Keluargalah,
You know when dad wakes us up? For school or Saturday or some early adventure and usually that is okay because you were going to have to get up anyway and also he likes to set it to music and his own brand of lyrics and who can say no to Al Green, even if it is six in the morning? At that point you are willing to accept the alarm, stretching out of slumber to the sultry sounds of Sade, giving yourself a few seconds' more rest with your eyes closed (because really, you will get up, you will), rearranging recent dreams in your head, trying to make sense of them in those few blurry-eyed minutes you have left before real realities. Except dad doesn't give you that. Because even though you're awake, you're not technically UP yet. So he takes it to the next level. He takes your comforter.
And suddenly it is terrible. You are laughing but also serious, and cold, and pathetically weak, and there is nothing you can do about it but grab flailingly at that last corner of the blanket, a desperately doomed last attempt. I have often thought it is one of the worst things in the world.
But then today I discovered something even worse.
I am on a train, a train I had to catch at two in the morning from a silent station in Solo, sitting drugged-like on the platform after a restless few hours of awaiting departure from the mission home down the street. I am on a train that rattles through the deep dark jungles of central Java, and I have been on that train for hours now with no real hope of sleeping at all because, oh yeah, I can't sleep sitting upright in Antarctic levels of air conditioning and full-on lighting. And coming off of 48 hours of straight travel, non-stop schedule and even less sleep, it was kind of miserable.
And then they took my blanket away.
At six am! With three hours still to go 'til Malang, the countryside outside my window still deep the dark greys of dawn. And I saw it coming, since I was still tortuously awake and watched with growing dread the approach of the steward and his laundry cart, but poor SisLily got POKED awake to pull away all warmth and comfort. Which brought us both to tears borne of that early-morning laughter that is a result of being both irrationally upset and slightly slap-happy. Because really? I mean, I realize quite obviously that I am not in America anymore, but (cue Phoebe) at my old school, customer service meant customer service. And sure, you can slap me upside the face right now because YES I get it, I am in Indonesia and most everyone else on this entire island wouldn't be riding an overnight train on executive class anyway but at that moment, at six am in an ice box on hour four of seven, it seemed quite the most poignant injustice of all.
Anyway. Now that I have told you one negative thing about that train ride, I'll counter it with three positives: First, being forced awake at that hour also allowed us to more fully appreciate the passing scenery, which was a wash of all tropical tableaux and misty daydreams and rather quite pleasant to observe. Second, there's something extremely satisfying about getting off said train in your "home"town and being able to dodge all the taksi/becak/ojek drivers at the station doors because you are tired and beat but at least you know exactly where you're going and how to get there, too. It's kind of a point of pride, waving down an angkot like a local. And finally, that train was a train from Solo to Malang, which means I'm just home from two days in the heart of Jawa and a particularly happy zone conference.
The missionary meetings this time consisted of two sessions and a wedding. Sister Sugiono, a missionary who was released just a month after I arrived here, planned her entire wedding around our Zone Conference just so all the missionaries could be there—-and with East and Central Java combined, it was quite the turn-out. She's from HK and married a British man she met there, and her wedding was all-out Javanese and a lot of fun. There are four branches in Solo (they're our strongest members in Indo), so the place was packed, plus Marno's from Solo, so there was a bit of family reunion. We danced and sang and laughed all night and it was lovely. The RMs there are particularly close and I enjoyed all the brotherly camaraderie—-even though it was usually at my own expense (the Rhondeau/rondo joke will never die).
It was also Presiden's 70th and last Zone Conference, so we missionaries put in some extra party time and planned a surprise for him after the last training session. We made martabak manis and took pictures and just generally hung about the church having fun. I couldn't come up with anything too specific about the actual meetings —-which were good but not remarkable—-but it was just such a boost to be back with all the Elders and Sisters again. They're a good bunch of people.
Other highlights:
Even though we were one short with Greenwell off the island, our little 52B reunion was especially happy. I loved being the four of us back together, and though Nixon has his own way showing his emotions I'm sure the feeling was mutual. It's funny the things you forget about a group's dynamic until you're all back together again, when suddenly it's all as familiar as the bus routes in Jakarta. I'd forgotten Nixon's knack for pulling off the most hideously beautiful ties or the way he shakes his head at Lily and me like a proud parent. Or how Meek has nothing of a Tennessee accent but seems instead to be himself the epitome of a southern drawl, all lazy-slow and almost effortlessly casual while still so thoughtful and direct. We had a good time of it all, sitting with our martabak manis to catch up on all this craziness and reminisce about who we were and how we were and why we were and now, who we are and how we are, and why we are . . . I've said it a million times, but the MTC really was some sort of miracle. We were (are) really lucky.
Then there was catching up with Atmi, which was a whole other brand of happiness and surprisingly sweet. I didn't realize how much I'd missed her and was grateful to have her a constant at my side these last few days.
Plus, there are few things happier than riding bikes. Except maybe riding bikes gonceng. Side-saddle in a skirt on the back of a bike through the streets of Suryakarta.
So that was Solo and Zone Conference, though I also had a really good week before all that, too. Thursday seemed particularly perfect; I don't think I did anything too out of the ordinary, I just managed to do the ordinary so right. Running that morning was a long, lovely release and then I followed it up with a good three hours of solid study and preparation that set the tone for the rest of our day. By the time I walked out the door I was feeling the usual fear set in but somewhere in between Jalan Ogan and the train tracks I just decided I didn't want to do that today. I kick-flicked that little Satan off my shoulder and said, no thank you, I'm going to be a missionary today. Because my God is a God of miracles.
And so began a rather miraculous day. Our lessons were compact and strong and brave, meeting with new investigators and former investigators and less-actives and non-actives and everyone else in between. Teaching English that night at the church I felt especially chatty to the point of being downright cheeky, which my junior high kids* thought was hilarious and so my otherwise rather dry lesson (I make them study grammar occasionally) went off rather well, to the point that they didn't want it to end and the Elders actually had to pull them out of the classroom to lock up the church. At the Purwitanto's afterwards I played dominoes on the floor with Bayu and Retno and Dimas and Pak Pur and I lost absolutely every time but couldn't have been happier. I felt so good coming home that night. So happy and strong and able. And I know that's because I chose to seek and have the Spirit with me that day. I decided to have faith in Yesus Kristus and walk forward in that faith like nothing else mattered—-and so, in turn, everything took on new significance. I love the Lord. He truly is new life, and I felt invincible.
Until Friday. When I woke up feeling so biasa aja. Why? How? Am I really that weak? It hadn't been anything more hard than to decide my direction just the day before, but then suddenly it felt like the weight of all the world just to do it all over again.
But then I thought about Alma 37, the last few verses of which have recently become my rather most favorite scripture of all. I remembered my fathers in the wilderness, their Liahona that worked according to their faith that would point unto them a straight course to the promised land. And I remembered how sometimes they forgot to exercise that faith and so marvelous works ceased and they could not progress but tarried in the wilderness, afflicted and ahungered—when how easily that spindle could have been set spinning again if they would only look and live.
I love how Alma teaches this principle. It is something I have so often pondered here on the mission, thanks to letters from friends** and family and so many early mornings of personal revelation (both in relation to myriad Biblical accounts of wilderness and wandering but also originally out of a love for the Jaredite's voyage across the deep).Because as those things were temporal, of course they are spiritual, too. This world, by very fact of being The World, is a wilderness, and in that very definition it makes sense that we would wander. But the fact is that there is also a Promised Land, and we have our Liahona, and in our faith and feasting on the Words of Christ, we have a way prepared for us. And really, shouldn't that be easy? What on earth should ever be able to stop us?
For behold, it is as easy to give heed to the word of Christ, which will point to you a straight course to eternal bliss, as it was for our fathers to give heed to this compass, which would point unto them a straight course to the promised land.
And now I say, is there not a type in this thing? For just as surely as this director did bring our fathers, by following its course, to the promised land, shall the words of Christ, if we follow their course, carry us beyond this vale of sorrow into a far better land of promise.
O my son, do not let us be slothful because of the easiness of the way, for so was it with our fathers; for so was it prepared for them, that if they would look they might live, even so it is with us. The way is prepared, and if we will look we may live forever.
On Sunday, during Fast and Testimony, I stood at the pulpit to testify of these things and though I feel I myself am far from full faith I do feel the truth of that testimony pushing me forward and allowing me to experience new understanding that, in turn, pulls my faith out one more step across this lone and dreary world. I am weak, and I am mortal, but that's rather the point after all, isn't it? All this wandering is how we're made strong, how, eventually, we are made immortal—and what's more, eternal. I know that this is all possible in Christ, that we are made holy through his Atonement and our own willingness to apply it in our own lives. The scriptures above alone have proved this to me in this last week; just yesterday I felt particularly comforted in the context of Grandpa Ron and our family when reading that the words of Christ . . . carry us beyond this vale of sorrow into a far better land of promise. I am hoping to be able to hold true to this scriptural strength, to prove faithful in all of knowing and doing and being, and am also so very grateful to have a family like ours to be here along the way.
So, maybe in my sign-off for this week's salutations I will again lean on Alma's words to express my own emotions for now, my family, see that ye take care of these sacred things, yea, see that ye look to God and live. I know it's the Way. I know it's the Life. I know it's the light that's made us the family we are and forever will be.
Love you across this wilderness and all that great deep,
E.
*total tangent: there are these two little Muslim sisters in my class that always wear matching jilbab and it just kills me in such the happiest way. Heart them.
**Terima kasih khusus untuk [special thank you] Kara Carlston, Bentley Snow, and Scott Jackson. They've been good people to have along on this journey through the wilderness.
You know when dad wakes us up? For school or Saturday or some early adventure and usually that is okay because you were going to have to get up anyway and also he likes to set it to music and his own brand of lyrics and who can say no to Al Green, even if it is six in the morning? At that point you are willing to accept the alarm, stretching out of slumber to the sultry sounds of Sade, giving yourself a few seconds' more rest with your eyes closed (because really, you will get up, you will), rearranging recent dreams in your head, trying to make sense of them in those few blurry-eyed minutes you have left before real realities. Except dad doesn't give you that. Because even though you're awake, you're not technically UP yet. So he takes it to the next level. He takes your comforter.
And suddenly it is terrible. You are laughing but also serious, and cold, and pathetically weak, and there is nothing you can do about it but grab flailingly at that last corner of the blanket, a desperately doomed last attempt. I have often thought it is one of the worst things in the world.
But then today I discovered something even worse.
I am on a train, a train I had to catch at two in the morning from a silent station in Solo, sitting drugged-like on the platform after a restless few hours of awaiting departure from the mission home down the street. I am on a train that rattles through the deep dark jungles of central Java, and I have been on that train for hours now with no real hope of sleeping at all because, oh yeah, I can't sleep sitting upright in Antarctic levels of air conditioning and full-on lighting. And coming off of 48 hours of straight travel, non-stop schedule and even less sleep, it was kind of miserable.
And then they took my blanket away.
At six am! With three hours still to go 'til Malang, the countryside outside my window still deep the dark greys of dawn. And I saw it coming, since I was still tortuously awake and watched with growing dread the approach of the steward and his laundry cart, but poor SisLily got POKED awake to pull away all warmth and comfort. Which brought us both to tears borne of that early-morning laughter that is a result of being both irrationally upset and slightly slap-happy. Because really? I mean, I realize quite obviously that I am not in America anymore, but (cue Phoebe) at my old school, customer service meant customer service. And sure, you can slap me upside the face right now because YES I get it, I am in Indonesia and most everyone else on this entire island wouldn't be riding an overnight train on executive class anyway but at that moment, at six am in an ice box on hour four of seven, it seemed quite the most poignant injustice of all.
Anyway. Now that I have told you one negative thing about that train ride, I'll counter it with three positives: First, being forced awake at that hour also allowed us to more fully appreciate the passing scenery, which was a wash of all tropical tableaux and misty daydreams and rather quite pleasant to observe. Second, there's something extremely satisfying about getting off said train in your "home"town and being able to dodge all the taksi/becak/ojek drivers at the station doors because you are tired and beat but at least you know exactly where you're going and how to get there, too. It's kind of a point of pride, waving down an angkot like a local. And finally, that train was a train from Solo to Malang, which means I'm just home from two days in the heart of Jawa and a particularly happy zone conference.
The missionary meetings this time consisted of two sessions and a wedding. Sister Sugiono, a missionary who was released just a month after I arrived here, planned her entire wedding around our Zone Conference just so all the missionaries could be there—-and with East and Central Java combined, it was quite the turn-out. She's from HK and married a British man she met there, and her wedding was all-out Javanese and a lot of fun. There are four branches in Solo (they're our strongest members in Indo), so the place was packed, plus Marno's from Solo, so there was a bit of family reunion. We danced and sang and laughed all night and it was lovely. The RMs there are particularly close and I enjoyed all the brotherly camaraderie—-even though it was usually at my own expense (the Rhondeau/rondo joke will never die).
It was also Presiden's 70th and last Zone Conference, so we missionaries put in some extra party time and planned a surprise for him after the last training session. We made martabak manis and took pictures and just generally hung about the church having fun. I couldn't come up with anything too specific about the actual meetings —-which were good but not remarkable—-but it was just such a boost to be back with all the Elders and Sisters again. They're a good bunch of people.
Other highlights:
Even though we were one short with Greenwell off the island, our little 52B reunion was especially happy. I loved being the four of us back together, and though Nixon has his own way showing his emotions I'm sure the feeling was mutual. It's funny the things you forget about a group's dynamic until you're all back together again, when suddenly it's all as familiar as the bus routes in Jakarta. I'd forgotten Nixon's knack for pulling off the most hideously beautiful ties or the way he shakes his head at Lily and me like a proud parent. Or how Meek has nothing of a Tennessee accent but seems instead to be himself the epitome of a southern drawl, all lazy-slow and almost effortlessly casual while still so thoughtful and direct. We had a good time of it all, sitting with our martabak manis to catch up on all this craziness and reminisce about who we were and how we were and why we were and now, who we are and how we are, and why we are . . . I've said it a million times, but the MTC really was some sort of miracle. We were (are) really lucky.
Then there was catching up with Atmi, which was a whole other brand of happiness and surprisingly sweet. I didn't realize how much I'd missed her and was grateful to have her a constant at my side these last few days.
Plus, there are few things happier than riding bikes. Except maybe riding bikes gonceng. Side-saddle in a skirt on the back of a bike through the streets of Suryakarta.
So that was Solo and Zone Conference, though I also had a really good week before all that, too. Thursday seemed particularly perfect; I don't think I did anything too out of the ordinary, I just managed to do the ordinary so right. Running that morning was a long, lovely release and then I followed it up with a good three hours of solid study and preparation that set the tone for the rest of our day. By the time I walked out the door I was feeling the usual fear set in but somewhere in between Jalan Ogan and the train tracks I just decided I didn't want to do that today. I kick-flicked that little Satan off my shoulder and said, no thank you, I'm going to be a missionary today. Because my God is a God of miracles.
And so began a rather miraculous day. Our lessons were compact and strong and brave, meeting with new investigators and former investigators and less-actives and non-actives and everyone else in between. Teaching English that night at the church I felt especially chatty to the point of being downright cheeky, which my junior high kids* thought was hilarious and so my otherwise rather dry lesson (I make them study grammar occasionally) went off rather well, to the point that they didn't want it to end and the Elders actually had to pull them out of the classroom to lock up the church. At the Purwitanto's afterwards I played dominoes on the floor with Bayu and Retno and Dimas and Pak Pur and I lost absolutely every time but couldn't have been happier. I felt so good coming home that night. So happy and strong and able. And I know that's because I chose to seek and have the Spirit with me that day. I decided to have faith in Yesus Kristus and walk forward in that faith like nothing else mattered—-and so, in turn, everything took on new significance. I love the Lord. He truly is new life, and I felt invincible.
Until Friday. When I woke up feeling so biasa aja. Why? How? Am I really that weak? It hadn't been anything more hard than to decide my direction just the day before, but then suddenly it felt like the weight of all the world just to do it all over again.
But then I thought about Alma 37, the last few verses of which have recently become my rather most favorite scripture of all. I remembered my fathers in the wilderness, their Liahona that worked according to their faith that would point unto them a straight course to the promised land. And I remembered how sometimes they forgot to exercise that faith and so marvelous works ceased and they could not progress but tarried in the wilderness, afflicted and ahungered—when how easily that spindle could have been set spinning again if they would only look and live.
I love how Alma teaches this principle. It is something I have so often pondered here on the mission, thanks to letters from friends** and family and so many early mornings of personal revelation (both in relation to myriad Biblical accounts of wilderness and wandering but also originally out of a love for the Jaredite's voyage across the deep).Because as those things were temporal, of course they are spiritual, too. This world, by very fact of being The World, is a wilderness, and in that very definition it makes sense that we would wander. But the fact is that there is also a Promised Land, and we have our Liahona, and in our faith and feasting on the Words of Christ, we have a way prepared for us. And really, shouldn't that be easy? What on earth should ever be able to stop us?
For behold, it is as easy to give heed to the word of Christ, which will point to you a straight course to eternal bliss, as it was for our fathers to give heed to this compass, which would point unto them a straight course to the promised land.
And now I say, is there not a type in this thing? For just as surely as this director did bring our fathers, by following its course, to the promised land, shall the words of Christ, if we follow their course, carry us beyond this vale of sorrow into a far better land of promise.
O my son, do not let us be slothful because of the easiness of the way, for so was it with our fathers; for so was it prepared for them, that if they would look they might live, even so it is with us. The way is prepared, and if we will look we may live forever.
On Sunday, during Fast and Testimony, I stood at the pulpit to testify of these things and though I feel I myself am far from full faith I do feel the truth of that testimony pushing me forward and allowing me to experience new understanding that, in turn, pulls my faith out one more step across this lone and dreary world. I am weak, and I am mortal, but that's rather the point after all, isn't it? All this wandering is how we're made strong, how, eventually, we are made immortal—and what's more, eternal. I know that this is all possible in Christ, that we are made holy through his Atonement and our own willingness to apply it in our own lives. The scriptures above alone have proved this to me in this last week; just yesterday I felt particularly comforted in the context of Grandpa Ron and our family when reading that the words of Christ . . . carry us beyond this vale of sorrow into a far better land of promise. I am hoping to be able to hold true to this scriptural strength, to prove faithful in all of knowing and doing and being, and am also so very grateful to have a family like ours to be here along the way.
So, maybe in my sign-off for this week's salutations I will again lean on Alma's words to express my own emotions for now, my family, see that ye take care of these sacred things, yea, see that ye look to God and live. I know it's the Way. I know it's the Life. I know it's the light that's made us the family we are and forever will be.
Love you across this wilderness and all that great deep,
E.
*total tangent: there are these two little Muslim sisters in my class that always wear matching jilbab and it just kills me in such the happiest way. Heart them.
**Terima kasih khusus untuk [special thank you] Kara Carlston, Bentley Snow, and Scott Jackson. They've been good people to have along on this journey through the wilderness.
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