding in 1999. The people of East Timor now have their freedom and are an independent nation, but they have yet to see justice for decades human rights crimes inflicted on their people and country by the Indonesian military. No one has ever been prosecuted for the killings.”</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yesterday (November 12) was a national holiday here in East Timor commemorating those who lost their lives at the Santa Cruz massacre almost 20 years ago. Until last night, I had no idea of the significance of the day. I was simply told that it was a national holiday and that the clinic and schools would be closed.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I was walking down the hill to the other convent for recreation time (dancing) around 8 p.m., I could see the street was lined with thousands of candles. I could hear shouting and yelling, but originally I could not see anyone. I stopped in my tracks. I didn’t know what was going on-a revolt? A protest? Should I continue on or go back to my room? I wasn’t on the main road yet, so no one could see me in the darkness. As the voices got closer, I could see most of the people were teenage boys and young men. They were shouting, “Viva (insert Timorese name)! Viva (insert another East Timorese name)! Viva Timor Leste!” I quickly put 2 and 2 together and surmised these people were not protesting-they were honoring those who had lost their lives on this day. I knew they must be a peaceful bunch. Suddenly I didn’t feel as scared.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I made my way safely to the convent. All of the sisters and pre-aspirants were standing outside on the driveway. They were watching the young people pass by. They said we would not be dancing tonight. We would be in solidarity with these people commemorating this occasion. After all of the people on the street had passed by us twice, one of the sisters suggested we walk along the road and pray. Everyone eagerly agreed.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4 sisters, 10 aspirants and myself walked together as a solemn procession. There were many large groups of people gathered together along the road, and they all fell silent as we passed. Two dozen young girls joined us as we walked and prayed the rosary together. We walked through the entire town, candles along either side of the road lighting the way.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am not East Timorese, but I felt like one today. As we were walking, I felt an intense feeling of national pride. It’s the same feeling I get on September 11 or when the National Anthem is played before a sporting event in the U.S. Apparently you don’t have to be from a large, powerful country to be a proud citizen of your nation. Injustice, cruelty, and terrorism are problems faced by people all over the world. Despite this, I am willing to bet that you can always find people with hope for a brighter future, pride in their nation, faith in the Lord and courage in the face of adversity and uncertainty. I guess people all over the world are not that different after all. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div></b></span>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-86548160054206908542010-11-10T02:22:00.000-08:002010-11-10T02:22:42.570-08:00Laundry Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDq7RhdizhFAdOm84hBfkaqKbSPE-OSoN5ZO7TEWXc_o6lSl02cLNhxGAZBiGsJ78O7-90U-AAL_eO-UR1fqUa7n57Z8QBEg8dkgt0FhLVHb9uR9Y9l28vne_Xkn23ohxkbPwJyz1FWo/s1600/V+Birthdays+044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDq7RhdizhFAdOm84hBfkaqKbSPE-OSoN5ZO7TEWXc_o6lSl02cLNhxGAZBiGsJ78O7-90U-AAL_eO-UR1fqUa7n57Z8QBEg8dkgt0FhLVHb9uR9Y9l28vne_Xkn23ohxkbPwJyz1FWo/s320/V+Birthdays+044.JPG" width="288" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Yes, I realize I am writing this post in the second week of November, but I promise you (MOM) this is not the first time I have done my laundry in East Timor!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll admit I was a little nervous about doing my laundry the first time. Not knowing what to expect, I had brought enough clothes to last me 2 full weeks before needing to wash anything. The first two weeks here flew by and I finally caved in, bit the bullet, and headed to the laundry area of the convent. <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wasn’t really sure what to do, but I didn’t think it could be that hard. Surely I could figure it out. Unfortunately I hit a snag right off the bat-I couldn’t find any soap or detergent to wash my clothes. I was grateful Sister Alex happened to be walking by and she gladly showed me where it was stored. I figured that was all she would do, but she very nicely stayed and helped me to wash my clothes. I told her I could manage, but she insisted on helping. She said she liked helping me! She is so sweet!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Here at the school there are 10 large stone sinks with built in stone washboards that all 120 girls and 8 sisters use to do their laundry. The 10 sinks are all cemented together. The morning I decided to do my laundry all of the students were in class, so it wasn’t crowded. Sister placed a smaller bucket in 4 sinks and filled them with water. The bucket in the first sink contained just water, the second sink was filled with detergent, the third sink was filled with just water for rinsing the detergent off of the clothes, and the fourth sink was also filled with just water to give the clothes a second rinse. After passing through all 4 buckets, clothes are placed in a basket and carried over to the laundry line to air dry. </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sister nicely showed me how to soak, wash, scrub (with a brush and also by using the built in washboards), and rinse out my clothes. She was there to help and guide me every step of the way. I washed my unmentionables myself, but still felt a little awkward washing those with sister. We headed over to the line to hang up the clothes. Sister Alex was very efficient at hanging them up-I was clumsy, but started to get the hang of it near the end. The clothes were dripping wet, so I wrung them out before hanging them up. Sister just put them on the line as they were. When I took them off the line later that day ALL the clothes were dry, so I guess it doesn’t really matter if you wring them out before hanging them up or not. As I was leaving the laundry line area, I bumped my head on a low pole that is used to support the laundry lines. Because I am taller than most of the people here, I guess other people don’t have to watch their heads when exiting the area. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My first laundry experience (with Sr. Alex) wasn’t that bad after all-the whole process took us less than 20 minutes, and I felt like my clothes actually DID get clean. The second time I did laundry all by myself. The process was much less efficient. When I began doing my laundry the sun was shining and the sky was bright blue, but when I finished it was dark gray and had cooled off considerably. I hung my clothes up on the line and within 10 minutes it started raining! I saw other girls run out to pull their clothes off the line, so I took mine off the line, too, even though they were already soaked from washing. Because of the cool and rainy weather we experienced that week, it took 3 days for my clothes to completely dry! 1<sup>st</sup> lesson learned: in the rainy season you need to do laundry every several days so you always have something to wear while some of your clothes are in the laundry. I learned that the hard way! Lesson #2: Don’t wear anything (seen or unseen) that you wouldn’t mind hanging out to dry on the line for all the sisters and students to see!<o:p></o:p></span></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-64034930489105839072010-11-06T03:05:00.000-07:002010-11-06T03:05:13.151-07:00All Saint's and All Soul's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6p4cn2-eQIdIGdMVLFbsI81fVe_2D2AK-LZcklV3f_wtd8eu9hdG9zLk-YXo6bzXbOZ0F6xjylBBNYTSh-Fhy9Y5NQcEOI-AWZPYQuoDFMrSDHUxPu4WxyenR7Szg3npD8_GqD_phA7c/s1600/All+Soul's+Day+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6p4cn2-eQIdIGdMVLFbsI81fVe_2D2AK-LZcklV3f_wtd8eu9hdG9zLk-YXo6bzXbOZ0F6xjylBBNYTSh-Fhy9Y5NQcEOI-AWZPYQuoDFMrSDHUxPu4WxyenR7Szg3npD8_GqD_phA7c/s320/All+Soul's+Day+019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This past week we celebrated All Saint’s (November 1) and All Soul’s (November 2) Day. While these days are commemorated all over the world, in East Timor both days are national holidays that begin with mass in the morning. The All Saint’s Day mass was very crowded, but father kept the homily short (under 10 minutes) and I enjoyed it (even though once again I didn’t know what was going on or being said). <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There weren’t any other big events planned for the day, so I went down to the orphanage to play with the kids. They were all a little down because Mana Ulla (the volunteer from Germany) was leaving the next day to return to Germany. They were happy to see me and I reassured them I would be staying for another 7 months. This seemed to lift their spirits. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In the afternoon we threw a big party and performance for Mana Ulla complete with plenty of singing and dancing. I was asked to lead the Electric Slide dance with a dozen teenage girls for Mana Ulla. I didn’t know I would be a part of the entertainment until about 10 minutes before we performed. Regardless, it was a lot of fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the party we headed to the dining room for a big meal. I got to sit at the “table of honor” at the front of the room with Ulla and the other sisters. We had our choice of stew, wanton noodles (yum!), rice, gross green veggies, and chips. The chips were brightly colored red, green and purple. They were also salty and sooo good! Even though they weren’t like American potato chips (they were better!), they were the closest thing to American junk food I have had for several weeks and I guess I still miss American food! Why can’t I be addicted to bananas or something healthy? I sat by Sister Ines, who doesn’t really speak any English. I tried my best to strike up and continue conversation with her in Tetum, but she didn’t seem to understand my questions, and I couldn’t really understand what she was saying, either. Despite these difficulties, we still managed to have a decent conversation. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wasn’t sure how I would react to Ulla leaving. Would I be sad and envious of her retu</span>rning home? Surprisingly, I didn’t feel envious of her getting to go home. I actually feel content here and believe this is where I am supposed to be right now. I wonder sometimes (ok, often) how I will spend another 6 and a half months here, but the truth is, I’m not ready to go home yet! If I had to leave today I would be very sad! No, I haven’t quite figured out my niche here in East Timor. I DO know I can brighten some girls’ days just by showing up and being present for them. They will need me now especially in the next couple of weeks as they cope with the “loss” of Ulla.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I ended up spending 7 hours with the orphans that day, so I was very exhausted by the end of the party. Thankfully, All Soul’s Day was a little more restful. Mass was again at 8 a.m. I was running a little behind schedule and didn’t arrive until 7:55. Still, when I got to the church, there was only a handful of people inside (including some sisters). I noticed people outside near the back of the church, but I figured they would process in. At 8:05 the church had not filled up much, but I wasn’t really concerned-mass never starts on time. I suddenly heard father speaking outside using a microphone. I peeked out through a window and saw that all the people were congregated around a big “hut” which had been converted to an altar for mass! As I looked around, I saw hundreds and hundreds of people-definitely too many to fit inside the church. The weather was warm and sunny, so it was really a perfect day to hold mass outside. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At lunch I got to try “katapas”, a traditional food eaten on this holiday. Katapas is rice wrapped in coconut leaves and cooked in coconut oil. It was delicious! For dessert we had “jello”, which was pastel purple and in the shape of a flower. It had a very “light”, but fruity taste and was actually very good.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Another tradition here in East Timor on All Soul’s Day is to walk to the cemetery, place flowers on the graves of loved ones and pray the rosary around the tombstone. The sisters here at the school always dread this day because villagers sneak onto the school grounds to steal flowers from the garden to put on their relative’s graves. They have to take turns patrolling the school for flower fiends. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I asked Sr. Alma (Mother Superior at the convent where I am staying) when we would be walking to the cemetery. She said there was a large group going at 4 p.m. The sky at mass this morning was a glorious bright blue. The white billowy clouds looked so close that you could reach out and grab one. This afternoon, however, was a different story. It started raining around lunch time and stopped for an hour before starting up again. It was drizzling as several sisters and I headed out with a dozen or so girls to the cemetery to pray the rosary at the tombstone of a former missionary priest. I was shocked to see that every single tombstone in the cemetery was adorned with flowers (and some had candles as well). You could see remnants of food some families had left from lunch when they came to eat with the souls of the deceased. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we prayed the rosary (I think we ended up praying 2 full rosaries), it started to rain harder and harder and harder. At one point you couldn’t hear anyone else praying the rosary, so it was hard to stay in unison. I thought it seemed fitting that it would be cold, damp, dark and rainy on All Soul’s Day.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">At dinner Sr. Alma asked me if I had gotten wet during the cemetery walk. I responded affirmatively. “Oh, well you should have come earlier with my group when the weather was so nice and sunny!” she said. I had to laugh because I didn’t KNOW different groups were going throughout the day and SHE was the one who had told me to go at 4. Such is life here in East Timor.<o:p></o:p></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-65122195599611224302010-10-30T04:06:00.000-07:002010-10-30T04:06:09.340-07:00Misadventures on the Mikrolet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLj7fCzBqw8_GZ6A4rEN3j0lPV02CqIj4CxDLRshWqFcZfMSPmCQqY0aZ_1HIcDIbkwgi9Uiix5Uok_9hVZDo7Vavl6nNHHKYTPpz-nGIxlRXCFoG_qDzaHCRvzloHc-etko74ia7uv_0/s1600/Dili+Oratory+061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLj7fCzBqw8_GZ6A4rEN3j0lPV02CqIj4CxDLRshWqFcZfMSPmCQqY0aZ_1HIcDIbkwgi9Uiix5Uok_9hVZDo7Vavl6nNHHKYTPpz-nGIxlRXCFoG_qDzaHCRvzloHc-etko74ia7uv_0/s320/Dili+Oratory+061.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This past weekend Ulla and I travelled to Laga to visit the sisters and the orphanage there. This was my first experience riding on a mikrolet. As you can see in the picture, a mikrolet is really just a large van with a long bench lining the length of each side of the interior. You can <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comfortably</i> seat about 8 people in the back, but a mikrolet never travels anywhere with just 8 people. On one of journeys we squeezed 25 people inside!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ulla and I were able to catch a mikrolet along the dirt road right outside the orphanage around noon. We hopped in the back and were the only passengers. I took a seat and stared out one of the side windows in front of me (I was facing sideways). We began moving, and I immediately felt a little queasy. Siitting sideways in a moving vehicle is something new to me, and it was difficult to see out the dirty windows so that I could fix my eyes on an object outside to prevent carsickness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove for about 5 minutes before a man standing with a goat signaled for the mikrolet to stop to pick him up. I thought, “Surely he’s not going to be getting on, not with a goat. Maybe he knows the driver and just wants to say hello.” As has so often been the case regarding my mission experience here in East Timor, I was wrong. The man quickly wrestled his goat to the ground, tied its legs together, picked it up and carried it on the bus with him! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">For some reason, the driver told Ulla and me to come sit in the passenger seat in the front next to him. I wasn’t sure why he asked us to do that, but I really didn’t mind. I didn’t want to sit in the back by the goat. While we were still stopped, the driver pulled out a cigarette and started smoking it. I quickly remembered my sensitivity to smoke, and I was thankful to be sitting next to an open window. Ulla, who was sitting between the driver and myself, however, got a faceful of smoke at one point and must have smelled it the whole trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At this point, we turned around and actually headed back the way we had just come. When we passed by the spot where we had boarded the bus, I seriously considered calling it quits and getting off right then and there. I figured I will be here for another 7 months, so I have plenty of time to explore East Timor. Surely one of the sisters from one of the 2 convents here would need to go up to Laga at some point, and I could tag along with her in one of the sisters’ “chauffeured” vehicles. I didn’t see any reason to have to suffer on this mikrolet another minute. I wanted to get out, but something kept me from doing so. I reasoned that it couldn’t get much worse that it was right now, so I might as well stick it out. Furthermore, I knew if I got off the bus I would have to explain to all of the sisters at the convent why I had come back so soon. I didn’t want to go through the embarrassment of that. I wanted to tough it out. I wanted to prove to them and to myself that I CAN do this. One of my goals before coming here was to truly immerse myself in the culture and experience how the East Timorese live. This is their primary mode of transportation-thousands of people travel on mikrolets every day. Am I really so “privileged” that I can’t live (or at least travel) like an East Timorian for 1 day?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Within 20 minutes of driving along the bumpy road on our way to Baucau we had picked up 15 other people. This brought the total number of passengers heading to Baucau to 20! I liken the mikrolet to a clown car-it is so small, yet somehow there always seems to be enough room to squeeze in another rider. The rest of the hour-long trip to Baucau went very smoothly. Well, as smoothly as a trip in East Timor can go, that is. We bumped along on the rugged roads, the sheep bleating in the back of the van along the way. I was grateful to be sitting in the front seat, facing forward, with a cool breeze on my face. I wondered how bad the next trip would be when I probably wouldn’t have this luxury. The fare for this hour long trip? $1!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Once in Baucau, we hopped onto another mikrolet headed toward Laga. The mikrolet was empty, so we waited a good half an hour for it to fill up before heading out. The elderly lady who sat down across from Ulla was very excited to see malae (foreigners) on the mikrolet. After talking for a while, she offered us some homemade food from a bag she was carrying. I was wary of eating anything offered by a stranger in a foreign country (much less something homemade), but Ulla grabbed some and offered me a bite. It was crunchy, and sort of sweet, but I couldn’t tell you what it was. I only had a little bit. The good news-I didn’t die. And no, I won’t be accepting any more food from strangers any time soon. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">An elderly man carrying a rooster sat down across from me. I felt so badly for the little boy sitting beside him, because he had to ride with a faceful of feathers for the whole hour and a half trip. The man had a very dirty towel wrapped around his shoulders, and every once in a while he would use it to wipe the sweat from his face. Who knows how many germs were on that thing? I guess if he’d lived this long with these habits, there was no point in trying to talk him out of them now. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The trip to Laga was very hot. There were 25 people and 2 chickens jammed into the small mikrolet, and we stopped often to let people on and off. There are very small “windows” in the mikrolet to let air in, but you only feel a breeze if you are travelling fast enough. With all of the stops we made, it was hard to ever feel “cool”. I mostly kept my head down and eyes closed, so I didn’t feel too sick along the way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were some of the last people to get off the mikrolet, and when the drivers heard we were going to the orphanage, they drove us up the steep hill, into the compound and right up to the orphanage doors (unbeknownst to us at the time this cost us an additional 25 cents, bringing our trip total from Baucau to Laga to $1). I was very grateful to get off the hot mikrolet, and as a parting gift it gave me a firm bump on the head as I ducked out of it. Regardless, I had survived my first one-way trip on the mikrolet!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The return trip home from Laga was pretty similar to the trip to Laga: hot and very crowded. At one stop on the way to Baucau, an elderly lady boarded the bus. Without being prodded by her mom (who was carrying a smaller child in her lap), an 8 year old girl stood up to allow the older lady to sit down. This left the girl without a seat, and she stood in the small space in the middle of the seats before a complete stranger motioned for the girl to sit on her lap! I never cease to be amazed at the kindness and generosity of these people. The bus was extremely hot and cramped, yet this stranger did not hesitate to offer the girl her lap to sit in. It was so kind!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We were the first ones on the mikrolet for the last leg of our journey from Baucau to Venilale. Thus, we <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>drove around different streets of town for a good half an hour before finally heading “home”. Because we were the first ones on, we got to sit at the very back of the mikrolet. This was great because I could look out the large back window and focus on the road without feeling carsick. This was the “hippest” mikrolet we had been on so far. It played songs on the radio that I had actually heard and could understand! Some songs I recognized included Jason Mraz’s song, “I’m Yours”, “Hotel California”, “This Time for Africa”, and even Justin Bieber songs! No one else on the bus seemed as excited as I was to hear “American” songs-go figure. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Because we were at the very back of the bus, we were in clear view to all the people we passed who were walking or working along the roads. Some waved at us first, sometimes we waved first. Either way, they were always very excited that we waved to them! We felt a little like celebrities! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 53.65pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I am happy to say I survived my first round-trip mikrolet journey! It was definitely enlightening<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to experience how people here travel. In the United States every passenger on a plane, subway or bus has their own seat. We’re uncomfortable if we happen to bump shoulders with someone sitting next to us. Furthermore, we never have to worry about sitting next to a chicken, goat or pig. We are so blessed to have non-smoking transportation that includes air conditioning, seat belts, and smooth roads. Perhaps I will become so used to travelling on the mikrolet that I will forget what travel is like in the U.S. It will be a real shock to come home and sit by only humans next time I ride a bus or a take a subway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-69957592330267674422010-10-23T03:52:00.000-07:002010-10-23T03:52:18.086-07:00Running in East Timor<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last week I went on my first run in East Timor! I was a little anxious to get out, but I am glad I did. It was a great experience. Below is an excerpt from my journal documenting my first run.</span></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4VCAlusJQ0sqpgATQQPFkUvdiHPWgk9IK9y3hdVMqfYAfZRfpnhDd1cpJXtqfsHqCjBIoax2c4mg4_C-dhYpDG2SoWudjqYGkGnmILw41IEK-fZtj95zyoZSZLUq0AhxAIPM9q9zaBg/s1600/Ordination+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4VCAlusJQ0sqpgATQQPFkUvdiHPWgk9IK9y3hdVMqfYAfZRfpnhDd1cpJXtqfsHqCjBIoax2c4mg4_C-dhYpDG2SoWudjqYGkGnmILw41IEK-fZtj95zyoZSZLUq0AhxAIPM9q9zaBg/s320/Ordination+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the scenes from my run</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I headed out the back driveway of the school around 8:30 a.m., not really sure of a route, just wanting to get out and explore. Soon I hit a fork in the road-down one road I saw 2 men walking toward me-I chose the other road. This road took me out by the other convent and lead me into the “town” of Venilale. I didn’t realize Fridays are school and street clean up days for all the students in Venilale. I was a little embarrassed to run by all of them, so I stopped and walked. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up walking for a good 10 minutes flanked by school children on either side of the road who were pulling weeds and sweeping and picking up trash. Everyone stopped and stared as I passed by, and many offered a cheery, “Bondia!” (Good morning!). Several people asked me where I was going, and I didn’t know how to say I was just exercising. I don’t think these people “just exercise.” They are either work hard or playing soccer games or tag. There is no “exercise.” They don’t really need it. They stay active enough around the house and playing with their friends. Sr. Johana later told me I could just say, “Pasear”, a nice stroll. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Soon I came to the ”Bemvindo ba Venilale” sign. From here there are 3 possible routes you can take. The very steep uphill route straight ahead was the road Sr. Menia and I had taken the week before on our walk to the oratory. The road to the left was downhill and the road to the right looked pretty flat. I knew a nice flat road would be my best bet since I was pretty out of shape from not having run in almost a month, so I chose the route to the right. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was a little anxious to start running, both because I knew I was out of shape and because I have never really liked people watching me as I run. When you are in a race, most people are cheering for their own family member or teammates, and they aren’t really focused on you. But when you are in a foreign country where running for exercise is almost unheard of, people are bound to stare. Once I finally started running though, I felt better about it. Maybe I did look ridiculous, but I can only get better from here. I already stand out because I am a “malae” (foreigner), so I don’t think anyone is too concerned with HOW I look while I am running. These people are just so curious and interested in seeing a malae out exercising! As I started running I “got into the running groove” and was reminded why I like it so much. It is challenging, but every minute you run is like a mini victory. YES, I did it! I can do another minute! Etc…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">To my dismay, I quickly discovered that this route was actually primarily downhill, too. Therefore, as you might imagine, I was able to easily run 10 minutes without feeling tired or out of breath. The scenery along this road was beautiful! There were trees and huts lining the road, but I could see fields beyond that and tall, majestic mountains in the distance. Many young children and mothers were working in and around their huts, and they all would stop and stare as I passed by. Many greeted me with a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bondia, but some younger children shouted out, “Malae! Malae!” (foreigner). I still don’t know if this is a friendly greeting or a way of making fun of me, but I generally answer back with a friendly “Bondia!” Some of the kids seem so amazed that the “malae” acknowledges them. When I say hello back sometimes they jump up and down or laugh. Some even came up to give me high fives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was difficult to really take in the scenery because the road was so bumpy and uneven. Cars here drive on the left side of the road, so I figured I should run on the right. When I saw other people on the streets though, they were walking on the smoothest, most even part of the road (generally the middle). That seemed like a good strategy, so I followed suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I heard a car slowly coming up from behind me but didn’t think much of it. It definitely had enough room to go around me. As the vehicle passed me I saw that it was actually a microlet bus. It honked as it drove by, startling me. I jumped a little bit and almost ran off the road! I forgot that cars here honk for any number of reasons-they may honk to signal for you to get out of the way, as a friendly greeting, or to warn others they are coming around a sharp bend. I assumed it was honking as a friendly greeting. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Soon I turned around and headed back to school. The uphill return journey was much more difficult than I had anticipated! The good news was that it was much easier to answer the “Where are you going?” question on the way back. I would tell them “Eskola”, and they would nod back knowingly. As I passed one house, a mom holding her youngest child stood in her doorway with her other 3 kids and clapped and cheered for me! It was so nice! Although exercising with so many people watching was a little nerve wracking, it was also motivating. I had decided on the way back uphill that I would alternate between running for a minute and walking for a minute. However, if at the end of that minute I was passing by a house with people staring at me, I couldn’t just STOP right in front of them-I had to keep going! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As I ran by the school kids lining the road on the way back, they all stopped working and clapped and cheered for me, too! It was like I was running a race, but I was the only runner (so I knew all the applause was for me!) It was really nice, but I still felt very awkward. What were these kids really thinking? I tried to stay confident and meet their glances with “Bondia!” A lot of them cheered and laughed as I ran by. I knew they probably weren’t laughing AT me, they were probably laughing at the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These moments are awkward for me, but I think they also help me to develop self-confidence. No, they are not laughing at me, and even if they are, SO WHAT? I am not going to let it interfere with my exercise routine. I am doing something healthy and hopefully setting an example for them. I don’t need to be ashamed or embarrassed by that.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So overall my first run was good! I exercised for 45 minutes total, running 20 minutes. I was sweaty and thirsty when I got back, but am looking forward to doing it again tomorrow (hopefully there won’t be as many spectators, but hey, if I can face all those school kids, surely I can face other people I will pass along the way!<o:p></o:p></span></div></div></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-25278316787324501552010-10-20T04:28:00.000-07:002010-10-20T04:28:07.472-07:00No Ordinary Priest Ordination<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This past weekend I attended an ordination for Father Andre in Wailili, a village about 35 minutes from Venilale. The truck (which was the same one we rode in here to Venilale) would not start, and 2 sisters and I pushed it backwards out from under the awning and then pushed it forward a little bit to give it a little “head start”. It did the trick! Soon we were on our way. The sisters graciously let me sit in the front seat, which I appreciated. I was a little nervous about the trip because I had been so sick the last time we drove here in East Timor. I tried to focus on the road ahead and not look off too often to the sides. It seemed to be a pretty good strategy. We stopped in Fatumata, a village 15 minutes outside of Wailili, to drop off some supplies at a Don Bosco School. I was surprised it only took us 40 minutes to get to Wailili, because I had never really gotten a clear answer on the exact distance from anyone and was expecting the worst.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When we arrived at the church at 9 a.m., there were already a lot of people standing outside. I knew the ceremony started at 9:30 and I figured the inside of the church must already be full. I had heard it would be a long ceremony so I was not thrilled at the idea of standing outside through the whole thing. Within just a few minutes, we processed down a hill, lead by adult women drummers in colorful tais clothing. We turned right into a large open auditorium-type space. To my surprise (and delight) there were seats right up front designated for the sisters. People really do treat them so well here in East Timor! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The weather was absolutely perfect-overcast and just the right temperature-not hot, not cold, cool enough to be comfortable without sweating or needing a long sleeved shirt. Because it was cloudy you didn’t need sunglasses and didn’t have to squint to see. There were a few light raindrops that fell, but nothing more. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There was a big sign over the altar that I had Sr. Carolina translate for me. It said, “Blessed are they who trust in God.” She was nice enough to translate most of the “unusual” things that happened in mass for me-i.e. things that don’t typically occur. There was a high school band (Don Bosco boys) providing pre-mass entertainment. One of the songs they played was the “Allelulia Chorus”. I had never actually heard this played in anything but movies as a sort of joke, so to hear it played live for the ordination of a priest was a nice, but funny experience to me. 3 different men welcomed everyone to the ceremony. One said he would like to give this day to God, but we must recognize that it is already God’s. The priest who was being ordained lived here in this village before attending seminary school in Dili. He was the first Salesian priest to ever come from this village, so it was definitely cause for celebration. Several speakers mentioned it was a miracle! One of the speakers gave a history of Catholicism in East Timor. He said that Dominicans served as missionaries here first, but everyone thought they were crazy. To get followers, they would set up camp by the village water supply so that everyone would “come to them.” When people came to the water, they would quickly baptize them to “seal the deal.” In 1927 the first Salesian </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">missionaries came to East Timor and now in 2010 the first Salesian priest of this village was being ordained!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The soon-to-be ordained priest (Father Andre) was dressed in a white shirt and black dress pants, but was wearing traditional East Timor head gear and a tais garment around his chest. His family was summoned up to remove the traditional clothing as a symbol of him letting go of “this world” and entering the Salesian priesthood. He was then lead back to his home by the drummers and dancers so that he could put on his priestly vestments for mass. Mass started around 10 a.m. There were several priests presiding at the mass and they were lead to the altar by half a dozen altar boys, drummers and dancers. <o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwdZOeLF1sBfURcp8xQJ-WOoYESjdvw8m-Ep17SwC_QJgzAWmsnTxGOsksrusE2wKYQnfbEEafD-325uGdnkU8V9n4OXsLPh1jhJiv9O39XQk8MoGuOfb7gPFaSAE3kl0fRT_ScuiETY/s1600/Ordination+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwdZOeLF1sBfURcp8xQJ-WOoYESjdvw8m-Ep17SwC_QJgzAWmsnTxGOsksrusE2wKYQnfbEEafD-325uGdnkU8V9n4OXsLPh1jhJiv9O39XQk8MoGuOfb7gPFaSAE3kl0fRT_ScuiETY/s320/Ordination+011.JPG" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Father Andre in his traditional East Timorian gear</span></span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The mass itself actually went by pretty quickly. The new priest gave the homily and kept it under 10 minutes (the shortest homily I have heard thus far in East Timor). His extended family brought up the offerings which included the bread and wine, candles, flowers, assorted food items like bread, bananas and papayas and even 2 doves that he set free! One of the altar servers bumped into a flower arrangement, knocking it over and scattering flowers all over the altar. With so many people on the small altar, it was only a matter of time until something like that happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The singing at mass was lead by a girl’s choir (also from Don Bosco’s school?) They sounded pretty good on most of the songs, but there were 3 singers who lead the Responsorial song who were very flat. Thankfully all of the songs sounded better after that. There were more songs and singing than usual during mass, but all in all, the mass itself wasn’t much longer than a typical mass. At the end of the service, the newly ordained priest got up and thanked everyone for coming and for all of their support over the years. He thanked many people by name and category (friends, family, parishioners, the choirs, etc). 4 more men got up and essentially did the same thing-thanked everyone for attending. The last man to get up stopped speaking because the electricity stopped working. I didn’t think what he had to say could have been THAT important…couldn’t we just end the mass already? I don’t know what he ended up saying, but everyone in the audience was laughing, so I guess it was good that he got to say it after all. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, the mass was ended. I thought everyone would leave, but instead, EVERY single person in the congregation came up and kissed the priest’s hands. There were hundreds of people lined up waiting for their turn. The sisters did not participate in this, but they DID wait until everyone had finished before they left to go to the reception. After kissing the priests, many people came and hugged or greeted the sisters. I got to meet Sr. Carolina’s sister, who looks a lot like her. I pulled out my Bible that I had brought in case the ceremony got too boring. I didn’t expect to need it AFTER the ceremony! I read a good 10 pages from Jeremiah before I decided to put it away. By the time the kissing of the hands was done it was 1 p.m.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The reception was in a very large tent and there were about 6 serving stations. There were girls lined up at all of the tables to hand the people their plates and utensils, but primarily to keep people from going through the line until the appointed time. The food was already on the tables, but we all sat down and got to stare at it for 30 minutes while we waited for the priests to enter the tent and for all the announcements and gifts to be awarded. I was not sitting by sister Carolina at this point, so I was frustrated because I did not know what was going on. The sisters on either side of me did not speak English well, so I couldn’t ask them. I knew I just needed to be patient, but at this point I was just feeling frustrated at my lack of understanding. I felt like an impatient little kid again-not mature enough to understand the events happening around me, but able to understand the universal idea of “food.” It’s interesting how you comforting it is to know what is going on. Yes, this whole ceremony and reception would have been long even if it was in English, but at least I would have known what was being said. Maybe they had announced that food would be served at such and such time or after these gifts were handed out. Instead, I sat there not having a clue what was going on and not knowing why they were still talking. How could everyone else be so patient? Wasn’t anyone else hungry? We hadn’t eaten since 7 a.m. and it was now almost 2 p.m. I wasn’t hungry as much as bored, though. I needed something to DO. Eating was something to do. “Please just let us eat soon!” I thought. Couldn’t they make this process any more efficient? Why did they call people up in 3 groups to receive tais scarves? Couldn’t they just call them up all at once? Do we really all have to watch these big wigs drink their wine? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually they called up all the sisters (and I got to go, too) to taste some traditional East Timor food. I was handed a hollowed out bamboo stalk stuffed with meat and rice. I turned to the sister beside me and asked what it (the meat) was. She said, “Meat.” Not too helpful. I decided to try it anyway. It actually tasted almost like steak, but was a little chewier. I didn’t really like it. I asked the other sister what it was and she said she it was goat! I have never eaten goat before. It wasn’t terrible, but it would definitely take me some getting used to. Thankfully I wasn’t required to eat all of the food in my bamboo stalk and I slipped it back onto the table just like all the other sisters did. As sisters, they were first to go through the line, which was a nice treat. Still, though, I felt badly for everyone who still had to wait for food. I thought I had to wait a long time and I was one of the first to go through the line.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was TONS of food on the table. The first thing in the line was rice-3 different kinds of rice, in fact. Plain rice, what looked like Spanish rice and fried rice. I wasn’t sure what I would find further down the table, so I got a pretty big portion of rice, just in case. I found there were a lot of American things served like lasagna and meatballs (ok, I guess those are Italian, but I eat them IN America), French fries with ketchup, a stromboli with peas and carrots in it, and what looked like an ice cream cone but tasted like a taco with hamburger meat in it. I also tried a shish kebab with meat that I recognized on it. There were a lot of meat dishes, but I passed on most of them because I didn’t know what they were and didn’t want to risk getting sick (especially with the drive back still ahead of us). There were also a lot of vegetables I didn’t recognize, so I avoided those too. Still, I ended up with a big bowl of food. I felt a little embarrassed by all the food I had picked up, but I figured I had to get a lot because I was sure there would be stuff I picked up that I wouldn’t like. I was right in my assessment-while I did like most of it, some of the things did not agree with me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">At the end of the serving line there were sodas or fruit juice to drink and water in a sealed cup. The water was arranged in a semi-sphere structure and looked like a big igloo. It was very cool. After we had eaten our food I was surprised to find there was even dessert!! The dessert wasn’t all that “sweet’ to me, though...I tried one thing that looked like gelatin and another that was some kind of pound cake. I also tried some fruit cocktail that I liked, but It was interesting because it seemed to have a “kick” to it. Shortly after dessert one of the sisters lead me over to where there was dancing. We saw 3 groups perform-2 wore traditional ET clothing, and the other group wore t-shirts and caps-like gangsters! I didn’t understand why, but I thought it was funny. I enjoyed all 3 dances.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, we decided to head out. I said goodbye to the priest I had met before the ceremony who had actually visited Dallas, Texas 13 years ago! He knew some of the Salesian sisters in San Antonio and said one of his former students is there now. He heard that I was going to Com and told me not to worry about the sharks-the crocodiles usually scare them away.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All in all, I had a great time at the ordination, even though I didn’t understand most of what was going on. I COULD understand the excitement of the people in the village and the love they had for their newly ordained priest. I was blown away by the patience these people exhibited throughout the day. I certainly have a lot I can learn from them in this regard. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaEIl74zAi7bBWo1SU2b8Ff36LpFUgBBc6Evx7Q1lDJCjrEURQgsFd1vy5ADT-dqrZFbEf3tH0IcKcb_zbzBC3dfe_negcmay4b6E66nCf7EQ0s2VEadY_gN4x-jPmtBJYMxJQA_YgW6Q/s1600/Ordination+041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaEIl74zAi7bBWo1SU2b8Ff36LpFUgBBc6Evx7Q1lDJCjrEURQgsFd1vy5ADT-dqrZFbEf3tH0IcKcb_zbzBC3dfe_negcmay4b6E66nCf7EQ0s2VEadY_gN4x-jPmtBJYMxJQA_YgW6Q/s320/Ordination+041.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fr. Andre in his priest garments</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-65313303943014529072010-10-17T04:13:00.000-07:002010-10-17T04:13:40.125-07:00"Com" on Over!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaiWOMXfafYri6KaMZHCV6aoWiQqdzne0hSc3kPHEkhDK7R30_qCfsNWenHBO-BkpjZSp88iQbYwmoJoowqPNmTXqz_S_-l54Fx3XQmoBJ44ABztfctvGBd4P9bPq2VKiTmiKD1-TWzhk/s1600/Com+028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaiWOMXfafYri6KaMZHCV6aoWiQqdzne0hSc3kPHEkhDK7R30_qCfsNWenHBO-BkpjZSp88iQbYwmoJoowqPNmTXqz_S_-l54Fx3XQmoBJ44ABztfctvGBd4P9bPq2VKiTmiKD1-TWzhk/s320/Com+028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ulla and me on our own private beach in Com!</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Today I went on a day trip to Com with Ulla (the other volunteer who is heading back to Germany in 2 weeks) and Sr. Sylvia to sightsee and to visit with Sr. Sylvia’s family. I was excited for the trip but also a little nervous because I didn’t know how long the drive was (Sister told me it was 2 to 3 hours. Did that mean it would be 2 hours or 3? This is a very important thing to know for someone who might get carsickness and needs to mentally prepare for such a trip!). Also, as usual, I had no idea what the schedule for the day was, so I didn’t know what to expect. This has been a recurring theme during my time here in East Timor, but I still haven’t exactly gotten comfortable with not knowing what’s going on all the time. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As we were driving along in our little truck, I couldn’t help but think of that “It’s a Small World” ride from Disney Land. The ride makes a lot of twists and turns and along the way different characters pop out from the shadows. On the drive on the winding roads, the “characters” were people in the small villages we passed through. They would all stop whatever work they were doing and stare at us. Many would smile excitedly and wave, and yes, some even shouted out “Malae!” (foreigner). <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We stopped in Baucau (45 minutes outside of Venilale) to have our tire pressure checked, which took all of two minutes and was free of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>charge ( I think because there was a nun in the car). Then we stopped quickly at the Salesian convent in Baucau to deliver meat to the sisters. We even saw a swimming pool in the city (the first one I have seen in East Timor and probably one of the few pools in the whole country). Once we were out of Baucau, the scenery changed dramatically. The road was no longer lined with trees. Instead, the were marshy grasslands on either side of the road, with a a view of the ocean for much of the drive on our left, and a beautiful view of the mountains on our right. These wide open spaces made me feel much better-no more car sickness! The road to Com was surprisingly smooth. There were a fair number of potholes, but not nearly as many as the short drive from Venilale to Baucau or the much longer drive from Venilale to Dili. We were able to drive around 60 mph for a part of the way, but that was the topmost speed we ever reached. Usually we were coasting between 45-50 mph. When driving in East Timor you have to be prepared to stop on a dime to avoid hitting the 4 C’s: errant chickens, cattle, canines and children. At one point I saw a chicken cross the road. We did not stop to question its motives. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 6.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">An hour and a half outside of Venilale we passed through Laga, a small village overlooking the ocean. Ulla volunteered at the orphanage in Laga for one month and we plan to visit this village next week so she can say goodbye to the kids. I am excited to meet all of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 6.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At one point we stopped and sister bought 4 bottled waters and handed the boy a $10 bill. I was shocked that water was so expensive here, but didn’t think much more of it. The boy promptly returned with $9 in change for sister! The waters had not cost $2.50 each, they only cost 25 cents each! I am not sure how these vendors can make a profit selling their items for such low prices. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Around 2 hours into our trip we passed a monument honoring those killed by the Indonesian military forces in East Timor’s War of Independence 10 years ago. Apparently a lot of innocent people were killed (including sisters and priests) and many of the bodies were never found. It is (understandably) still a very sore subject for many of the East Timorian people. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We reached Com in two and a half hours! This seemed like a reasonable time since I was told the trip took between 2 and 3 hours-that turned out to be exactly right! The driver pulled right up onto a large dock and Sister Sylvia, Ulla and I got out to walk around and then explore. We briefly met with Sr. Sylvia’s family before heading to the beach. Even though it was Saturday and the weather was absolutely gorgeous (90 and sunny!) we had the entire beach to ourselves! Ulla told me that bathing suits in East Timor are just your street clothes. I had brought shorts and a t-shirt, assuming we would change once we got to Com. Instead, we headed straight to the beach and I had to change right there out in the open on the beach. Thankfully, there was literally no one there and sister, Ulla and the driver nicely gave me some privacy. It still felt weird, though. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Looking out across the water, you could 4 different shades of blue. Ulla and I swam only in the first shade, the bright, turquoise blue. The water felt wonderful-it was actually pretty warm (i.e. not cold at all) so I jumped right in! The sand was white and soft and there were very few rocks in the water. This was my first time swimming in the Indian Ocean and it was amazing! Definitely the warmest, cleanest and least crowded (at least the part that we were swimming in) of the 3 oceans I have swam in!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After swimming for a good hour, Sister (who had walked along the beach while Ulla and I swam), Ulla and I strolled along the shore for a while, exploring little coves and stopping for a” merinda” (snack) consisting of bananas and pizza (made by Sr. Maria from Italy) around noon. After taking pictures and exploring some more, we walked back to our car and headed to Sr. Sylvia’s parent’s house for lunch. Along the way I asked that we stop to take a picture by the “Careful-Crocodiles” sign. I have never seen a warning sign for crocs before. The driveway up to her parent’s house was more of a hiking trail than a road for driving, but we cautiously made our way up it. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sr. Sylvia’s parent’s house wasn’t much to look at. It had been overtaken and used as housing for Indonesian soldiers during the East Timorian War of Independence and the soldiers burned it down when they left. Apparently during the Indonesian occupation, all of the Como residents were forced to retreat and live in the woods. When they returned to what was left of their village after the Indonesian army left, they found all of their livestock had been killed and there was a terrible stench. Fishermen would not gather fish for an entire year after the invasion because the water had become so polluted.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sr.’s parent’s new house was made of bricks of concrete and the floor was a concrete as well. The house was up on a hill, and it has a beautiful view of houses below it and even the ocean! The stove and kitchen sink were under a little metal roof outside the house. The bathroom was also outside. The toilet was a small hole in the ground, and the bathtub was made of concrete as well. The village had running water most of the day, which was a nice convenience. The family had nicely gathered enough water for us all to shower, but we insisted we were fine and would wait until we returned to Venilale. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Although there were very few possessions or furnishings in the house, the kitchen table was adorned with a very nice tablecloth and plates that looked like they could have come from Ikea. Lunch wasn’t too unusual-there was chicken, rice (what a surprise!), green beans, ramen noodles mixed with vegetables and that gross green vegetable staple I can’t pronounce or spell. The only really unusual thing served was the whole fish and fish soup. The fish had literally been cooked head, tail, bones and all and had been simply sliced into 4 pieces for serving. I took a “middle” piece that did not include the head or the tail, but still had to be wary of all the bones inside. It was delicious! While I had seen whole fish in Guatemala, that was almost 10 years ago and I was still a little shocked by the sight. The fish soup consisted of some type of whitish, light yellow broth with whole fish parts in it. The head was jutting out of the broth, which was not appetizing to me, so I passed on that dish. Dessert included bananas that we actually brought from Venilale. I think we also brought the drinks along too because they consisted of Coca-Cola, Sprite, bottled water or canned fruit juice (all things served at the convent).<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sr. Sylvia’s parents did not actually eat with us because they are accustomed to eating at 2 p.m. and it was only 1 p.m. Plus, the father teaches Theology at the local high school, so he was not home on his lunch break yet. Although they were very nice people, it was nice eating with just sister, Ulla and the driver because then I did not feel like I was being “watched” while I ate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Therefore, I didn’t feel bad about not eating the fish soup or the fish head. I could eat just the foods I knew would agree with me without feeling guilty. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Besides the fish, Com reminded me of Guatemala in another way-the heat! Sr. Sylvia’s mother said they have had an unusually rainy, cool year (just like Venilale), but today was very warm. It must have been 90 degrees and fairly humid as well. As a result, I was literally sweating as we sat eating lunch. I have grown up in Texas and consider myself pretty well accustomed to the heat. I couldn’t figure out why I was sweating so profusely while Ulla and Sr. Sylvia did not seem to break a sweat. Sr. Sylvia was even wearing her long sleeved habit. I have heard that conditioned people sweat more quickly than others, but that didn’t really seem like a logical explanation as I have only run once since I have been in East Timor. Why was I the only one who seemed to be affected by the heat? After finishing his meal, the driver promptly got up and announced he had to go sit outside in the shade-it was too hot in this room. I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one who was hot. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">While we waited for lunch (Sr and her mother would NOT let us help them), Ulla and I played with Sr’s 2 year old niece, Zivan. It was a great way to practice our vocabulary because we went around asking her the name of every single item inside and outside the house. Outside the house there was a pig with 4 little piglets. They were so cute! There were also banana and mango trees (neither of which were in season) and even a little garden in the shape of a heart!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After lunch we walked down the main street of Com. It is right alongside the water, and as a result, several beach resorts have sprouted up on either side of the street. We were able to walk along from one place to another, enjoying the scenery and each other’s company. One “resort” had a fun tire swing with a magnificent view. On the porch of the resort there was a large cage housing 2 monkeys! Another resort had an elegantly decorated room-apparently it is a popular spot for wedding ceremonies. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR7uGBaKf9hGikazVz98ZeUloRj-Kh8yavwkS0ZErWwG8Xw0JTMLnEGE-B6QeS56bTjUbSUEMqCelBVODRAYxTWWSftpNasgfbaePopDFOT_Tsg3nXIbXnZr_cEsyocXb-Q3jo_vCAVeU/s1600/Com+052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR7uGBaKf9hGikazVz98ZeUloRj-Kh8yavwkS0ZErWwG8Xw0JTMLnEGE-B6QeS56bTjUbSUEMqCelBVODRAYxTWWSftpNasgfbaePopDFOT_Tsg3nXIbXnZr_cEsyocXb-Q3jo_vCAVeU/s320/Com+052.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sr. Sylvia on the tire swing!</td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sr. Sylvia must have been related to everyone in town because we seemed to stop at every home<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or vendor hut along the main street for her to introduce us to another family member. Some of her family sold tais, which is brightly colored material that can be made into blankets, scarves or purses. Finally, we stopped at Sr. Sylvia’s grandfather’s house to get a few coconuts before heading back to Venilale. Unfortunately, there weren’t any people who were young enough or agile enough to climb the tree to retrieve the coconuts. We had to go home empty handed. While we were sitting talking to her grandfather, I noticed a “bed” outside his house that consisted of a blanket on top of pieces of flat wood. It didn’t look very comfortable, but I guess if you are tired enough you can sleep on anything. On our way back to the car we saw a man carrying a HUGE fish-the biggest fish Ulla or I had ever seen in person. We asked the man if we could take a picture with the fish, and he nicely obliged. The fish must have been pretty big, because when Sister took a picture of the man and me with the fish, she did not zoom out far enough and the whole fish didn’t make it into the picture. Oh well!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Just outside of Com there is a “traditional East Timor house” which is elevated 20 or 30 feet off the ground. The ladder leading up to the “floor” of the house was wobbly and not supported by anything. Ulla deftly climbed up and down it, but I proceeded with more caution. Sister apparently thought I was taking too long and came to check on me to make sure I was okay. She held the ladder for me on the way down, which I appreciated. I didn’t think I took THAT long to climb up and down, but apparently sister did (haha)!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The drive back was pretty uneventful. Ulla and Sr. slept for part of the way, but I am just not comfortable enough in the car to sleep yet. At one point we came up over this big hill and a car was coming at us very quickly in the other direction. Usually when this happens both cars slow down (we did, they didn’t) and swerve slightly off the road. This car swerved AT us before swerving away at the last second. I jumped, because I was SURE we were goners. Apparently Ulla noticed in the back seat and tapped me on the shoulder and laughed. I wonder if she jumped too. How could you not? That was the closest call we have had yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When I got back to my room, I used twice as much water as usual to take a shower-I had sand all over me! I also noticed that my cheeks were a little red-I can’t believe I got sunburned in October! I went to bed early because I was so exhausted. What a fun day </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-21131045388280668952010-10-16T03:02:00.000-07:002010-10-16T03:02:18.485-07:00Lessons from Movie Night<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Saturday night is movie night here at the school. Last week the girls watched a movie in Portuguese, so I wasn’t really interested in attending. This week I was on the internet in the room beside the cafeteria (where the movie was being played) when I heard the opening music and dialogue from the movie Freaky Friday with Lindsay Lohan. As you may recall, in the movie the mother and teenage daughter unexpectedly switch bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one else knows this has happened. Excited, I quickly logged off the computer and went to join them as they watched. Sr. Johanna was translating the whole thing for them into Tetum! The movie was in English and there were English subtitles, so it was also a great way for ME to learn and practice Tetum</span>! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was so fun to hear the girls crack up at different parts of the movie. It was interesting to note that they seemed to laugh the hardest at facial expressions or actions performed by the actors themselves, not the dialogue. I think much of the verbal humor is lost in translation. For instance, the girls loved when the mom (who was actually the teenager IN the mom’s body) joyfully jumped on the motorcycle and was hugging the daughter’s teenage crush, thought it was hilarious when the mom got a crazy new makeover that included an edgy haircut, ear piercings and crazy clothes, and when she turned away in disgust any time her fiancé tried to kiss her, etc.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Believe it or not, a very valuable lesson was reinforced to me as I watched the movie with the girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not so much what we SAY, but what we DO that makes a difference in the world. Words are tricky things. They don’t always convey the message we are trying to send, may be misinterpreted or lost in translation. Actions tend to be a lot more straightforward. Therefore, it’s okay that I don’t speak Tetum well. I don’t need to speak it well to convey love and care for the girls I am with. I can SHOW them love by being present, by hugging them, playing with them, talking, singing and laughing with them. We may not always understand what we are saying to each other, but we can understand when we show each other love, respect and kindness through our actions. Actions really do speak louder than words.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780957925362044864.post-25517850083587123662010-10-13T04:12:00.000-07:002010-10-13T04:12:31.749-07:00The Orphans on TV!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQ7p9dgJXsSQsADYXSEDZwygLqjjOhYdQSoKsBxtOwI0NYhzY_3OyNgUjBG0CPQiVPgtTx-F7hjoMt4JKiZYywt4Y-trl9vvbUlntUPSNYpiRBoE9LBoL6_gTRW8yna-2BH-O0Z8iB0w/s1600/Performance+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQ7p9dgJXsSQsADYXSEDZwygLqjjOhYdQSoKsBxtOwI0NYhzY_3OyNgUjBG0CPQiVPgtTx-F7hjoMt4JKiZYywt4Y-trl9vvbUlntUPSNYpiRBoE9LBoL6_gTRW8yna-2BH-O0Z8iB0w/s320/Performance+008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Today the only tv station in the entire country of East Timor came up to film the orphan girls acting out different stories from the Bible. All 120 of the girls had a part to play, and they were all amazing! They have been rehearsing for this play for the past 2 months, and in one of the scenes, Ulla (a volunteer from Germany who has been here since May) played the part of Jesus! Ulla asked me to come to the orphanage an hour early to help the younger girls get into costume. We figured that would be plenty of time-boy were we wrong!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">All of the younger girls and the “helpers” were gathered in one big changing room. I was shocked by how patient the girls were as we were helping them to dress and throughout the whole day of play production. If a helper wasn’t available to help a girl to get ready, the girl would just sit or stand patiently until someone addressed her. No little girl ever ran up and tugged on me (or any of the other helpers) asking us to help them next. They all patiently waited their turn. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was really not very good at dressing the girls, and it took me several attempts to wrap the garments around them the right way, tie the rope around their waists so the garment would fit properly (and not show too much skin), and fix the headpiece just right. Coordinating all the separate elements and making them all look good was a nightmare! Thankfully the girls were very patient and kind with me. The older ones were even able to tell me what each piece of clothing functioned as (i.e. a sash, a belt, a headdress, etc) which was a huge help to me. The first few girls I helped ended up getting readjusted by Ulla or the other sister there, but soon I kind of got the hang of it and dressed the girls in a decent enough way that they didn’t have to be re-done. Some of the girls had really unruly hair that would not stay under their headdress. They patiently tied it up the best they could, and I helped them pin and tie it back as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was working frantically to get each girl’s costume to look “just right”, but no matter how hard I tried, I felt like I just couldn’t make them look perfect. In spite of myself, I laughed and thought of Jesus’ original twelve disciples-none of them were perfect, either. They were just <span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333;">ordinary men whom God used in an extraordinary manner. Among the twelve were fishermen, a tax collector, and a revolutionary. The Gospels record the constant failings, struggles, and doubts of these twelve men who followed Jesus Christ. After witnessing Jesus' resurrection and ascension into heaven, the Holy Spirit transformed the disciples into powerful men of God who turned the world upside down. I felt better remembering these simple truths and continued working hard and doing MY best to help the children look THEIR best. No, they weren’t perfect, but God doesn’t expect perfection from us, so why should I? </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Once everyone was in costume, we headed to the large school room where the production was going to be held. The scenery looked really fantastic! All of the girls were sitting quietly behind the cameras on several mats laid out for them by the sisters. We waited a good 45 minutes while the camera crew got set up. I was shocked by how patient and quiet the girls were while they were waiting for the tv crew to set up, and also as they waited for their turn to perform. I never heard any complaining and all of the kids in the audience sat patiently, quietly and still. I had heard the play itself was only 15 minutes, but it took over 3 hours to shoot!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">One of the guys on the camera crew was wearing a shirt that said, “I see angels around me.” I thought that was the coolest shirt! I think too often we look for the bad in people. We focus on the guy who cuts us off in traffic or who took the last brownie in the lunch line. We don’t seem to dwell on the neighbor who gave us a friendly smile and wave goodbye as we headed to work, the person who held the door open for us as we left a building, the janitor who swept and mopped the floors so that we would have a safe and clean environment to work and play in. It’s clear to see that the girls and sisters I am working with are angels in disguise, but sometimes we miss or overlook others in our daily lives who make our day just a little bit brighter or easier by a kind gesture they may have done. How optimistic and positive to focus on and draw attention to the “do-gooders” in this world, instead of dwelling on the not so nice actions we all do from time to time. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The play itself was really cute. The kids all did a fantastic job. There were several different scenes, each with its own musical number. Each girl sang when it was her turn and did the correct dance moves in unison with the others. The play depicted various stories from the Bible. In the opening scene, a pregnant Mary visited Elizabeth. Soon Mary had baby Jesus with her and she danced around the room with Him in her arms. There was also a scene with Zacchaeus (who sang my favorite song of the play) which was really cute-it had great props, acting and singing! At one point Zacchaeus even climbed up into a paper “tree” to get a better glimpse of Jesus. Another scene depicted the woman at the well. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Ulla’s scene as Jesus, she urged the crowd around her to “Let the children come to me!” The children all sang a song and she went around and patted each one on the head. At another point they were all seated around her and one of the kids asked her, “Lord, teach us how to pray.” I believe those were all of the Bible stories included in the play, but there may have been others I am unaware of because I couldn’t actually understand much of the dialogue in the play. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTUL7BsoKWCU2UrnOZN8Z6loZyrKXYILhqdW9Rl4-dOn-DBpR4cUNm8WJdp1bS-2t4qeREPVOmZvtKK8wWlZLIjs4XoGBK5XziC0DW2C1z0AvrMLLT9LO8HZNezP97zm7QXdBY4COBVLg/s1600/Performance+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTUL7BsoKWCU2UrnOZN8Z6loZyrKXYILhqdW9Rl4-dOn-DBpR4cUNm8WJdp1bS-2t4qeREPVOmZvtKK8wWlZLIjs4XoGBK5XziC0DW2C1z0AvrMLLT9LO8HZNezP97zm7QXdBY4COBVLg/s320/Performance+025.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The play should air this weekend during the “Children’s Hour” on Saturday night. I am so proud of all the girls and their hard work-it really paid off. It is amazing to think that a camera crew from Dili would drive 4 hours to tape children performing Bible stories in the tiny village of Venilale. The camera crew all said they really enjoyed the play and that the drive was absolutely worth it. The girls are excited about the outcome of all of their hard work, and I think some of them are hoping to become East Timorian celebrities!<o:p></o:p></span></div>Keelanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00345715415185080791noreply@blogger.com1