Facing my Fears

We all have our fears, things we are overly sensitive about and would rather leave alone. For me, it has always been my voice. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE to sing! I sing in the shower, in the car, and in the privacy of my home. And because I believe God gave me this voice and wants to hear it, I sing in church – just not by myself. This stems from a childhood where my folks thought there was something wrong with my voice and sent me to speech therapy (to a creepy guy) at a young age. My voice was deep – I didn’t lisp, or slur, or any of the other things that usually send young ones off to therapy. But I knew I was different. So of course this was the button my siblings and peers knew they could push. Then as a young adult I had my vocal chords stripped and then got myself some more therapy. I know that if I sang Karaoke, it would sound as bad or worse than the woman in My Best Friend’s Wedding. I have come to terms with my tin ear and loud obnoxious voice and am thankful for the gifts I do have. That is, until Majuro.

I have already written about the culture here, how they love to put others on the spot. Really, it is a sport all its own. I have dodged the bullet a couple of times but this time I knew my time was up.

The church we have been attending was forced to move. They found a new place, made all of the lease negotiations and got ready to move in. Then they found the place was infested with termites, so much so it is a miracle the building was still standing. So down to the studs it went and Willard decided to lend a hand. After a long day of stringing wire he picked me up after work last Tuesday and wanted to show me the progress. It turns out there were several families at the site, still working and putting together a BBQ and we were suddenly invited. This is really the first time I have had a chance to chat with these folks and I was very happy to be a part of the group. During the conversation I asked about the upcoming potluck. “Oh yes,” they said, “it will be right after church, and by the way, every group performs.” I told them I’d probably take ill about 7:00 A.M. on Sunday Morning. They laughed and laughed, not having a bit of it.  Meanwhile, Willard volunteered me to paint their large outdoor sign.

On the following day, we repeat the whole experience after work. Willard has been there again working and now we are stopping by to look at his progress and to double check what they want for the sign. The women are all sitting together happily chatting and laughing and they invite me to join them. I don’t know all of what they are saying but they are having so much fun I find myself laughing hysterically with them. Then it becomes quiet for a minute. It is at that moment that a Marshallese lady, Rishi, asks me if I have decided what I will present on Sunday. They all start laughing because now it is a big joke; they know they have found my weak spot and they love every minute. They tell me what they don’t want to hear – something straight out of the hymnal or the Star Spangled Banner. They want a little more creativity from the Americans. Somewhere in the conversation I thought I heard something about dancing. “Oh, if I dance, do I get out of the singing,” I asked ( I don’t mind making a fool of myself in other ways). “No, the singing and the dancing go together.” Great – I was digging myself deeper by the minute. “What if I paint the sign, can I get out of the singing and the dancing,” I asked. They all stopped and looked at each other. “Maybe,” they said, but then they laughed and I knew it wasn’t going to be good enough. I prayed there would be enough other Americans to keep me covered.

This morning we arrived at our new church building. It isn’t done but they came a long way in a week’s time. They had flowers on the outdoor pillars and garlands of greenery decorated the sanctuary. It was lovely. I thought I understood the performing would be part of the potluck, but it turns out it was in the heart of worship. Not only that, but some of my high school students had come. I’d formulated a plan, but now circumstances meant I needed plan B. I suggested Swing Low, Sweet Chariot at the last minute. There were about seven of us, plus we asked the congregation to stand up and join us. We pulled it off; my new friend, Rishi, thought we were fine and was happy not to hear the Star Spangled Banner yet one more time. Not only that, but I still have Plan A in my back pocket for another time. I figure we can do Where Have All the Flowers Gone. I have the headbands and peace signs ready in the trunk of our car for everyone in the group and am hoping they will all be laughing so hard they don’t actually hear us. Little Bunny Foo Foo might come out as well.

It was a lot of fun seeing and hearing the other groups. The Filipinos were a large group who sang, the Fijians danced and a Solomon Island woman did a very pretty solo. Two Tongan women sang as well, as did a whole group of Marshallese members. And since it is an international congregation, when the potluck finally began, the food was amazing.. I tasted everything that was new to me. I’d tell you what I had but I have no clue! I can tell you though, that I have never seen so much food disappear that quickly!

I have to admit, I’ve been a little homesick lately. I think it is because I know things are going on at home and I feel bad I am not there to help or be supportive. Our hearts and prayers are with the Christian family.

We received the packages I ordered from Sue the other day and were thrilled with the surprises that were enclosed. The note, chocolate and coffee from friends are really appreciated. Thank you! I am looking forward to having Nate, Mom and Dad here for a while. It will be fun to share our adventure with them.

We lost our Internet here at home for a while and are in the process of getting it back. In the meantime we sure love hearing from you all. You are in our thoughts and prayers.

Love to you,

Becky

Stings and Things

It seems hard to believe that over three weeks have gone by since my last blog but time seems to just slip by. About three weeks ago (on a Friday) I received an ant bite on top of my left foot. No big deal, right? Wrong! Turns out I’m mildly allergic to this variety of ant and my foot began to swell and by Saturday the whole foot was puffy. Fortunately by Sunday the swelling was dissipating and by Monday morning I was pretty much back to normal. However, Monday afternoon I got another ant bite while playing with Mischief in the yard, this time on top of the little toe of my right foot. Again I had another 48 hours of swelling, this time on the right side of my right foot. But by Wednesday I was pretty much back to normal which was good because Friday I got another bite! This time on time on the top of the second toe of my left foot and endured two more days of swelling and itching. I’m not totally stupid, and after three bites I now don’t go into the grass without a little bug juice on my feet. Sorry no pictures of my feet - you just have to visualize them.

We now have gardener who comes once week to rake the yard and pick up the garbage that floats in on the tide and ends up on the beach. His name is Juji and he is a young man of about 25 years of age who lives three houses over from us. He is nearly totally deaf and we basically communicate with gestures but, we generally understand each other.  He can be seen walking up and down the road looking for work at different homes. He is a very nice young man but has very limited prospects here in the islands.

It’s time to talk about the roads again. I’ve already talked about the road. Besides there being cars on the road there are kids, adults, dogs, pigs, chickens, and the occasional coconut.  This time I want to talk about the different types of drivers. First, there is the slow driver. I mean 10MPH to 20MPH tops. The vehicles of the slow drivers tend to be in poor mechanical shape; it may well be that they are going as fast as they can. Then, there are the speed demons who are basically going as fast as they can sometimes hitting the tremendous speed of 50 MPH while weaving around slow drivers, pedestrians, animals, potholes, etc. The last group of drivers (to which I belong) is the moderates. We drive fairly fast but rarely get over 35MPH. This group slows down around other road users and tends to be very courteous.  It’s still kind of wild place to drive but I’m used to it now and it doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it does Becky. There is fourth group of drivers, the dreaded Marshallese Taxi. The taxi driver will cruise slowly along until signaled by a pedestrian at which point he will dive over to the side of the road to pick up his fare. He may, or may not, get off the road and he will pull back into the road with a minimum of warning to other drivers. If his taxi is full he will continue on down the road to his destination. If his taxi is not full, he will pull over and pick up additional fares until it is (because there is really only one road everyone is going in the same direction). Most taxis hold four adult fares but I have seen four adults and four young children plus the taxi driver going down the road in a vehicle smaller than my old department issue Ford Taurus.

Well my house is clean, the laundry is done, my blog is written, it’s time to put my feet up and read a book for a few hours until it’s time to go pick up Becky. Life’s tough when you’re a Cabana Boy.