Dear Family,
Well, Sister Lily's gone—President had promised her a ticket out of here within the week, and on Saturday morning Silalahi called with her transfer to Jakarta. She left this morning, Happy Birthday to Her. For the record, I tried to make it a bit more exciting than a trip to the Big Durian, but she herself admitted her odd-year birthdays are never the best so it was all a little half-hearted anyway. Plus my poster could never accomplish the wit of dad's work. Even if I did manage to snag a pic of Justin Bieber (I love you Lily, Lily, Lily—oh! My Lily, Lily, Lily, oh!).
We went out to the airport together. An airport the size of 1912 Yale, painted bright blue amongst the rice fields. It was peaceful there, like England. We all talked for a long while, the noontime flight notoriously late as usual, and listened to the birds and the silence. You don't hear silence very often, not in a city on Java. It was pleasant. It was poignant. It somehow felt much more significant than it actually was. Then SisLily got on a plane and we got into a taxi.
Just the two of us.
I've never been anywhere just two sisters; up until this point in this mission this situation has not existed. That big white house all to ourselves. This big wide city our assignment.
We didn't have much time to ponder that; our taxi driver was chatty and knew where Salt Lake City was, which led to an amusing hour's conversation on everything from German study to rice harvests. He took us the long way home (since from the airport every taxi's fixed price so it doesn't matter anyway) and out through the more rural outskirts of Indonesia, my favorite Indonesia. I was rapid-fire questions the entire drive through—-what is this area called? what is that school? why are they wearing that kind of uniform? what is that man carrying? what is that woman selling? are those water buffalo supposed to be in the middle of the road?—and then took careful note of four-way stops and dead-end turns so that when/if we all ever end up in Malang, I can take you there.
I think I had deep thoughts, but I'm running on empty here. A few scattered thoughts left over from the remains of my week:
In Sacrament on Sunday Oma Irawadi discovered I can sing alto and has therefore petitioned Pres Dwi to add us as a duet musical number next month. This is as scary as it sounds, and also hilarious. I'm going right along with it because why not? And also, anything for Oma.
Met with Mas Kun this afternoon and set an absolutely, positively sure date for his baptism, confirmed by Pres Dwi. August 8th. Just as soon as his sister goes back to Belgium—she's making earthquakes of epic proportions in her family, but props to Mas Kun. He's staying strong and standing up to them in testimony, keeping his commitments and moving forward no matter what. Today's appointment was particularly joyful; nothing spectacularly extraordinary but the plain, solid gospel truths which are the Extraordinary within themselves, and that felt strong and right and good. I am very glad to be a part of all this; of Mas Kuncoro, of this mission, of this Church.
Yesterday at Bhakti Luhur they had a visiting high school senior working on their physiotherapy staff who wanted to come help out with English class, too. SisLily and I were rendered incapable. Not because he was even remotely handsome, or even just a boy of the American species, but that he was American and English speaking. I felt (and we later compared notes, which turned out to be exactly the same) like a mute, unable to communicate any sort of rational small talk because, apparently, that space of my brain has been completely commandeered by the Indonesia version of conversation. Everything I said (which I think is normal, I think) sounded hideously formal, pathetically pretend, like I was play-acting a melodrama in preschool. Or an alien parading as mankind in pre-programmed English. It's just so much easier to say things in Indonesian. Forget "What are you doing here in Malang?"—ask "Di Malang ngapain?" Don't bother with "Where do you go to school?"—try "Sekolah mana?" Oh, it was a terrifying foray into my future; if I am that awkward now, what's going to stop me from being that awkward then? I am never getting married. Much less making any friends. Am apologizing now for the day I move back into your basement and only come out in the midnight hours to avoid any sort of humiliation on the social scene.
Kidding. But really. It was pathetic.
Monday morning we helped an inactive member clear a garden space in her backyard. That sounded like a fun little morning project when SisLily first suggested it, but upon arrival and actually seeing said plot we were quickly reduced to despairing laughter in between fitful gasps of the Arabic "mustahil!" Which means impossible, out of the question—because that is what it was. My back is still sore from the manual labor, but on the plus side my arms are now a healthy tan and there's even some color on my legs. Also we got to spend the entire day with Sister Lili and her twins, which was wonderful.
I can't wait to see you in December. To see you here, and to see you there.
I miss you, but I love you more.
always. selalu.
E
Well, Sister Lily's gone—President had promised her a ticket out of here within the week, and on Saturday morning Silalahi called with her transfer to Jakarta. She left this morning, Happy Birthday to Her. For the record, I tried to make it a bit more exciting than a trip to the Big Durian, but she herself admitted her odd-year birthdays are never the best so it was all a little half-hearted anyway. Plus my poster could never accomplish the wit of dad's work. Even if I did manage to snag a pic of Justin Bieber (I love you Lily, Lily, Lily—oh! My Lily, Lily, Lily, oh!).
We went out to the airport together. An airport the size of 1912 Yale, painted bright blue amongst the rice fields. It was peaceful there, like England. We all talked for a long while, the noontime flight notoriously late as usual, and listened to the birds and the silence. You don't hear silence very often, not in a city on Java. It was pleasant. It was poignant. It somehow felt much more significant than it actually was. Then SisLily got on a plane and we got into a taxi.
Just the two of us.
I've never been anywhere just two sisters; up until this point in this mission this situation has not existed. That big white house all to ourselves. This big wide city our assignment.
We didn't have much time to ponder that; our taxi driver was chatty and knew where Salt Lake City was, which led to an amusing hour's conversation on everything from German study to rice harvests. He took us the long way home (since from the airport every taxi's fixed price so it doesn't matter anyway) and out through the more rural outskirts of Indonesia, my favorite Indonesia. I was rapid-fire questions the entire drive through—-what is this area called? what is that school? why are they wearing that kind of uniform? what is that man carrying? what is that woman selling? are those water buffalo supposed to be in the middle of the road?—and then took careful note of four-way stops and dead-end turns so that when/if we all ever end up in Malang, I can take you there.
I think I had deep thoughts, but I'm running on empty here. A few scattered thoughts left over from the remains of my week:
In Sacrament on Sunday Oma Irawadi discovered I can sing alto and has therefore petitioned Pres Dwi to add us as a duet musical number next month. This is as scary as it sounds, and also hilarious. I'm going right along with it because why not? And also, anything for Oma.
Met with Mas Kun this afternoon and set an absolutely, positively sure date for his baptism, confirmed by Pres Dwi. August 8th. Just as soon as his sister goes back to Belgium—she's making earthquakes of epic proportions in her family, but props to Mas Kun. He's staying strong and standing up to them in testimony, keeping his commitments and moving forward no matter what. Today's appointment was particularly joyful; nothing spectacularly extraordinary but the plain, solid gospel truths which are the Extraordinary within themselves, and that felt strong and right and good. I am very glad to be a part of all this; of Mas Kuncoro, of this mission, of this Church.
Yesterday at Bhakti Luhur they had a visiting high school senior working on their physiotherapy staff who wanted to come help out with English class, too. SisLily and I were rendered incapable. Not because he was even remotely handsome, or even just a boy of the American species, but that he was American and English speaking. I felt (and we later compared notes, which turned out to be exactly the same) like a mute, unable to communicate any sort of rational small talk because, apparently, that space of my brain has been completely commandeered by the Indonesia version of conversation. Everything I said (which I think is normal, I think) sounded hideously formal, pathetically pretend, like I was play-acting a melodrama in preschool. Or an alien parading as mankind in pre-programmed English. It's just so much easier to say things in Indonesian. Forget "What are you doing here in Malang?"—ask "Di Malang ngapain?" Don't bother with "Where do you go to school?"—try "Sekolah mana?" Oh, it was a terrifying foray into my future; if I am that awkward now, what's going to stop me from being that awkward then? I am never getting married. Much less making any friends. Am apologizing now for the day I move back into your basement and only come out in the midnight hours to avoid any sort of humiliation on the social scene.
Kidding. But really. It was pathetic.
Monday morning we helped an inactive member clear a garden space in her backyard. That sounded like a fun little morning project when SisLily first suggested it, but upon arrival and actually seeing said plot we were quickly reduced to despairing laughter in between fitful gasps of the Arabic "mustahil!" Which means impossible, out of the question—because that is what it was. My back is still sore from the manual labor, but on the plus side my arms are now a healthy tan and there's even some color on my legs. Also we got to spend the entire day with Sister Lili and her twins, which was wonderful.
I can't wait to see you in December. To see you here, and to see you there.
I miss you, but I love you more.
always. selalu.
E
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