Falau, Merissa's Side of the Story (Jeremy's to come)

It was a hot Saturday afternoon. Independence Day weekend in Santo. We had extended an invitation to our new friend and local pastor to come with his family for dinner. After asking, “you sure?” three times, he accepted our offer. Pastor Falau has been crucial to our adjustment in Santo. He has been staying downstairs until we feel “settled in”. That means walking 3 hours to work at Jubilee School each day. Falau is a wonderful man, quick to smile and well known in town. His school took a couple days off for the holiday this week so he has been home a bit more. One morning we heard an organ playing downstairs. Ethan being the musical sort ran quickly downstairs and knocked on his door. After a short time Ella scooted down as well. The kids spent the next hour singing and worshiping at his organ. Pastor Falau told Jeremy the next day that it was a very Ni-Van thing to do and he was thrilled to have their company. The kids were equally excited and spent the following 2 mornings downstairs singing everything from “Lord I Give You My Heart” to “Jingle Bells”. 
Jeremy and I spent the afternoon preparing a meal for their family. Knowing that they often had only bread to eat we made sure to have plenty of meat, cheese and dessert. I felt the importance of this meal and there was a joy in preparing it. We were looking forward to their company as well.
The plan was a 5:00 pm meal so we were buttoning things up by 4:45. When 4:55 rolled around we asked the kids to go check and see if they were ready for dinner. They came up with the response that Falau’s wife and daughter had not yet returned home. The next hour there was what I would describe as a heightened awareness. Those times where you just feel like you should be praying. I wondered about the house praying, straightened the place settings and  figured I was in for a lesson on “island time.”
I wish that had been the only lesson of the evening. As 6pm came around I decided to put Daniel to bed so we would be all set to sit down when they did come. A few moments later I heard a cry and a large thump. I did a quick survey of the room to get a head count of the kids. Everyone accounted for. Dogs? Neighbors? Neither of those made sense. Jeremy had heard it too and was out the door checking the yard. Nothing. I heard him shout our friends name. Within seconds Jeremy was yelling “Mer, what’s that emergency number here?!” I could here the tension in his voice. I shouted back “112, no 001, I don’t know it’s in our phones!” as I searched frantically for a cell phone. I had no minutes and no reception in our concrete fortress home. It was up to us.
This is when I saw my hubby go into superhero mode. Pastor Falau was face down in a pool of blood having difficulty breathing when Jeremy found him. He rolled him over and checked vitals. When I came on the scene Falau was still not responsive. Jeremy said, “We have to get him out of here now!” I raced upstairs for the keys, started the truck and I grabbed his legs while Jeremy did the heavy lifting, praying the whole time. Unbeknownst to me Jeremy had found a phone and called our Aussie friends. Bob pulled up just as we were loading him into the truck. Bob jumped in back and supported his head while Jeremy sped down our bumpy dirt road to the hospital.
That’s when I had to trust. Jeremy had not told me he had ruled out heart attack and stroke. All I could think about was the massive head injury sustained. I quickly went down to clean up the blood. I couldn’t imagine his young daughter Erica coming home to that. I was left to wonder if I would see our friend again. What I would tell his wife and Erica when they came up the path? Another concern was hospital care. We had been given examples of minor ailments turning fatal due to poor care. Life expectancy is short on the islands.
The kids and I sat down at the table for dinner. Ella wept, Ethan prayed. Looking at the empty place settings and watching the front gate I fought off despair. I prayed I would have the right words of comfort, regardless of language barrier.
Before I left the bank my replacement had shared his missions experience in the Philippines. He had told me how a day after he arrived a woman died in his arms. He wasn’t a doctor, just “the missionary” who was supposed to be able to fix everything. It broke his heart. He questioned God. After a while he came to the conclusion that he witnessed that so that his heart would be broken for the people. I was praying I didn’t have that same difficult lesson. In that moment I was broken. We had come to love Pastor Falau in the short time we had known him. He was more than our cultural life-line and language teacher, he had become a good friend.
His family never returned that night. They were caught up in an Independence Day celebration in town. I think God kept them away so they didn’t see it happen. I am thankful God had Jeremy home. I am thankful our kids had come upstairs only a few minutes prior to the fall.
Falau had suffered a seizure. He is prone to seizures but this one was brought on by lack of food. He had not eaten in days. I was shocked. Deeply moved that there was true hunger in my own house, unseen.
God, open my eyes to the physical and spiritual needs right in front of me. Continue to break my heart for the people of Vanuatu.

Church

Since we are part of the Assemblies of God, we will be spending the next few weeks visiting various AoG churches here on the island of Santo.  Before we left the states I had looked at a map which depicted the location of several places of worship that are affiliated with the denomination.  At the time it seemed the churches were remarkably close, geographically, to each other.  Now that we have been on-island for a couple of weeks I am beginning to understand why.

People here use their feet as their primary mode of transportation.  Weird.  I know.  Coming from a society where people drive 15-20min to jump on a treadmill, I am quite vexed by this situation. There are a few paved roads—called, "coltar"—but mainly heavily pockmarked dirt "white roads".

Oooo. Side note.  I LOVE the word, "coltar".  Just saying it makes me feel like I am in some futuristic sci-fi movie battling against forces of eeeevil.

"Quick SpaceBrink.  Activate the Voltron!  Coltar is here!!"

"Coltar, you nasty Veeble from...Veebro... taste the cold energy from my transducer fusion ray of death!"

Ahhhh...I had to get that out of my system.  What was this post titled?  Oh, "Church",...good...right on track.

When my family and I travel the 4-7min into the town of Luganville, people strike up conversations and ask where we are living while in Vanuatu.  When we tell them we live in Palm Estates they are surprised we live so far out of town.  Taxis are available and abundant but too cost prohibitive for most locals to use regularly.  Travel by foot does not just include walking but forging through dense jungle, avoiding huge puddles of water, and undulating terrain.  Our 7min drive is at least an hour's walk for the Ni-Vanuatu pastor who currently lives below us.  So, even though the two churches we have visited, so far, are less than 5 miles from each other, they are very different.

What we know as, "Pastor Dick's Church", has tile floors, a sound system, electricity and a few buildings as part of its campus. This is the first service we attended in Vanuatu.

I had been taken to the property earlier in the week but was on my own to try and find it once again.  My memory served me well and we turned our Assemblies of God owned Toyota Tundra down a dirt road lined with churches. The first building on the left belongs to the Latter Day Saints, which is situated next to the Kingdom Hall, followed by a Seventh Day Adventist on the right.  It's kind of an obstacle course to truth.  Like a religious version of American Ninja Warrior, dodging various false teachings in pursuit of obtaining the Truth. We have been told that, due to culture, the Ni-Van people are very works oriented.  The idea of giving or receiving unconditionally is apparently rather foreign to Ni-Vans.  This could be part of why religions like Mormonism and Islam are on the rise in Vanuatu.  Our prayer as we pass these locations is that the Spirit would minister to each one, that none would be lost!!

Parking at the church is kind of a non-issue since congregants don't own vehicles.  This is awesome for me as I am always forgetting where I park!  Now there is no wandering about turning in circles while pressing the unlock button on the key fob.  I simply walk out and, "BAM!", there it is.

Our family had been warned the some events run on "island time".  This service was not one of them.  We arrived shortly before 10:00 and worship started shortly after.  One of the first surprises of the day was that the songs were done in English!  Not only could we understand the words but we were familiar with the songs.

"Majesty;  Worship His Majesty;  Unto Jesus, be all glory honor and praise..."

The Ni-Vans voices soared in all kinds of fantastic harmonies above the peaked out sound system.  In Vila we were warned by fellow missionaries that Ni-Vans like their sound loud.  The Brinkerhoff family has verified that observation.  Each member of the worship team was very talented and played/ sung skillfully.  About 30min in to worship the pastoral team filed onto stage, with some pomp, and took seats on the platform.  I have not inquired if this is a cultural thing or is a practice with AoG roots.

During the service there was a baby dedication which included a little girl with 5 or 6 given names.  Over here, what we refer to in the States as a "last name" is the "surname" and "given names" are first and middle—or in this case the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth.  Our new friends from Australia told us that any one of these given names can and will be used to refer to the person.  So, for instance, if I were a Ni-Van I would respond equally to either Jeremy or Scott.

Pastor Steve got up and gave a short but impassioned message on each person's value to God.  While he preached in Bislama, any scripture either read or referred to was in English—our second major surprise.  Most of those in the church can hardly offer a greeting in English, let alone carry on a conversation in that language.  "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."  I am a firm believer that, as Christians, we come to know Christ more through the Word because he is the Word.  If people are not exposed to Him in a way where they can hide his Word (Him) in their hearts then how do they cultivate a relationship with their Savior?  We expect to run into many things that we do not yet comprehend from a cultural standpoint, but it is certainly difficult not to question this practice.  Merissa and I hope to learn more about why things are done a certain way and in no way want to be missionaries who insist on "our" way.  Please join us in praying for wisdom as we learn more and more about how to share Christ's love to the wonderful people in Vanuatu.

Now, on to our second week's experience.  The setting was AWESOME!  I kept expecting Indiana Jones to come running through the door, a dust cloud clinging to his signature fedora and leather jacket, holding some valuable artifact.  Only half of the building is complete and jungle is starting to send emerald tentacles into and around pillars of deteriorating concrete. Newly constructed wooden benches, without backrests, were arranged in three sections 5 rows deep under the portion with a roof.  Freshly cut tropical flowers adorned the front where a simple podium stood alongside tables used for communion and offering baskets. Facing the podium one can look out of two large unscreened openenings into a dense jungle of banana trees, coconut trees, tarro plants and tons of vegetation that I am excited to learn the names of.  Well, excited to know which ones are edible and which ones might reach out, pluck Daniel out of the baby backpack, wrap him in leaves like a burrito and slowly digest him.

Once again the songs were in English but there was no sound system—just an acoustic guitar and about 30 people singing to the Lord.  The children were the best part!  Pure joy filled the air as they sung (sang?) with abandon.

In this church we experienced our first "split" seating arrangement.  Men sit in one area, women in another, and children in the front.  Ethan and Ella hardly even looked back at Merissa and me before accepting a 9 year old Ni-Van's invitation to sit with the other kids.  I was a little shocked when Mer muttered, "thank goodness," when she realized she didn't have to sit by me. Nah...is joke (read in Russian accent).  I was kind of surprised though that I didn't feel as disconnected as I thought I might.  The women seemed very comfortable with Mer and the Ni-Van children certainly loved having E and E close by.

We had been told that Ella's hair would be a source of interest for the girls because of its color, length, and silky smoothness. But, it was Ethan's super-short fuzzy fade with spikes on top that attracted the most hands and giggles.  My kids continue to impress me with the way they are adapting to all this change!  Most of the signs of their stresses come out in moments between the two of them but, wow, I am very proud of the way they have jumped right in to a lot of situations they have no point of reference for.

The message was delivered by a guest speaker from another island.  He referred numerous times to the title of his message, "Building Your Life with Kingdom Materials", in English, but delivered the message in Bislama. All Bible passages were, once again, read in English.

There was an alter call at the end of service to which a few ladies responded.  Merissa was able to go and minister through prayer to these women.  It was very powerful to see her so freely pouring out upon the people we came to serve.  Something I love, absolutely love, about our Father is that He is the same yesterday, today, and forever regardless of location.  How incredible it is to watch the Spirit—the same Spirit shared by Christians around the globe—work in an environment as foreign to us as any.  Looking back though, there was nothing foreign in that moment of interceding through prayer.  We were joined together, children of the same Father, as he reached out to show His insatiable love for us.

Laundry Day

Merissa here. I will not be as flowery or well spoken but I will try to give some insight on the day to day as I feel led to write.

Humbled. Yeah, that was what I was feeling.
It was 7:30pm and there had been a pretty decent downpour for about an hour when we heard them come home. A native pastor, his wife and young daughter live below us. Technically we live in the boonies. It’s about a 7-10 minute drive from town. We tell people around here where we live and they pity you like it’s a hardship to live so far from amenities. The Ni-Vans are walking people. Very few have any mode of transportation but their own two feet. They cross massive vegetation, walk along busy roadways and rarely wear shoes. The fortunate ones have enough for an occasional taxi fare. The taxis are tiny bug like cars that make Ford Focus hatchbacks look spacious. I continue to be impressed at their ability to make their way across the island on foot. The pastor’s wife and daughter Erica had returned from doing laundry in town. They had left mid-day. I felt completely spoiled at the thought of all the “hardship” I had endured in the past week. Here a mom and her daughter had trekked through the jungle in a downpour—laundry in hand. All the fresh clothes now completely soaked. All part of their everyday life.
Just today we had another missionary deliver his spare washer to us so that we could wash our clothes. If I was honest I would say that earlier this week I was getting a little annoyed that the washer in the house was not working. The sheets were getting a mild funk which does not happen in AZ and I really wanted to wash the 2 towels we had been sharing as a family. Ethan had a reaction to a bite that I thought was ringworm and I really didn’t want to share his towel for even one more day. I felt like a washer was a need, I deserved it. Wow.
Thankful God gives us these moments right when we need them. Thank you God for showing me true need and thank you for my newly cleaned towels.

Travel: Part One

"I can't believe it.  In 20 years of doing this job, I have never run into this!"

Thus spake the ticket agent at the US Airways check-in counter in Phoenix.


I waited for the bad news.

 Part of the budget set for us by AGWM was to cover costs associated with travel across the world.  As Missionary Associates we were allotted a lump sum for excess baggage but not allowed to utilize shipping containers.  Based on this amount we checked with our carrier to estimate costs and figure out how much of our junk we were going to bring with us.  Everything from Air Pacific’s website stated we would pay $7 per kilo (yes.  We are having to get used to kilos and litres.) with 2 “free” bags per passenger.

I felt like mentioning again that we were missionaries with a small and incredibly cute baby traveling to islands most people in the U.S. have never heard of.

“There will be no charge.”

“Come again?”

“Yeah…I know.  I clarified with the agent at Air Pacific three times.  There will be no charge.  The representative stated you are allowed an unlimited amount of baggage as long as each piece does not exceed 50 lbs (23 kilos).”

“Seriously?!”

“Seriously.”

“Alright then.” I stated. “Let’s weigh these bags.”

Our extra efforts back in Prescott paid off.  All of our awkward juggling of footlockers while standing atop Merissa’s mother’s bathroom scale was worth every twisted ankle.  Each piece weighed at the check-in counter was within 1lb of the maximum allowable weight.  We were in for FREEEEEEE!!!!  (this, “FREEEEE” needs to be read with a childlike high-pitched “Wheeeeee, ‘I’m flying’” kind of thing)

The ticketing agent finished up our check in process, tagged our 15 bags for travel to Fiji, handed us an impressive stack of baggage stubs, and sent us on with her congratulations for out new adventure.

Merissa’s dad, step-mom, sisters, brother and brother-in-law accompanied us up the escalator into the main area of Terminal 4.  We all sat and chatted attempting to ignore the fact that this would be the last time we would be around each other for 24months.  We had a lot of fun watching Ethan and Ella invent fun ways to navigate the different patterns in the flooring tiles.

“Don’t worry,” I choked out during my goodbye hug to Mer’s dad.  “I’ll take good care of her.”

It’s been interesting.  This new endeavor has been something Merissa and I are both 100% committed to. It has been a unifier and a huge source of fulfilled dreams and the Lord’s promises.  But, I truly feel the weight of my role as head of the household.  Never before have I sensed such a need to be a strong leader, husband, father, spiritual grand poobah.  OK, maybe not a “poobah” per se.  You get the idea, though.
I really see the Lord growing me in this area—and it freaks me out.  
Finishing up teary goodbyes, the whole group walked the remaining 15’ to the TSA check point.

Fortunately Phoenix TSA runs a tight ship and we did not have the awkward transition of waiting, moving a bit, looking behind at family, waving/ blowing kisses, waiting more, then repeating the whole cycle.

Within moments we were out of sight of our relatives and on to the screening process.

Ethan and Ella both had lots of questions about the whys and wherefores of each machine, bell, whistle, chirp, etc.  Ethan has recently taken on some sort of worry about every electronic noise he hears.  He is convinced that each “bing” indicates some catastrophe.  So many of these noises just fade into the background of our lives that I really had not realized just how saturated our environments are!  Mer and I reassured him there was no danger of fire, earthquake, tornado, nor any other apocalyptic type event.  Each of us came through without incident.  I do feel a bit odd though, taking off and putting my belt on.  Due to the fact that I am built like a pole and, therefore, have no hips or buttocks, I feel a bit like Dick VanDyke dancing with the penguins in Mary Poppins.  As I move through the metal detector I have to keep widening my stance as my pants/ shorts begin their inevitable downward journey.  By the time I reach the end of the x-ray conveyer belt  I am more waddling than walking.

We boarded and arrived in LAX without much adventure—the way I prefer airline travel to be.

Whilst (yes, “Whilst”) in LAX we let the kids have one last meal of Mc-E-D’s.  Mer and I found a place with good Mexican food—sure to be our last for two years.

We were very surprised at the TSA checkpoint to find fewer lanes than in Sky Harbor.  This was, afterall, the international departures terminal at one of the world’s largest airports.  The line wasn’t nearly as painful as we thought it would be but we were thankful the kids had already experienced the routine.  Ethan and Ella both handled it like seasoned travelers!

Our 747-400 did not depart until 11:30pm so we tried to get the kids a bit of shut-eye near the boarding area.  Ella was able to fall asleep but Ethan was much too excited about all the hustle and bustle.

I am happy to report that there is nothing to report about the flight to Fiji.  Ethan, Ella, and Daniel slept really well—almost eight hours!  Merissa and I slept most of that time and certainly got more sleep than we expected to.   We were seated behind a bulkhead which meant Sweet-Baby-D had a bassinet to doze in.

Now in Nadi, Fiji, we deplaned and headed toward Customs/ Immigration.  Standing in line, we were right in front of another family of five traveling with a little baby.  Merissa brought up how we were pleasantly surprised by the amount of sleep we got and gave partial credit to having  a  bassinet.

“Really?,” the woman said.  “We would have loved a bassinet.  We actually requested bulkhead seating but didn’t get it.”

“Did I say, “bassinet,”?!  I meant castanet!  Daniel sure loved his CASTANET!  Plays with ‘em all the time!  Drives me nuts but, hey, who I am to criticize a happy baby? Oooohh…”

Wisely, Merissa did not tell the woman there were seats in our row with access to bassinet hangers occupied by people without small children.

“I can assist you with your papers over here where the line is shorter,” stated a customs representative who’s timing could not have been better.

“Fantastic!”

Now, traveling in grueling enough.  Add to that the stresses of moving.  Add to that the stress of leaving everything you know.   Why in the world did we think we could manage 15 pieces of luggage on top of all that!!!!

We were certainly a spectacle.  As our luggage and footlockers came into sight, I started a pile and Merissa grabbed some carts.  Some = 5.  I nodded and gave the ol’ two finger brim-o-the-hat style salute as people gestured to their travel companions to gawk at the crazies.   Not only did we have to grab our luggage and wrangle it over to the exit, we had to do it twice!  Each piece has to be taken through x-ray at a customs checkpoint which is 50 yards away from baggage claim.  Because we are still in a secure area, our friends who came to pick us up could not lend any aid.  I was sooooo proud of Ethan and Ella.  They followed commands with military precision and did not play the usual game of 20 questions.   Once people employed by the airport saw our predicament they came to our rescue.   Once through customs we were assisted to the exit where we met our Area Directors, Karen and Jerry Jacob.

We spent the next 24 hours with the Jacobs and got some really good advice and tips of how to tackle our time in Vanuatu—everything from cultural differences to certain hygiene issues we could encounter.

“How prone are you to skin fungus?,” Karen asked in passing.

This may not have been an odd question for someone who has lived in the South Pacific for 30 years but for a couple from Arizona—where 14% RH is considered a muggy day—she might have well asked us how our last trip to the moon went.

One of the highlights was going to the local outdoor market.  Karen guided Merissa to different tables and explained what different vegetables were and how to prepare them.  I was holding Daniel at the time and was an instant star because of it.

Before we left Prescott a good friend of the family, Layne, had shared with us a word the Lord had given her.  Part of this was regarding Daniel and that he, more than the other kids, would open all kinds of doors for us in ministry.  The truth of this prophetic word was highly evident in this market.  Men and women alike stopped what they were doing and came to coo at Daniel.  His chubby cheeks and pudgy thighs were especially irresistible.  Talk about his age, name and weight would quickly turn to why we were in Fiji with such a small one—a perfect way to open up discussion about our desire to follow Christ’s directive to, “go into all the world.”  I was especially struck by the men.  They were just as  oogly-googly as the women.  As men would pass on the street the would light up and grab his little toes.  Something else that struck me was the interest that was taken in Daniel’s well being.  He had recently cut himself on the bridge of his nose with his fingernail.

“What happened?,” inquired an Indian vendor (Fiji has a large Indian population).

“Oh, this?  He nicked himself with his fingernail,” I replied.

“Yes.  I see they are too sharp and you should cut them”

“Actually we did cut them yesterday after it happened.”

“No.  See this?  Right here on his thumb? Too sharp.  You need to take care of it.”

“I will.”  

Yowzers.

Fiji was an nation of great contrast.  The area we were mainly in was very much like any third world country with dogs running amuck, trash littering the streets, and poorly maintained roads.  When we went to dinner at a nice sea-side restaurant that night it was in a district which was very western.  So western, in fact, that it could have been San Diego for all we knew!