Giving Thanks

Everyone loves an American Thanksgiving meal. Last night, I was one of only a handful of Americans celebrating Thanksgiving with 40 or so people from Indonesia, Australia, Japan, and who knows where else. Forget Obama as the great world unifier. It's turkey.

What's great about spending Thanksgiving overseas is that I get more than one turkey dinner. Early in November we had a Thanksgiving meal at church, my Bible study celebrated mightily last night, and today I'm going over to Joseph and Karla's for a third delicious meal. And my Indonesian Thanksgivings always have something a little unique. At our pitch-in Thanksgiving last year, we had sushi and Indian food, and last night's dessert included chocolate cake and donuts.

I'm pie-maker again this year, and this time I actually have pumpkin (thanks to a little foresight when I was home over the summer and my mother), Crisco (thanks to Karla), and a rolling pin instead of a bottle of sparkling apple cider (thanks to my grandmother). My only trouble is that when I cook something more complicated than dinner for myself, all the deficiencies of my kitchen supplies become readily apparent. I'm supplying mashed potatoes, too for our dinner tonight, and so my thought process this morning went something like this:

Ok, the pumpkin pie filling is in my big red pot and the pie dough is in my orange bowl (thank goodness I planned ahead), but I need the orange bowl to take the potatoes over to Karla's and I need the red pot to cook the potatoes, so I need to make the pie early, so that I can wash dishes and use them for potatoes. The red pot is not that big so I'll probably have to do more than one batch of potatoes, but now that I've put the potato peelings in the orange bowl, I need somewhere to put the cooked potatoes until I mash them. Red cleaning bucket...? No, no, no. I guess I could use the blue strainer until the red pot is done cooking the potatoes and then transfer them to the orange bowl. But if I use the orange bowl for the mashed potatoes, then I can't whip the cream ahead of time, so I'll have to bring my hand mixer plus sugar, whipping cream, and vanilla. I hope Karla has a bowl in which I can whip the cream. Wait, how am I going to juggle mashed potatoes, pie, whipping cream, sugar, vanilla, and hand mixer in the taxi on the way there? Mmm, that pie smells good.

It's all going to be delicious, and Karla finally has an oven big enough to cook the turkey. Last year, Karla prepared the turkey at my apartment, stuck it in my oven and then I babysat it while she made other preparations at their house. We drove the turkey back to her house, and I got all the credit for a turkey I didn't really cook.

We're lucky that we don't have school today because Friday falls on the Islamic holiday Idul Adha. It commemorates Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac, and people generally celebrate by killing livestock and distributing the meat to the less fortunate. I think that spirit of generosity is very appropriate for Thanksgiving.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some red pots, orange bowls, potatoes, and pies to attend to. Happy Thanksgiving!

Recent Pleasantness

I had one of the nicest weekends in recent memory.

Friday, I went with Carol and Disha (expat colleague/friends) into the city for dinner at a cute little bar/lounge that Carol and I found a while ago. Delicious food, excellent company, and even some good people watching.

Saturday, we were required to go to a 30th anniversary celebration for the foundation that supports my school. I was expecting it to ruin my afternoon, so I gave myself an extra nice morning to put me in a good mood. I got coffee and donuts. I talked to my dad and my roommate. I bought myself a new book. I called my sister on the way there. I was a very happy camper who was then pleasantly surprised that the anniversary celebration actually featured some lovely student performances. Who wouldn't be charmed by kindergarten dancers in Indonesian dress dancing to "Jesus Loves Me" played on traditional Balinese instruments?

After the celebration, I headed down to Saturday night church with Carol and Disha. We got there half an hour late, so we decided that a hot coffee would do nicely. It was the rare rainy day in Jakarta when warm drinks actually sound cozy.

We stuck around because there was game night after church. It was a glorious racket of kids and food and charades and four-on-a-couch and all manner of good things.

Sunday, I went to Sunday morning church, heard an excellent sermon, went out to lunch at the yummy Italian place by church (delicious minestrone soup). Then I read some of my new book, took a divine nap, and did some blogging.

Sunday evening, I joined some Saturday night church friends for Christmas movie night. Since we don't have cold weather or crass commercialism to get us in the Christmas spirit, we have to do it ourselves. We watched Elf.

The end.

In Which I Do Not Mention Recent Pleasantnesses

Again, I've been feeling decidedly un-bloggy, but this time, it's not for lack of interesting things to blog about, some pleasant and some decidedly unpleasant.

By way of introduction to the unpleasant, I remember being struck by these words when I first heard them, but I felt particular need to look them up recently.

"I thank Thee first because I was never robbed before; second because although they took my purse they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth because it was I who was robbed, and not I who robbed."
~Matthew Henry

It has not been easy to be thankful that several hundred dollars was taken from my locked apartment several weeks ago, and I have felt alternately angry, frustrated, stupid, frightened, and cynical but rarely thankful. Yet in the manner of Matthew Henry, I am grateful that it was not my all, that it was probably taken by someone who needs it much more than I do, that it has been a part of my recent reflections on suffering, and that it has spurred me to greater prayer.

And the management of my apartment complex has taken it very seriously, particularly since it seems to be part of a pattern of thefts. They've interviewed all the employees, provided me with a safe, replaced my locks, interviewed me for more information, and replaced the bathroom stall quality sliding bolt on my door with a legitimate bolt and chain. They haven't done what I would really like, which is to say to me, "Don't worry about your bill for the next couple of months," but that would be too much to hope for.

I think it was one of God's little jokes that I discovered the theft the very same day that I gave a morning devotion on suffering. I told the teachers that morning (and I tell you) that I'm not sure that I can sum up my thoughts about suffering very well yet, but a combination of things--a Bible study on Philippians, the death from cancer of the toddler daughter of some acquaintances, reading (again) The Giver, and some Spirit-given urge to research and reflect on Scripture--got me thinking. Thinking not so much about why suffering happens but what it does.

First of all, I don't think suffering was ever intended for us, at least not in the way that we experience it now. But suffering entered the world as a consequence of sin, and with our hurts, confusions, angers, wars, depressions, deaths, harsh words, sicknesses, crimes, hatreds, secret pains, oppressions, griefs, injustices, weariness, aches, and wrongs, we have suffered. Lord, we have suffered.

But something changes with Christ. Christ was sinless and undeserving of suffering, and yet he chooses to enter into the grime of suffering. The image that came to mind recently was from the movie Slumdog Millionaire. In one scene, the protagonist as a little boy is locked by pranksters in an outhouse lifted on stilts over its pit of excrement. If that weren't bad enough, his hero--the Bollywood star whose picture he keeps with him at all times--has just arrived and is giving out autographs not far away. The boy has a choice, and for the sake of something supremely valuable to him, he plunges into the filth, races to his hero, and gets his autograph.

Christ, for the sake of something supremely valuable to him, has entered into the world and its pain. By some mysterious miracle, his Father has heaped honor on him precisely because he chose to suffer (Hebrews 2:9). By some mysterious miracle, we can embrace suffering as a calling to follow in his footsteps (1 Peter 2:20-21). By some mysterious miracle, we can call suffering a kind of grace (Philippians 1:29). By some mysterious miracle, suffering becomes an occasion for greater worship, faith, and service (1 Peter 4:15-16, 19).

Someone once pointed out to me that ugliness is not hard to achieve, but bringing beauty out of ugliness takes creativity and faith in ugly things. Thank goodness for a loving Artist.

My favorite insight came when I read Act 5:41. After the apostles have been publicly humiliated and flogged in the Sanhedrin, I read "The apostles left the Sanhedrin, rejoicing because they had been counted worthy of suffering for the Name." What a change from the cowardly men who fled the scene of Christ's suffering when he was betrayed in the garden. What a difference Easter makes.

I warned you that I don't have any great summative thoughts about suffering. I don't pretend that my life has been filled with suffering. That would sound pretentious anywhere but particularly so in Indonesia. I don't pretend to know why suffering happens, but I want to be looking for the ways that my God is turning suffering into glory and bringing beauty out of ugliness. I want to offer my meager sufferings as material for sacrifice and opportunities for praise.

My reflection on suffering isn't over. Just this morning, I listened to a sermon about Paul and Silas in the Philippian prison singing hymns of praise to Christ in the dark hours of the night after a day of injustice and pain.

So today I am thankful for one more thing.

I am thankful for a Lord who has also suffered.

You've got a point there

So, I've been trying to learn the 10th graders' names, but my techniques mostly involve consulting the seating chart, guessing, and "What's your name again?" Yesterday, I was employing all three in my quest to figure out the name of Mr. Row 2, Column 2, when he informed me that their class changes seats every week.

"Well, that doesn't help me learn your name, does it? How am I supposed to get your names right if I don't know where you're sitting?"

"Miss, you're supposed to learn my face."

Touche.

The Long and Short of It

It's not that I've been particularly busy recently; it's just that I haven't felt bloggy. But I got inspired again this weekend, so here's the long and short of the last couple of weeks.

Long:

The leadership retreat two weeks ago was my last hurrah with my year 11 students. With beautiful, cool weather up in the hills around Bandung, it almost felt like a mini-vacation. We teachers had almost no supervising responsibilities since the programs were run by an outside organization, so we were free to enjoy each other's company or hang out with the kids. We watched them earning points to eat supper by participating in team-building activities (don't worry; no one starved), and I got to slip out of teacher mode and just enjoy being with my students one last time.

Since I've said goodbye to the year 11 kids, I've been in a weird transitional time for a couple of months until I get a new batch of year 11 students. Last year, I taught 8^th graders, but this year I'm teaching year 10 English and Study Skills. It's a good opportunity to get to know them before January, and it doesn't hurt that my teaching schedule is a bit lighter (no classes on Mondays or Fridays), which gives me some time to reflect on last year and plan better for next year.

Last week was a snore. Karla was out of town about half the week, and Carol was gone the whole week, so I had no one to bug, and hardly any classes to teach. I compensated by taking the morning off to go to the bank on Friday. I tried going on Monday, but apparently they won't let me take money out of my U.S. dollar account after 2pm. (I asked about four times just to make sure.) It only takes 5 or so minutes to walk to the bank, but I was drenched in sweat by the time I got there. Ick. Thank goodness for air conditioning.

I've had a nasty cold. I'm mostly over it now, but it's been a slower recovery than I expected. I've consumed mountains of tissue, cups and cups of tea, a whole bottle of hand sanitizer, plenty of cold medicine, and hours of extra sleep, but I'm still croaky, and it feels like someone's driving nails into my sinuses when I bend over. On the bright side, one of my students remarked that my voice sounds nicer when I'm congested. Thanks?

Saturday I went to yoga class at my gym for the first time in a couple of months. I always find yoga class vaguely amusing, but I was welcomed back with a friendly "Apa kabar?" (How are you?) from our instructor, whose black mesh shirt and navy swish-swish pants I know so well. I also got a "We haven't seen you in a while" from the guy next me who was wearing a blue striped polo, white man-capris, and a red terrycloth headband. Ok, maybe the clothing is part of the reason I find yoga funny, so in the interest of descriptive fairness, I wore my teal yoga pants and my black cotton/spandex t-shirt.

I also worked up enough courage to get a haircut on Saturday. I've only been to a salon twice now in Indonesia. I have this mistaken idea that no hairdresser in Indonesia knows how to deal with curliness, and I choose to ignore the fact that my hair is very forgiving of imperfect haircuts. Mostly, it's the language barrier that keeps me away from Indonesian scissors, but I haven't actually had a bad experience yet. And this time? Success.

Short:

I have 120 new 10^th grader names to learn, and I'm not very motivated. I think I miss my 11^th graders.

The funniest moment of my weekend was hearing a Nigerian imitate JFK's Massachusetts accent in "Ask not what your country can do for you."

I conquered the stubborn gradebook software and successfully entered all my grades and comments last week.

We had an American-style Thanksgiving lunch at church yesterday. Yum!

My current bedtime reading is The Magician's Nephew.

I got to teach people how to play euchre, and I'm hoping we can start a regular euchre-playing evening.

I accidentally bought chunky peanut butter last time I was at the grocery story.

My computer's power cord is shot. Likewise the battery. Lethal combination.

Work is eating up two Saturdays this month, so less yoga fun for me.

I've started mentally packing to go home and making a list of everything I want to bring back with me.

I just had three year 11 students who are leaving IPEKA to pursue studies elsewhere come in to say goodbye. Did I mention that I miss them?