Wilderness Wanderings

I’ve decided that Deuteronomy 6-8 is one of the most underrated passages in the Bible. I’ve never really appreciated Deuteronomy. It’s in the dreaded part of the Bible that has things about how to cut up sheep for sacrifices and what to do when you get boils. I believe that all of Scripture is valuable and holy, but sometimes it’s a little harder to imagine than other times. I attempt to do the plan where you read through the Bible in a year, but my plan usually takes two years and somehow books like Deuteronomy and Ezekiel are always left to the end. I am fully convinced that Ezekiel is written in a foreign language.

As I was reading these chapters this morning about all that the Lord says to his people concerning obedience, discipline, and blessing I was struck by how much of our Christian life is outlined in these three chapters. The ebb and flow of our striving to become more like Christ is that same as how the Lord describes the Israelites wandering in the desert as a form of discipline and learning experience to rely on God. And then he reminds them to remember him when they go into a land that is fruitful and full of abundance. He warns them to not forget about him and to bind his word on their hearts and minds. It tied in with a book that I’m reading by Jerry Bridges called Respectable Sins. Everyone should read every book by Jerry Bridges. Period. He says that most people think the root sin of every other sin is pride, but that he believes the root is ungodliness. He describes ungodliness as an attitude of not thinking about Christ at all throughout your day or throughout your activities. He says that it is a state of being unconscious of Christ unless something forces you to make him come to mind. Sounds a little bit like what the Lord was warning the Israelites about.

I don’t think that anyone living overseas would say that living this way is easy. Maybe if you have servants of all kinds and nothing to worry about and all of the comforts of home you could say that life is easy. For most of us in this situation though, it isn’t. That doesn’t mean that we don’t like it, it’s just a fact that life is harder when you’re in another culture. In ways it’s easier, but the hard things definitely outweigh that. So in ways, we are kind of like the Israelites wandering in the desert. I can’t say whether the Lord is disciplining us (I’m sure he is since we all need it!), but I can say that as you live longer overseas and things get easier for you there is that tendency to not remember the Lord as he commands in Deuteronomy. Living overseas is kind of a giant irony in ways. You learn just how sinful and in need of grace you are, and yet it is also easy to fall into ungodliness. Some people might say that it’s impossible to have both of those things in your life at the same time, but I would beg to differ. After all, us missionaries aren’t spiritual superheroes.

Cecille

I am currently sitting on my bed while I type this. It is the middle of the afternoon and upon returning from the office I found my “helper” was here today to clean and do my laundry. Now, let me stop here. Having a helper is extremely common here and almost everyone has one if they can afford it. I was hesitant at first about it because it is so counter-culture from what I come from. I felt like it was like having a maid or servant or something and that’s just… weird. But as I was gone more and more, and my apartment got dirtier and dirtier (there’s some Filipino way of cleaning that I haven’t figured out), the necessity of having someone come and take care of the burden of cleaning and doing the laundry once a week became apparent. And so enter Cecille. Her kids are involved in our programs in the community and her family needed some extra money to help with the cost of school. Every week she comes over for a few hours to make everything sparkling clean and I’m always amazed at how she can do everything in half the time that it takes me.

The only problem with this situation is that when I happen to be working at home (such as today) or have a day off when she comes over it creates an awkward environment for me. I mean, it’s a small apartment and it’s not like I can go hide somewhere. And I feel like I have to look busy while she’s here since I feel like a lazy slob if I’m sitting doing nothing while she goes around and cleans everything. So I purposely plan my week around when she is over, although sometimes she surprises me and comes a different day. This is what happened today. And so what do you do while someone cleans up your messes and hand washes your underwear? Blush for approximately 3 hours? Hide your underwear and do it yourself another day? What if you left a ton of dirty dishes in the sink that she now has to clean even though you didn’t mean for her to do it? And what about that plastic bag from the grapes that you ate that her family could never afford? It’s a little embarrassing when she sees that in your trash when she takes it out. And why does it make me feel so uncomfortable to make someone else clean my toilet? It seems so… degrading. And yet it’s normal here. I’m providing a job and money for a family’s expenses. I just need to get over it. But it’s been over a year now and I still haven’t. Thus the reason that I’m hiding on my bed so that I can somehow pretend that Cecille didn’t just have to wash my pants that have mud halfway up the leg from the other day.

People Pleasing

Sometimes in life you have to have the youth do a relay where they have to eat the food the fastest.

I will be the first person to admit that I'm a people pleaser. Let me rephrase that, I was a people pleaser. I've been broken of that habit due to circumstances that have happened here, which is fairly ironic since the Filipino culture is a culture of people pleasing and just breeds that characteristic in anyone who lives here.

What is known as "smooth interpersonal relationships" is the ultimate priority here. This comes before what is right or wrong, what is just, or your own personal opinions or ambitions. Being ok with everyone dominates every aspect of society, from the police officer who can't charge his neighbor for beating his wife because the other neighbors would be mad at him, to the government official who has to hire his friend's son because his friend will be mad if he doesn't. You strive to treat everyone the same and if there is a breach in your interpersonal relationships then you immediately try to fix it... indirectly of course.

When I first got here I unconsciously dove into this aspect of the culture. My people pleasing nature combined with the culture equaled a combination of wanting to have everyone like me and trying to be nice to everyone. Obviously this is good, as long as it doesn't dominate you and become what you are striving for. But eventually after months of running after that ideal, you become tired. I became tired. As much as I tried, I couldn't please everyone and I even got in trouble for being too nice. (That's a whole other story though.) I don't want to say that I gave up, but I just decided that it wasn't worth it anymore and if people didn't like me, well, that was their problem.

It was evident how much I've changed when something happened this past week. There was a situation with a staff member and certain staff blamed me for the outcome and influenced others to think the same thing about me. As my name got rubbed in the dirt, I just didn't care. I knew what had really happened, and knew that I had done the right thing. Two years ago I would be completely distraught by what people were saying, but now I know that there is nothing I can do about it and that people will believe what they want to believe. That doesn't mean that it's still not hard for me, of course it is. I mean, who wants people saying bad things about you? But instead of having it effect me as much as it did in the past, I instead let it roll off and take confidence that Christ is my justifier and he is the only one that I have to please.

Tabitha, Oscar and Rosie (or an entry about new roommates)

I have no understood cat people. I don’t understand how you can like a creature that hisses, pees inside the house, and rubs against your leg for attention. They do nothing but lie around and make the house smell. So when I came home the other day to find two kittens and a mother cat right outside my front door you can imagine what I thought. I had been gone for 5 days at another community and returned to find that the mother had decided that my front porch, with the overhanging roof, made the perfect place for her to give birth. And after giving birth they of course wanted to stay there. I figured that they would leave after they had spotted me and would wake up the next day to find the step empty again. The next day I woke up and nearly stepped on the two kittens when I walked outside. The mom was nowhere in sight. Hmm… what to do? I admit that I’m a softie when it comes to animals and I thought the mom had abandoned them there. But I couldn’t have them hanging out on my step. I went back inside and brought out a box that I tipped on its side and placed next to the step. It was still under the overhang, but it was out of my direct path. The torrential downpours that we have this time of the year made me have sympathy on them since I knew they were just trying to stay somewhere dry.

That all happened a week ago and they haven’t left. I’ve even named them now. Each day I come home and hope to see them. I didn’t know why at first since I hate cats. But then I realized that it was nice to have someone (can you call kittens “someone”?) to come home to. It made my apartment a little less lonely. Although they stay outside, I know that they’re there. I guess it could be worse, I could have a pack of rats on my steps that I’ve become attached to. That’s just gross.

Where Are Your Shoes?

“I don’t have any flip flops.” That was little Reggie’s response when I asked where his sandals were. I was surprised by my own surprise. You would think that after being here over a year and a half I would be used to kids not having shoes or other basic things. In ways, I’ve just become immune or numb to it, so I was taken back by my own reaction to Reggie. It had been a long time, unfortunately, since I had been sort of shocked by the poverty that I am surrounded by all the time. It has become normal to me and I’m ashamed to say that my defense mechanism tends to be to ignore it or else I’ll become overwhelmed. So what is the balance? There has to be a middle ground between being completely overwhelmed by the poverty and injustice and being numb to it. My reaction to Reggie at least showed me that I still have a heart and feelings, something that I was recently questioning. There are more instances that I get annoyed with the noisy kids playing outside of my house instead of having compassion for them. There are more instances when my thoughts are consumed with deadlines and emails than with the man who is always sleeping on the sidewalk where I catch the bus. Maybe I just don’t like the pain that it causes me to really dwell on these things. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore it. Maybe it’s the enemy’s way of preventing me to be more like Christ.

And then I read the gospels and how Christ had time for all and healed so many. How did he do it? How did he handle it? How can I be more like him? It’s easy for me to say that I care about the poor and about justice, but it’s harder when you have to go and play with the kids outside when you’re exhausted, stop at the bakery on the way to give some bread to the man on the sidewalk, or allow the things that I pass by everyday to really effect my heart and mind. Maybe I need to be a little less selfish and a little more Christlike.

Getting Out Alive

I’ve never liked going shopping. I’m one of those people who runs into the store with the exact item that I need in mind, grab that item, pay for it, and run out without even glancing at the other items in the store. Some of this is a defense mechanism so that I don’t become tempted to buy more than what I need, but it’s mostly just because I don’t like shopping. I don’t know why I have this dislike of a rather popular female pastime, but I do know that for as long as I can remember the words “mall” and “fitting rooms” always made me want to climb the nearest tree and not come down until the threat of having to experience either of the words was over. But now it has gone to a whole new level for me.

I was asked again to be a godparent the other week. This means that I needed to go to the baptism of my godson and bring a gift. The dreaded gift. It’s dreaded because it means that I have to go into the battlefield known as “the mall”. There are tons of malls here, some better than others, and their main purposes are (in no particular order): to allow people to walk around in air conditioning instead of the scorching heat, have huge mega-churches rent out entire floors for their services, as a pathway to the train station, and to give the person the experience of complete sensory overload. Well, I needed a gift and it could only be found at the mall so off I went.

Before I go any further I feel that I need to explain something. In all of the department stores there are literally hundreds of staff standing next to every aisle, rack, or table ready to help you. Imagine that person that says, “Can I help you find anything?” when you first enter a store, but multiply it by 800. And then imagine that they don’t understand when you tell them that you’re just looking. Are you imagining it? Good. This is why I call it a battlefield. I arrived at the baby section and scanned the area for the enemy known as the overeager staff. They were everywhere! I had made the grave mistake of coming in the middle of a Monday when there were barely any other customers! How could I have been so stupid? This was going to be harder than I thought. I approached the first table that had a sale sign on it. I counted the seconds, 1, 2, 3, 4… “Can I help you? Are you looking for a newborn? What size ma’am? Boy or girl? How about this one?” AH! I told her I was just looking and didn’t need help in hope that she would take the hint and go away. She didn’t. She stood next to the table and watched me as I looked through the various clothes to see if I could find what I wanted. After a rather uncomfortable amount of time of me being completely distracted by her standing abnormally close to me as I pilfered through the piles I decided to venture to another section. The lady here was classic. Since I’m a foreigner they assume I have mass quantities of cash oozing out of me. As I walked down an aisle trying to find an outfit that didn’t have cartoon characters or weird Asian dragons on it she approached with an outfit she thought I might like. I had not asked her to get an outfit, nor told her what size I was looking for or that I was even looking for an outfit. She showed me the outfit and I noticed that it was 3 times as much as a normal one. Interesting. Thanks, but no thanks. I smiled and walked away. By this time I was starting to get extremely claustrophobic and just wanted to find a stupid outfit and get the heck out of there. I saw a section that looked promising and dove in. My politeness with the staff that I encountered had been slowly dwindling. This poor lady that approached me got the brunt of my frustration. I just simply ignored her and her endless stream of questions and suggestions. I wish that I could tell you that I shared the gospel with her or we became fast friends and now we hang out every single day, but the reality is that I was beyond stressed out and just tuned her out. I was a complete jerk, but it was for my own survival… and really for her survival too because I just wanted to punch her out after awhile. Finally, something that wasn’t expensive and in the size I needed. I ran to the counter and paid and just barely escaped without having a nervous breakdown. In all, the whole shopping experience took roughly 15 minutes but involved about 7 different sales ladies, so you do the math.

You better like your gift Asher.

Body Image

Body image is a topic that girls could talk about for hours and hours… and is pretty alien to most guys. But I have sort of a bias opinion being a girl myself, so by all means contradict me on that one if it’s not true. As American girls we whine and complain about being too fat, too tall, too short, having big hips, the wobbly skin on our underarms, the number of chins we have, the shape of our nose, or the amount of freckles on our face. I was not immune to this growing up and was just like the next girl. And then I moved to Asia…

It is a completely different ballgame that I’m in now, for better or worse. For instance, Filipinos are fascinated/obsessed with white skin. They buy products to bleach their skin and stay out of the sun so that they don’t get darker. All of a sudden my pale skin is a blessing rather than a curse. I don’t sit around with bronzed beauties and wish that my Irish genes could be a little less dominant. I don’t compare my waist size to everyone else’s simply because they are all obnoxiously smaller than me and there’s no way that I could compare. It’s apples and oranges. They shop in the kids’ department for jeans. This also makes it rather tough to find clothes, and thus Old Navy.com is my new friend. Filipinos love my rather large nose and always express that they would love to have it. And my hair, my curly hair. One of the staff even got her hair permed in hopes that it would look like mine. It doesn’t. Another staff loves to hold onto my arm during meetings (which can get rather sweaty) because she loves the feel of the fat on my arms. I think she weighs approximately half of my weight and I could easily break her in half over my thigh. Why she loves to feel my fatty arms I have yet to understand, but it’s a form of affection so I go with it. Overall, it’s a good place to be if you want to ignore all of the body image stuff.

And then you get on public transportation. The size of a seat in the Filipino mind is about the size of my right foot. Thus when I have to squeeze into some sort of “seat” I feel like I weigh 800 pounds and everyone is staring at me. It’s also fun when I try to get out of this sardine can known as public transportation and literally have to shimmer and squirm my way out. My cumbersome size 9.5 feet also tend to step on everyone else’s toes as I attempt to make my way to the exit of whatever lovely form of transportation I’m on, which is followed by a series of mutterings about the clumsy American. But there is a bright spot for even this because on crowded trains I bust my way out and my teeny, tiny Filipino co-workers follow in my wake. I think they would still be stuck in the back of the train and 3 stops down the line if they didn’t have me to pave the way for them. It’s actually kind of funny to watch.

I also sweat a rather excruciatingly gross amount. I attribute this to the heat (it’s about 90 degrees right now as I write this) and my Irish genes. My Irish genes are getting bashed right now, but I truly do love them. If you remember the first weeks of school when you would get to class and take off your backpack only to find that the entire back of your shirt is drenched with sweat, you’ll know how I feel everyday. It wouldn’t be so bad except that all of the cute, petite Filipinas are walking around without a single bead of perspiration. They don’t even “glisten”. It ticks me off. And it makes me feel completely gross. So when I talked to Kristina about what was included in the bag that she and some other people from my church are bringing over to me (they’re here for a short-term trip for 3 weeks) and she mentioned that there was a lot of stuff to make me smell good, I had to laugh to myself. Bath and Body Works is the only weapon that I have against my smelly, sweaty, not-fitting-into-seats body image. Bless you Bath and Body Works, bless you.