For the Patient and True

Has it really been a month since we posted anything? Well, that should not be. I have to say that since we have been back in the States, our time spent on the internet has significantly decreased (mine more than Matt’s). I find myself going days without checking my email or even thinking about email. Strange, isn’t it?

This morning I sat working on waking up and watched my stomach move spontaneously. Sometimes it feels like I’ve swallowed a hamster, but this morning the baby was making her presence known in a more pronounced way. “Her” is intentional. We spent last Monday morning in a darkened room looking at images produced by soundwaves bouncing off our child. She is healthy, developing well, and looks kind of freaky. Matt and I were both grateful to see that none of the deformities that could have been caused by the rat poison I was taking were detectable. Thank you for your prayers.

Today is a beautiful spring day. In about twenty minutes I have to go sit in an office for the rest of the afternoon, but for now, I am enjoying the springness of the day. I just saw a small, round animal run into the wooded area behind our apartment...maybe a groundhog? One evening Matt and I saw two foxes testing the boundaries of our complex. Even though we are living in the biggest city either of us has ever lived in, it is still very much Arkansas.

As the days start getting longer and the weather warmer, our lives are starting to feel more settled and more hopeful. Thank you to all of you for your prayers and support which has helped us get through some difficult months.

MMHmm

Well it is a sunny Saturday morning and as reticent as I am to admit it, we have much to be thankful for. Why am I so begrudging toward this fact? I can only say that all the upheaval of the past few months has left me at times, not a little frustrated and sullen (as my friends here in Little Rock can attest). As I read over the posts from our time in Indonesia I find a few that I enjoy and most that sound to me like what I imagine my own child will sound like when I ask him do something that to him seems difficult. I can stand other people’s whining a great deal better than my own. But I digress. After last weekend in the hospital, a change of medicine and a visit yesterday with the Baby Doctors Melody and our baby are doing well.

I am thankful this morning for a place to sleep and wake and make hot chocolate and music; a place to make our own and make ready for our new family member.

I am thankful for the sound of a little peanut-sized heart beating faster than a techno drum-beat calling out to us from inside Melody; for every little “wump” sound that the Doctor told us was the baby kicking at the mini-doppler probe (apparently some kids don’t like the way ultra-sonic waves feel passing through their little sensory deprivation chambers).

I am thankful for the physicians, the medicines and the science that are able to help solve the enigmas of our bodies when they start to work against themselves.

I am thankful for Family and friends (who act like family) who feel it with us so that it doesn’t feel so hard as it might; for the love of our Father aimed at us from so many angles and so many hearts; for the patience of those around us when we’re less than patient.

I am thankful for the help we get when it seems like it’s not coming.

I am thankful for life and the wife that rests in the next room; for Saturday mornings with time to spare.

What are you thankful for?

I Palindrome I

I just had the amazing experience of taking out the last garbage bag from inside the box and then putting the box inside the bag.

Everything has babies. Even laptops computers.

Uninsurance

“So would a Doppler Study to determine the extent of the remaining blood clot be covered even though maternity is excluded?”
“That depends on how they bill it.”
“How should they bill it?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t give you that information.”
“You don’t know or you can’t say?”
“I can’t give you that information on how to bill it so that it would be covered. I can say that if it is pertaining to pregnancy then it would not be covered.”
“Like if it was ordered an OB/GYN or a high risk pregnancy specialist.”
“Right. That would not be covered.”
“(long sigh) Insurance is a frustrating game, Felicity.”
“Yes it is. But it’s something we all need.”
“The way the rules are now, yes.”

The division and subdivision of humanity into specialties and areas “covered” and “not covered” has a fractious effect on the individual. As a person who happens to think that God created us as unified wholes I deeply resent the way my wife is being carved up. It’s not the knife of the surgeon I fear as much as the categories of the medical professionals who work for those companies who are in the position to render the inflated costs of the best medical care in the world somewhat more plausible to people like us.

Melody had to stop taking birth control because it was a contributing factor to her blood clot. Shortly after, we found out she was pregnant. A condition complicated and made much more risky (for her and our child) by her blood issues. The unity with which we were created can be seen in the way that anger triggers high blood pressure, and in the way that prayer and petting a bunny can lower it. How much greater is the interplay between the complete overhaul the female body receives in pregnancy and something as blatantly physical as a blood clot? Changes in one trigger changes in the way the other is treated. Yet for reasons I do not yet understand (financial I am prone to suppose), the very companies we so trustingly finance pay medical staff that divide these bodies into “covered” and “not covered.”

I know. It was in the fine print. It’s not the legality of it that I question. It’s the unnatural division of what to me are so clearly, inextricably interacting with each other. I don’t even like to phrase it that way. The baby (independent personhood aside), the clot, the genes, they are all part of the unity that is Melody’s body. To say that they will not help us pay for treatment because it is related to Melody’s pregnancy doesn’t make sense to me. How can anything in her life, mind, body, NOT relate to her pregnancy? A child growing inside a woman foreshadows the changes it will require beginning now and from now on by taking her body and turning it upside down, inside out and leaves us all reeling, kicking its tiny, yarn-sized legs in the dark.

Earth Quakes

So after a relatively uneventful journey from Indonesia to Singapore to Detroit we arrived in the midst of a surprise winter storm. But, we found ourselves drawn back once again to that Little Rock (the capital not the Kabah). We're spending the holidays with family and attempting to feel something approximating normalcy.

I am writing due to the concerns of several who have heard of the devastating earth-quake that happened today in East asia and the subsequent tidal waves that have killed thousands. We were shocked and concerned about our friends, but it seems that the epicenter and waves were so far from our home in Manado that all of our friends and students are unaffected. Even a friend of ours on Jakarta emailed and said she was fine and didn't even feel it.

Thanks for your concern and prayers as we continue to look for work, insurance, permanent lodging and transition back into life here.

There's Lumpkin Bread in the Oven

So, you want an update, eh? Well, Matt and I have officially resigned from our teaching positions at MIS. We will be heading back to Arkansas soon. If we can get flights worked out, it will be before Christmas.

If I have piqued your interest, then please, read on. There have been some recent developments in my health. More precisely, there’s one major development that will develop over the next few months and greatly influence my health. We are expecting a child. And I find myself wishing more and more that those stork stories were true.

We are sad to be leaving here, frightened by the possible complications this pregnancy could create, and excited about a new life.

We have a little over a week to sell, give away, and pack up all our things. My rat poison (which apparently is baby poison too) was replaced by twice daily injections. Matt is getting good at stabbing me. It’s a crazy life, but someone has to live it.

Ways you can pray for us (if you are so inclined):
- my health and the baby’s health
- Matt’s health (he’s sick right now with some kind of cold/infection)
- the long ride home
- financial issues (my new medicine is quite expensive and our insurance only covers us while we are out of the States)
- job/housing issues (we will be presuming on the graces of our parents initially, but hope to find a home to call our own soon)
- finding good doctors (anyone who happens to know a good hematologist in the LR area, let me know)

Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers and we will see many of you soon.

On Spirits and Stories

The week was long. The days are still hot. We spent copious time this week struggling with the administration of the school over petty things (and some not so petty things, like our salary). By Friday afternoon, I was exhausted and wanting to be anywhere but teaching fourth grade. Usually on Friday afternoons, I read to them, but we had finished our book and I didn’t want to start another one so close to the end of the semester. I explained how to make nouns plural, which they picked up rather quick (I’m sure they will forget it all by Monday). Not really caring about plurals, they asked me to tell them a story. Not really wanting to put forth the effort to drag them through singular/plural exercises, I obliged.

I asked them what they wanted to hear a story about. They said, “spirits,” “ghosts” “evil”. This wasn’t exactly the kind of story that I had in mind, but I thought for a minute and something came to mind.

In the second grade Bible class I teach, we had just talked about a story from Acts 16, where Paul casts the evil spirit out of a servant girl and ends up in jail. Paul prays and sings in jail and an earthquake shakes the doors open. I started telling this story and fourteen pairs of eyes stayed glued on me.

As I was telling the story, they stopped me, “Ma’am, true story ma’am?” I told them it was. I saw the fright on their faces of the idea of an evil spirit being inside a little girl. I saw them look relieved when Paul cast the spirit out. They had no problem believing that spirits were real. None of them tried to explain away about the spirit. There was no need to.

I thought for a while after that. The western world approaches spirits and spiritual ideas with great caution. Spirits need to be explained away with scientific explanations and nothing is real unless it can be proven. After being on planes and in airports for 44 hours, we stepped into a world where the seen and the unseen are equally real. Magic and ghosts are alive and well. The children have no problem believing that there was an evil spirit in a little girl. No one tried to explain it away as a seizure.


In other news:
Matt will be preaching tomorrow morning at a local church.
My leg is doing well, still slightly swollen, but much better.

Two Celebrations

First of all, Happy Birthday (quite literally) Jordan David Roe!!! Congratulations to the new parents--Haven and Jason. We miss you guys.

Secondly, Happy Thanksgiving! We celebrated today with three other American families. Matt and I didn’t have to sit at the kids’ table. It was great. There were nine children (ranging from 5 months to 8 years) and eight adults. Yesterday (Wednesday) I came down with one of my monthly sinus infections. Other than that, Thanksgiving was great. It was the next best thing to being home.

We put some pictures up (.Mac link on the right).

The Bali Mystique

We set out for the beautiful land of Bali on Wednesday (Nov. 10) very early. There was some concern about our tickets as the travel agent had our names wrong, but thankfully (for us, but not for the security of Indonesia) the airports don’t care what your name is or what you say your name is. Our ID was never checked. Thanks to a cancelled flight, we had a seven hour layover in a small airport with few food options and fewer things to do. We ate french fries and Baskin Robbins for lunch (Matt had JMA). When we finally arrived in Bali, we were tired, but greatly impressed by the beauty.

We spent five days on the beach, which is quite nice. The only problem is the enormous number of people trying to sell things. At least a hundred women wanted to braid my hair, give me a massage, or give a manicure. You can’t walk three meters (isn’t the metric system fun?) without someone asking if you need transport.

We did get to enjoy some really nice things there, like cheese. [Side note: Our senior year of university, Matt and I went to visit our friend Ben Utter in China. One of the things he asked us to bring was cheese. I thought he was a bit odd for the request at the time, but after living without good cheese for six months, I understand completely.] We ate some really good food: Greek (feta), Mexican (with cheese dip), and Italian (with lots of parmesan).

Matt wanted to try surfing, so he took a class one day. I sat and watched and was hassled to death by venders. It was a nice day.

After spending some time at the beach, we went up to Ubud, the artistic center of Bali (so we were told). They had real art galleries and interesting crafts to sell. We went into a gallery and ended up staying over an hour talking to the artist who owned it. He enjoyed music and made bamboo flutes. We sat and played flute and guitar for a long time and he told us of his art, wife and life in Indonesia.

We met many interesting people in Ubud, a lot of lonely expats. We talked with a very large European gay man one night after he joined us at our table and started picking over our leftovers. We met a lovely Norwegian woman at a Balinese dance who had some not so lovely things to say about Bush. The next night we met an Australian who, over the course of about an hour and several desserts, spilled his life story out to us.

We had many conversations with the locals about Hinduism as it is expressed in Bali. At our hotel in Ubud, a man named Mega would cook and bring us breakfast every morning. He explained several stories to us and told us about spirits and asked if the Muslims killed Jesus. We had some interesting discussions with him.

The most memorable moment happened in the monkey forest, home of the Monkey Forest Temple. We went to get some pictures of monkeys. They had a different idea. Matt was walking up some stairs behind some of the little critters. A baby monkey got frightened and screamed. The mother looked around, saw Matt and went into attack mode. She bit his leg and scratched his arm before finally deciding she had scared him enough and backed away. (Moms and people who have maternal feelings toward us: the skin was barely broken since he was wearing pants.)

We decided to sit down a bit out of the way and just observe for a few minutes. As we were sitting, an older monkey lumbered up to Matt and sat down right beside him. The monkey reached into Matt’s backpack and took the bottle of water. He held it in his feet and used his hands to open it then took a long drink. He looked up at us as if to say either “thank you” or “ha ha, you can’t stop me,” then dropped the bottle and walked off.

In all it was a nice trip from which neither of us really wanted to return. We go back to school tomorrow. There are four more weeks until Christmas.

**There are new pictures posted to illustrate all the major points of this post.**

A cool Bali evening yawns its way across our balcony at the Oka Wati Hotel in Ubud. Sips of hot tea punctuate thoughts of our walk in the Monkey Forrest and the intentionally pitiful woman selling flutes at the entrance. My dark feelings of foreboading apparently from being so near the various Hindu temples keep giving way to thoughts of this inconvenient, annoying woman and how would Jesus handle the confrontation of a desperate person seeking a bit of his position of advantage.

I suppose Peter and John did it their way. And I worship the same living God but I hardly feel at liberty to say “rise up and check your bank account, I think you’ll find it full.”

All the other people going into the forest to worship carried stacks of fruit half their height towering above their heads, some with chickens strapped to the front. I wonder what she will bring to the temple. Tonight’s the last night for this festival and prayers end at 10:00 PM.
-Matt

We’re off to Bali! At least I hope we are. Our handwritten tickets are for “Mr. Melodi Matthew” and “Mrs. Lumpkin Melodi.” I’m hoping the Indonesian airlines are a bit less strict than the American ones. Matt assures me they are, but it still makes me nervous. We leave tomorrow morning at five and will be gone for ten days.

Here are the parts I am most excited about:
- having consist water and a bathtub
- white sand
- McDonalds and Mexican food
- being in the Southern Hemisphere (I promise to watch the water spin)
- being out of the pink walls of our house
- experiencing another part of Indonesia

On an unrelated note, this is my first official plea for guests. We bought sheets and pillows for our guest room and will reward the first visitor(s) with the knowledge that no one has slept on the sheets before. Wouldn’t you love to be the first to sleep on a set of new sheets? I’ll try to think of better things to entice you with for future posts.

Crime and Punishment

Discipline has never been my strength. For the two years I worked with the youth group, I struggled to maintain control. The semester that I worked as a substitute teacher challenged my crowd control ability even more. Now we work at a school that has very lax policies and minimal procedures for dealing with behavior problems. When I stopped a second grade student from chasing another student around the classroom with a metal ruler and asked him to hand over his weapon, he answered with a loud NO. What then? The school has no set consequences for misbehavior and nothing ready made with which to threaten them (i.e. “go to the principal” or “stay in at recess”). I’ve been working out some discipline measures of my own with mixed results.

Fourth grade is a very difficult class. I have them at the end of the day, right before they have sports. One of the biggest challenges is to get them to keep their clothes on in the classroom as they want to change for sports. After weeks of struggling with them for their attention, I think I have finally found a solution: Mr. Graham-ometer. Mr. Graham is a middle-aged (for people who live to 100) British science teacher. The kids in elementary know him as the bule that yells at them. They are terrified of him. Sensing their terror yesterday, I came up with an idea. I told them that if they could not behave for me, then I would get Graham to switch places with me. I would teach his science class and he would teach their English class. They did not like this idea. Preying even further on their terror, I drew a tall, thin column on the board with several sections and labeled it “Mr. Graham-ometer.” When they are being loud or not paying attention, I fill in one of the sections. It works wonderfully.

Third grade is a wonderful class, full of excitement and eager to learn. They are convinced that I am a walking Barbie doll and sneak up behind me to touch my hair. While this class has won its way into my heart, they still have a few problems. They love to wander. They roam about the room as much as I let them. Today two girls kept getting up. I told them that if they got up again, I would give them a punishment. I looked up again and they were standing together away from their desks. I wrote “I will stay in my seat during class.” on the board and told them to write it twenty times. They cheerfully sat down to get started. A minute later, another girl came up to me and whispered in my ear, “Ma’am, can I make like Ester and Monica?” I looked at her confused and asked if she wanted to write the sentences. She nodded. With a strange look I said, “Okay.” In the end, four girls wrote the sentences. Although it wasn’t perceived as a punishment, it did keep them in their seats for the rest of the class time.

ps- could someone tell us how to do titles? or how to get kittens out of the roof?

Lately



This photo of Melody in quiet contemplation is designed to attract your attention to the new photos on the .Mac Photo Page (link to the right). Most are from our most recent visit to Singapore along with few more tasty bonuses from Manado life, for contrast.

Also I would like to call your attention to our most recently added Blog: Project Samaria. In it you will read about our dear friends Shane and Dianne (our former Pastor and his wife), Taylor, Allie, (their children) and Sweetie (their dog). They recently moved to Slovakia to work with the Romany people (aka Gypsies) who are just as shunned, stereotyped and despised as they have ever been, not unlike the Samaritans of the first century. They are a part of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship and we are proud to have shared a church home, ministry, and many many good meals with them. Shane, in particular, is one of the most independant thinkers I know (though he may chafe at the characterization). Those who enjoy having your particular take on things gently stretched in different directions should give Project Samaria a look.

For those of you who are wondering, I, Matt, am still alive and thinking though I'm letting my thoughts cement a bit more before I try to offer them up to you, our loyal and patient readership. I'm reading a great book (Beyond Belief: Islamic Excursions Among the Converted Peoples by V.S. Naipaul) that's helping me think through the role of religion in general and now, particularly Islam, in Indonesia. For now, content yourself with this question: at what point does submission to authority (of Government, God or otherwise) become learned helplessness? Talk amongst yourselves.

I'll talk to you soon.
Matt

We have returned. A little after one o’clock this afternoon, we stepped off of a plane into a dreary airport. The first time we flew into Manado, I was enthralled. The runway is set next to palm trees and thatched huts. We had no idea what we would encounter in this new land and were excited about the possibilities. The second time we flew into Manado, we were again anxious, but this time for different reasons. We now knew the limit of the health care and were unsure about how our lives here would be changed by my recently developed health problem. Today as we stepped into the airport, I wanted to be anywhere else. I am in the midst of my fourth cold (is it still called a cold if you have fever?) in three months. Sleep is my friend, trying to communicate with immigration officials is not. All went very smooth. We were out of the airport and home (in bed for me) in less than an hour.

Living here is very interesting and at times quite enjoyable. I just think that our quality of life would be improved if there were less mucus, puke, and swelling of limbs. You should be able to pull some prayer requests out of there somewhere.

Singapore was quite nice. Our main objective was to get the ultrasound Doppler study done of my leg and see the doctor. That was accomplished before we were there for 24 hours. The Doppler study showed that there had been much improvement. There is no complete blockage in the vein now, but several places where there is still partial blockage. The doctor (who is quite amiable) upped my dosage of the rat poison and said I should continue it for six more months.

Our secondary objectives were to stock up on reading materials and American foods. We got everything to make a green bean casserole, stove top stuffing, brownie mix, Pace picante sauce, dark chocolate, hot chocolate mix, canned pumpkin, alfredo sauce, and various other goodies. Shopping there was fun because all of the prices are in Sing dollars, which are each worth about 60 cents US. It was a like a huge sale where everything was 40% off.

We were hosted by wonderful family who live in a Balinese resort (as described by the family Matt stayed with last time). I enjoy visiting new places more when we get to stay with a local family and discuss our observations of life in their geographical corner. This visit, I learned more about the school system, mandatory male military service, and Bible Study Fellowship. We also learned (from 11-year-old Victor) that Singapore means “lion city”.

Speaking of lions, Matt and I went on a safari. At least, that’s what it’s called. Someone involved with the Singapore Zoo had the brilliant idea of housing nocturnal animals in a separate place with dim lighting so people could see them when they are most active. They call it a night safari and it was amazing. The barriers were generally worked into the natural habitat and the animals looked happy. We saw all kinds of great animals: lions, a tiger, a red panda (does that count as bears?), various pigs, tapirs, Asian elephants, rhinos, hippos, fighting rams of some sort, many deer like creatures, leopards, a cloudy leopard, and cats that jump into water to catch fish (creatively named “fishing cats”). It was amazing and fun.
Yesterday, we got to go to an English speaking church! That was the first sermon I have understood since the last time we were in Singapore. We spent the day with the Wee’s, the family that Matt and, for a shorter time, I stayed with last time. Matt went on a hike with the father and son of the family. Remember those analogies from standardized tests? Here’s one for you: monkeys are to Singapore/Indonesia as squirrels are to Arkansas/most of the States.

It’s time again for me to go to sleep. Tomorrow is ugly uniform day and I have to get plenty of beauty sleep to battle it.

“Ma’am, if dead, talk to Ma’am?”

I stared blankly at Do Hee, a fourth grade Korean girl, wondering what the heck she meant.

“No, dead people don’t talk to me.”

“No, no. If dead, talk to Ma’am?”

“You mean ghosts?”

“NO. If dead, talk to Ma’am?”

I looked at her again, even more befuddled. She pointed to a boy in front of her who was lying on the floor not moving. “If dead, talk to Ma’am?”

In a moment of epiphany, I looked at the fifteen fourth grade students and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. As my stern face gave way to laughter, all control I had gained up to that point was lost.

Friday is story day. Every Friday, I read to each of my four English classes. Sixth grade hears There’s a Boy in the Girl’s Bathroom, fifth grade listens intently to Charlotte’s Web, and third and forth grade are enthralled by The Boxcar Children.

On this particular Friday, forth grade was having a hard time sitting still and listening to the adventures of Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny. Every few sentences, I would be interrupted with a cry of “Ma’am, Andri do like this with her, I mean his feet.” Or, “Ma’am, Deigo is look.” In frustration, I found myself saying words that I had heard all through elementary, “Work it out between yourselves. If there is not blood or a broken bone, don’t tell me about it.”

Of course, they thought this was hilarious. Instantly, in some strange natural disaster striking only fourth grade students, all of them had broken bones. Miraculously, though, they all healed when I threatened to stop reading. That’s when Do Hee spoke up. She wanted to know if death was serious enough to interrupt reading. I assured her it was, then several kids dropped “dead.”

-------------------

In other news, we are heading out to Singapore on Wednesday (Oct. 13). I have an appointment with my doctor there for an ultrasound/check-up. I’m really excited about going back since I can walk this time. We will leave on Wednesday and return on Monday.

One of the most frustrating things is miscommunication. For fifteen minutes today I struggled to be understood and to understand. I was talking with my section coordinator about grades. The elementary uses this strange grading system where the lowest possible score is a 50, the highest is 100, and 75 is the lowest passing score. This is not the common Indonesian way to grade, but a mixture of Filipino systems. When I went to her and asked for the break-down of what letters corresponded with which numbers she said, “We only use numbers.”

“Okay, well, could I have a chart or key of some kind to explain the numbers. For example, 95-100 is excellent, 90-95 is good, etc.”

“The parents understand.”

“Well, numbers as grades are used differently in different places. In the States, generally 74 is a C, which is considered average. Here 74 is failing. Don’t you think we should tell the parents how we use the numbers?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you worry too much. The parents will know what we mean. I looked in the encyclopedia and it said that grades could be given in any form we wanted, letters or numbers.” [I really wanted to press this and see what kind of encyclopedia article she had read about grades, but I let it be.]

“Right, but we have to ascribe meaning to the numbers.”

“You can tell the parents at the parent teacher conference.”

“Here is how it is done in the States: children go into a class knowing that if they make a 90 or above, they will get an A. If they make all A’s and B’s, they will be on what’s called the Honor Roll. They use numbers and letters, the letters giving meaning to the numbers.”

“That is not applicable here.”

This went on for way too long. Finally, I smiled, said okay, and went back to my cubicle. Using the system I was most familiar with, I gave a letter value to groups of numbers and that made me feel better.

“But, America will help, right?” I stood looking at Sonya, wondering what to say. We were talking about the recent presidential elections. The man who has most likely won (all of the votes have not been counted) is a Muslim, just like the current president. There were rumors that if elected, he would enforce Muslim laws.

In my fifth grade class, we were discussing proper nouns when the election came up. Most of the students in the class are Christians, at least in name. I asked them what they would do if Susilo wanted everyone to become Muslim. “I would go to Singapore.” “I would leave.” “I would move to America.”

These comments were racing through my mind as I talked to Sonya, who hasn’t the means to leave if she wanted to. I asked her what would happen if Susilo enforced the Muslim laws. She told me that this province, which is mostly Christian, would become an independent nation. She said that America and Australia would help them because they (this province) are Christians. “America will come and kill the Muslims before the Muslims kill us. We are bigger than Iraq, and they help them.”

I wanted to say, “Iraq has oil. Most Americans don’t know where North Sulawesi is. There are many places in the world where horrible things are happening and America is doing very little to stop it. A couple of years ago when the Muslims and Christians were fighting in the Mouluccu’s there was no American intervention.”

Instead, I looked unsure and searched for an answer. That prompted, “America will help right? We are Christian, they will help us, right?”

I looked at the woman who had just told me about her son getting beat up at school. I wanted desperately to give her hope. Her life here is hard. She looks up to our great nation as a source of hope. If things get too bad here then America will step in and help. Right? How do you answer this?

Fresh Photos From Our Alternately Exciting and Mundane Home
(If you've sent a package recently, these are for you. If you've not yet,
observe how it's done.)


Click .Mac Home Page then>Critters and Things

And the rain came. Sometimes when it rains here it’s like a mother patting her child’s head, gentle and comforting. Today the rain is cool and hard. The wind makes the trees in our ‘garden’ dance. We wander through the house, taking note of where the water is coming through the roof.

Today is the first day of our three-day weekend. Monday is another election day, thus a holiday. We have many tasks before us to complete on this long weekend, but today we sit and watch the rain.

This has been a good week, for the most part. I could do with fewer meetings and more understanding among the people in the meetings. In the fourth (but not last) meeting of the week, there were five different nationalities represented. We were all using the same language, but everyone was using it differently. Communication is sometimes a lot of work.

I was sitting in my office one day wondering if I should tell my section coordinator that she has been spelling ‘basis’ wrong (bases). We have been talking about what we should use as our basis for grading for a long time. Every time she sends a memo about it or I see it in other paper work she has prepared, I think of baseball bases. Then I think about all of the students running around bases and the teachers giving them grades for it. While all of this was going through my mind, I hear a fellow teacher start to sing softly. She is often singing, but today her song caught my attention. “Give tanks with a grateful heart...give tanks to the Holy One...” Instantly my mind starts wondering why God would want tanks and where we would get them even if he did want them and how we would get them to God.

I spend quite a bit of time amusing myself with the petty mistakes of the ESL people around me. In all these long meeting we go to, I often find myself wondering exactly how we ‘asses’ the students using the ‘bases’ for grading presented.

Every other week there is a chapel service for the students and by the students. This past week the fourth grade class presented. They sang various songs about hands. One of these songs was “Where is Thumpkin?” They did not leave out the “Where is Tallman?” verse, much to the amusement of the fifth and sixth grade. The song left me quite puzzled. The last verse they sang was “Where is family?”, meaning the whole hand. Now, in every verse the first finger asks the second finger, “how are you today sir?”. What kind of family is this with only five males? I quickly realized that not only had the fourth grade flipped everyone off, they were also presenting homosexual themes. Maybe the school is less conservative than I thought.

“I don’t mind dying so much and doing it all over, I just hate letting Mario down,” said Matt as he plays a game boy and eats beef jerky. This past week we received four boxes. One was from Shane and Dianne and contained books (WOOHOO!), a much needed lint roller, and various interesting cds. The other three were from Matt’s family and contained various DVD’s, a game boy and games, snacks, and Dr. Pepper. Life has normalized. We came home from work yesterday and watched the Simpson sandwich, as it appeared daily on Fox (in Malvern), King of the Hill-Simpson’s-King of the Hill (then some Batman). Then it was time for reading.

Twice a week, I get to teach a class called “Religious and Moral Education.” I was given no materials to use and less than a week’s notice to prepare. That means that most days I just tell a Bible story and then tell the first and second grade students, who understand little of what I say, to love people or something. Yesterday, I told the story of the Good Samaritan to the second grade class. Their assignment was to make a list of three things they could do to help people. One little girl answered, “Tell story to people when the people don’t know the story about Jesus.” I’ll leave you with her bit of wisdom.

For those of you who are dear to our hearts (even more dear after we get mail from you) here is our address:
M. Lumpkin
Manado International School
Jl. Walanda Maramis
Kolongan 95371
Manado 95016
Sulawesi Utara
INDONESIA

Phone: 62 431 812 512

For those of you who keep up with the news: don't worry about us. We are not even on the same island as Jakarta. Where we are is safe. If anything changes where that is not so, we will leave.