This Christmas I became a Crazy Cat Lady....

So this Christmas, I went overnight from having one cat to three...
I'm getting a sample of being a crazy cat lady and it stinks! (haha, pun!)
We're watching someone's cat who's out of town for the Holidays and on that same day Jacob brought home a feral kitten.
So we've have to tame the wild beast, coax the guest cat, and placate the resident cat, all while trying to keep the dog from antagonizing and/or death.

It's been an eventful, stressful, and hilarious time. Let me share some points with you:

The Litter Box for Multiple Cats

Since Shadow (the resident cat - RC)'s box is covered, we decided to use another box for the kitten. Luckily we had an amazon shipping box on hand. Unluckily, Jacob didn't turn the flaps out all the way....

The kitten has not developed the fine art of covering her deposits. Marie (the guest cat - GC) has taken to entering her litterbox afterwards and covering it for her. Apparently, she thinks that's too disgusting to bear. I concur.

Kitten has taken to Shadow (RC)'s box. I guess we spent $5 on a new litter box for nothing....

Featuring Kitten as an Ornament

Playing with Multiple Cats

It's really hard to tell if cats are swatting at each other with mirth or malice....

The kitten apparently has a death-wish as she insists on charging the larger cats who obviously hate that.

Marie (GC) has taken to sneaking up on kitten and swatting at her while she is grooming herself. As she is a kitten and has not mastered this new skill, it results in her overbalancing, doing a couple of somersaults, all the while flailing her claws wildly in hopes of retribution. It has yet to be successful.

Shadow (RC) really enjoys stalking the kitten. When he pounces, he tries to fall just short enough that the kitten is able to jump 6 inches in the air in fright.

Kitten has taken to sprinting across the room and leap frogging off of Shadow's (RC) head. He loves it...

When playing with the laser pointer, everyone wants to play but no one wants to get close to the others. Asher (the dog) is least discriminating. We like to get him a little too close to Marie (GC). She knows how to fend for herself. And Asher looks so offended after she swipes at him.

My in-laws sent a very large Christmas present to my house which I'm not to open until they arrive. Marie (GC) and kitten have been using it to play with. Kitten hides and peeks around one corner, while Marie sneaks around the other and thwacks her on the rear. Kitten jumps sky high and Marie licks herself in delight.

Feeding Multiple Cats

Asher (dog), per usual, likes to eat cat food. With just one cat, we kept it to a place where Shadow (RC) can get to but Asher can't. The kitten, however, cannot access the shelf. Hopefully, dog problems will not be forthcoming.

Marie (GC) hates the system. Instead of eating her food that her mistress loving brought for her, she prefers to eat Shadows (RC)'s food. And instead of jumping to the second shelf and eating there, she prefers to reach up and nudge the food bowl until it spills on the floor. She then eats a couple bites and walks away. I guess I'll clean up that mess....

Menial Work is My Spiritual Gift

Like most people, I have a couple spiritual gifts, but I really think that one of them is doing menial work. I really love it! Once, while serving at Verve in Las Vegas, I stood over a copier for three hours. Data entry? I'm your girl! You want me to type, in a language I don't know, an entire book of the Bible? I am on it!
(I mean, I love thought provoking, problem solving work as well! But I really really love some menial work!)
As an added bonus, doing menial work often means I get to free up people to do work that only they can do! And I really love serving people in that regard!

What I am working on right now!

I have been given the pleasure of working on the Catholic Lectionary! 

Papua New Guinea has a strong Catholic presence. With both that and our desire people using the Word of God in their heart languages in mind, we have the idea to make a shell book of the Catholic Lectionary. A shell book is a book who's formatting is done in such a way that you can easily replace the "meat" of the book with any language and not have to worry about the formatting or structure because that "shell" is already there!

What this means is that I get to take a scanned copy of Lectionaries C and A (I already completed B, next year's Lectionary over the summer) and insert computer formatting codes. I remove Scripture passages and replace them with commands dictating which passages to insert. I give every title, subtitle, and sub-subtitle it's own code so that there will be consistency in formatting across the book. And I spell check as the text recognition software is far from perfect. 

Looking back this sounds like more than a menial task, but really after you've memorized the right codes (\ms, \mr, \s1, \s2...) it's clicking and typing all the way down. 

I'm super excited that working to get the Word of God in people's heart language doesn't always have to be something I can help with until I get to the field, but there are opportunities, like this one, to work to that end right here and now! 

I'm super excited that I can give other translators opportunity to do things that only they can, while I do this work on their behalf. 

I'm super excited to have a menial task, because I really really love them!

5 Tips for Studying for Comps

So it's that time... Time to start studying for comps. Hopefully you saw this coming and used the tips I gave in 4 Tips on How to Pass Comprehensive Exams. If you didn't, don't panic. I didn't do most of them myself, but I still passed! Those tips were given in the hindsight that's 20/20. 

But now it's time to pull out the coffee and the course notes and the flashcards that you may or may not have been working diligently on this whole time. 

The question is like an elephant in the room.

Now what?

5 Tips for Studying for Comps

1. Write things down. When you're having an emotional breakdown because Comps is in 8 weeks, and you know nothing and while 8 weeks sounds like a long time it's NOT! It's like SAND IN AN HOURGLASS!!! (does this ring of personal testimony? Sorry...) When you get stressed, you can look back on the things you wrote down and be happy at the empirical evidence that you do know things! Additionally, notes are way easier to review than reading through the class materials or textbook again. So take notes to study later. 
2. Try to condense things each time you write them. You may need to start off with an extensive explanation of what "evidentials" are. But after you're familiar with that, all you need to review is Aikhenvald 2004 - evidentials. It's way faster to read through that the original notes and when you consider how much you have, being able to zip through it quickly will be nice. 
3. Start with the scholars. For comprehensive exams at the Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics, we had to cite scholars, which meant that we had to memorize A LOT of scholars. We found it was easier to learn the subject in terms of the scholars than it was to get a general idea of the principles and then try to stick scholars in that. So rather than reading through the course notes and working out sense, reference, connotation, denotation, and then trying to learn scholars, we would learn Frege, Mills, and Russell  and in doing so learn the above with a frame work to put it in. 
4. Get your acronyms. Acronyms are especially good for lists. I used them for my scholars. Rather than pulling out my hair trying to remember who talked about perlocutionary force, I had an acronym for each subject. I memorized years by vague patterns and the order of the scholars. And then I put a key word with each of them. I didn't do that until after tip 2 and 3 above. It was good for studying but then when I just knew my brain would shut down at a critical moment during comps, the list was rote. 
5. Talk to your professors on their time. This may be a bit shady, but I believe the responsibility is on their shoulders. Let's say you go to talk to your professor on their time when they have stuff to do and start asking about if-then statements and their subtleties... Worst case scenario, your prof will give you valuable information on the topic that edifies your understand. Best case scenario, they tell you it's not worth being concerned with. Which can be translated to mean: that's not what the comps question is, please don't waste my time. 

After you're done with comps, if you heeded the advice above, you might find yourself with quite a pile of papers you would rather never see again. This is a great time to get together with your comps study group and burn them all in a commemorative bonfire of the occasion! 

You're welcome!

Good luck!

4 Tips on How to Pass Comprehensive Exams

Comprehensive Exams are terrifying. Your entire educational career's value is being determined by your ability to answer a few random questions.
But you can pass! You can do it! And I'm going to tell you how.

The Key is Think about comps REALLY EARLY. Congratulations on your acceptance to grad school. What's the comps situation? Most of the tips for success are all to do with early action!

4 Tips on How to Pass Comps

1. Take all of the subjects for comps the semester of comps or the semester before comps. For comprehensive exams at the Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics, I had 3 questions on three different subjects: Semantics and Pragmatics, Discourse Analysis, and Translation. I took them in the order listed, one years before, one a semester before, and one the semester of. My scores reflected their proximity to test day. By waiting to take the classes, the course material is fresh in your mind. 
2. When in class, take notes like you're studying for comps. I did flashcards. When in translation, I took notes like it mattered. One important part of comps is citing scholars, so that was my constant question: "Who said that? What year?" Doing so, you can make sure you cover everything in manageable doses and make sure you understand what you're writing. 
3. Get the course notes before class. If you can teach yourself, going through the notes before the class starts and making flashcards will do bundles to help you. When it's being discussed in class, you'll be working to fill holes in your understanding rather than building from scratch. Additionally, your professor will be there to answer any questions you may have. (i.e. "What does that mean?" "Who said that? What year?"
4. Get a study group. Maybe you can't study in a group. But the accountability of meeting every week and having to be prepared for that will make sure you study on your own time. Furthermore, there may be members of your group who grasp concepts that you can't and can word them in a way you can grasp. Your study group can also be great for your emotional health!

**Bonus** Stock up on coffee. 

So grab your academic adviser and ask:

What is the form and content of comps?

and

What is the grading rubric?

And apply the above information.
When you have all that sorted, check the next step: 5 Tips on Studying for Comps

You can do it!!

My Miscarriage

First off, I'm fine. I really am. And I'm going to tell you why. And then I'll tell you what happened but I'll section it off so if you don't want to know you don't have to read it. If you want to leave a comment, that's cool. But don't try to correct me. If you feel like anything that I've said here is wrong, go home pleased that you know better than me, but the information that I've put here makes me feel better. If I'm wrong about anything, ignorance is bliss...

Why are you airing this out on the internet?

1. I told people I was pregnant on the internet. So I'm telling people I'm not anymore. It's easier to air it on the internet than it is to tell people on a case by case basis, again and again, "actually, I had a miscarriage".
2. I'm a missionary and my personal life is pretty much my public life. Not many people send out a monthly newsletter. This kind of goes in hand with that. 
3. I think (and have had others confirm) that I have a healthy perspective on what's happened. Maybe others can benefit from my account. Who knows!

How are you feeling?

It's funny. I got this question a lot when I was at the hospital. And there.... I wasn't really doing all that hot. I mean I guess they were there to know if I was cold or if my pain levels had spiked any (although, when it did, no morphine was forthcoming....). But now it's over. Now it's final. And I'm ok. For three major reasons. 

1. I decided, the moment I found out I was pregnant, that I had a firstborn child, and this may or may not be that child. And it's not. I didn't lose my child. I lost getting to meet my child in June. It feels a lot better to know that God knows who my first child is. And in His timing He will give her to me. 
2. The doctor said that this miscarriage was decided at conception. That something was wrong with the baby. I know there are people who have had children with additional challenges and they've rocked being parents to them. But I don't know that I could. I'm afraid that such a circumstance would prohibit us from going to the field. I'm afraid I would resent the child for that. And I don't want to be that parent. I realize this isn't the prettiest side of me, but maybe God knew all that was true. And protected that poor child from me. 
3. It's easier to grieve over plans than it is memories. Normally when people die, you think about all those wonderful times you've had with them and now won't get to have again. That's hard to let go. I have to let go of plans, of expectations that may not have ever been met anyway. I have to let go of the super close friendship I was going to have with a girl two weeks more pregnant than I was. Let go of the prenatal yoga classes we were going to take together. Let go of the hospital tours. Let go of the Baylor Birthing Center. Let go of the idea that my first time admitted into a hospital would be to deliver my full term healthy child. Let go of seeing my kid in June. But that's easier to let go of than having the child and losing them soon after. 

The hardest part has really been telling people. Especially saying it. Seeing or hearing their responses. The outpouring of love has really been touching and that's, that's when the tears really start flowing. I've found it's been way easier to tell people via text and let them respond there and talk with them later. When their main objective is to keep my company and not to unwittingly make me cry. When the shock and the grief, and oftentimes the memories, aren't actively playing on their faces. It's easier then. 

What happened?

It was probably the week (9 weeks pregnant) before comps, I didn't feel pregnant anymore. I was searching for miscarriage symptoms and that was one. But everyone wrote me off. They told me you start to feel better and I guessed I was. It's probably better I didn't know then. I don't think I would have cared to take comps anymore. It's probably best I didn't know right after comps or my Thanksgiving break would have been ruined. Instead I had one beautiful day. 80 degree weather with a cool breeze, I had passed comps, I had just found out that the medical bills were miscommunicated by a decimal point in my favor. It was a good day. That night Jacob was at work and a friend called me that he needed a friend so I said we could go to a local coffee shop to talk. He was in the parking lot waiting for me to come out when I noticed I was bleeding. (11 weeks, 5 days) And instantly I was hysterical. I called the doctors and it was my doctor on call. He told me there was nothing I could do. Either the baby was fine or the baby wasn't fine but nothing I could do would make any difference. I had to wait until 9am. My best friend came over and sat on the couch with me until Jacob came home. 

The next morning, we had the ultrasound and there was no heartbeat. I wasn't fine at this point. There was much in the way of screaming and wailing at this point. We were eventually sent home only for me not to eat or drink until the D and C which would happen at three. We had to be there at 1:30. It was 9:30. 

It was at home we decided that we could sit around and be sad or we could sit around and be happy instead. So we made plans to order in Chinese and watch How I Met Your Mother in front of a roaring fire and enjoy a dessert course of Hot Peppermint Cocoa. But that would be after the appointment. Until then we watched the Nanny. 

When it was finally time to go, apparently it's procedure for you to tell them yourself why you're there. I didn't know the term for the procedure (D and C). So I just broke down crying instead. That happened a lot while we were there. 

My pulse was so high they felt the need to bring my husband back sooner than expected. Before they put the IV in, which they said they'd use localized anesthesia for. If they did, I'd hate to know what it would be like without the anesthesia! And then I was cold. 

The anesthesiologist came in. He was my favorite. He never once asked me how I was doing. He asked me if there was anything he could do for me. He asked if I would do him a favor in signing the forms. He actually made me think of Cinna from the Hunger Games. 

Finally they led me to the scariest room I think I've ever seen with my own eyes. There was a bed with places for them to restrain me. And while I had been so emotionally exhausted a moment before, I'm sure my pulse went right back up. I started crying again. The doctor said he was going to give me some medicine. But then my chest caught, my legs started tingling and so did my hands. "I don't like this! I do not like this!" And then I woke up in another room. Apparently it was over. The plans for the evening went into effect and it was good. 

So that's what happened. 

What can you do?

We get this question a bit too... And you're never really ready for this question. When I hear it, I'm all "'What can you do?' What do I do?!" But outside of the situation:

• You can pray. Pray that we have peace. Pray that I stop seeing that ultrasound when I close my eyes. Pray that we lean heavily on the Lord and that we stay close to each other. Pray that this feeling I have of acceptance and peace lasts. And pray that I can be happy enough to still be friends with my pregnant friend I mentioned because I really love her and I don't want to resent her happiness. 
• We also have some medical bills thanks to the hospital, OB, and anesthesiologist. If you'd like to help with those, gifts can be sent to:
  712 Pritchett Rd
  Lula, GA 30554.
  Checks made out to Pioneer Bible Translators are tax-deductible. Checks made out to us are not.   

Planning on Commenting?

Remember, if you disagree with me... I don't really care. I don't want to hear about it. Comments may consist of: encouragement, sympathies, and/or personal accounts. Thank you for your thoughtfulness during this time. 

I have finished comps!!!!

Well I've finished comps today and I must say, I'm feeling alright about it. I feel like I did well enough. There are three questions graded on a scale of 4-0 and you're required to have an average grade of 1.5 to pass, where a 1 is a weak understanding of the material. I feel I did well enough to at least pass.

My study group decided to dress in power outfits for comps. That is, outfits in which we feel on top the the world. And I must say, it was way more fun taking comps in crazy attire than it would have been otherwise.

 I'm so glad that part of my life is over and I can put it out of my head at least until December 3rd, when I hear if I did so badly on a question that I have to retake it. Hopefully, that will not be necessary.

Angela, the girl in the elf attire, wrote this beautiful poem I'd like to share with you that expresses the feelings of the day before comps quite well.

Twas the night before Comps and all through the house,
not a square inch was clean, nor anything thereabouts.
The flashcards were laid out on the table with care,
In hopes that a bonfire awaited them la'er.
The scholars weren't nestled, but crammed in instead,
While visions of theories danced in my head.
And Lew all neglected, Marie being a cat,
Had finally given up seeking even a pat.
When inside my brain there arouse such a clatter,
I slammed closed my books, crying, "WHAT IS THE MATTER!"
Away to the worst-case-scenario like a flash,
My mind threw out questions, no matter how rash.
"Semantics, on the crest of a terrifying blow,
Could inquire something I don't already know!
And, what to my wondering eyes, might appear,
But a discourse question to analyze - oh dear!
Or a little old Hebrew - it might be a trick!"
I knew in a moment - comps writers are SICK.
More evil than Sauron, and yet all the same,
They'd quiz us tomorrow, I could hear questions by name.
"Now translate! Now Argue! Now rise and defend!
On Narratives! On Inferences! On Speech Acts! The end!
To the types of pronouns! And yes, this curve ball!
And give scholars! Give Scholars! GIVE SCHOLARS FOR ALL."
As dry eyes before the wild comps test may fly,
When they meet with such obstacles, can't help but cry,
So up to the lids, my eyeballs, they filled,
With tears already shed for being so unskilled.
And then in a twinkling, I thought of more proof,
This was all too exhausting. I just feel so - oof.
I drew in my breath and was turning around
When I noticed my notes, still left on the ground.
They were dressed all in scribbles, from bottom to top,
All dog-eared and torn as they had been dropped.
A bundle of flashcards I had shoved in the back,
And for this I had given myself flack.
Discourse - how I knew it! Paragraphs - how easy!
Implicatures inquiries could not make me queasy.
And droll little semantics, with everything to know,
The last two days proved I could learn nothing mo'.
The stump of Translation could not make me flinch,
That's my major, you guys, and Hebrew's a cinch.
I had a broad base of scholars - at least fifty three -
I'd put them to music last night like I was on Glee.
I was ready and prompt, a right prepared little elf -
Wait a minute, I thought to myself.
A wink of the eye, a point of the ears,
In that costume, precious, I've nothing to fear.
I spoke not a word, I went straight up the stairs,
Found my dress, found my ears, found I didn't care,
Laying them out on the bed for Saturday morn,
What people would think, their laughter or scorn.
I knew that tomorrow, I would feel ready,
With elf ears and costume and too much to study.
To comps I should say, you're still a great fright,
But dressed for the part, I feel totally right.

The Biggest Animal in PNG

There are no lions or tigers or bears in Papua New Guinea.
What there is is (arguably) much, much worse.
Cassowaries.

A cassowary is, to be frank, a man killing bird.
Picture an ostrich. Shrink it just a little. Only 6 1/2 feet tall. Just 125 lbs.
It's head is electric blue, to warn you.
And picture the feet of a raptor. 5 inch dagger toes.
And they're crazy territorial.
They will chase you at 30 mph.

This is why missionaries have guard dogs.
A diversion while we run away.

Why I don't like Missions Classes

It's been a while since I've posted anything here because it's been a while since I've been able to follow a thought coherently enough to write a blog post about it. (< That sentence was a lot harder to type than it should have been) I think, if I actually finish this post, I'll be so proud of me, I'll get Jacob to bring me home Oreos. I love Oreos.

Mostly I've been on an endless loop of nonsensical mnemonics and their (word that means goes with) key words, scholars, and years of publications. 8 weeks til comprehensive exams.

But when everything gets to be too much, I brew a cup of tea and curl up with my Kindle.
Wrapping myself in a warm blanket, and inhaling deeply the aroma of vanilla (vanilla sleepytime tea smells of my childhood), I turn on my Kindle... to see... my Johnson University homework reading.
Yeah! Being enrolled in just one college is for underachievers! (< not at all a serious utterance.)
So sometimes I take a break from homework to do homework.
That's my life right now.
And let me tell you.
I hate missions homework.

Why?

Because every time I start studying for missions I think,
"Yes! I'm going to do that!
Yes! This is good knowledge!
Apply ALL the things!
I have to go to PNG!
RIGHT NOW!"
And then Jacob asks me why I'm packing the house.
Apparently we have 9 more months in Dallas or whatever.

And then I look up. And realize.
I'm not going to PNG right now.
No.
I'm going to sit in front of my computer and force myself to study
all day
everyday
When I wake up.
When I'm in class.
When I get out of class.
When I'm driving. (I have Jacob drill me on flashcards)
When I'd rather be sleeping.
And that's a rather depressing thought.
So I try to avoid doing my missions class.
Because it just reminds me that there's something significantly more awesome in store for me than my present circumstance.
And it's still a long ways off.
...
......
In brighter news, Jacob is coming home with oreos!

(Sometimes it has to be the little things)

The San Antonio Banquet

Tuesday, September 17th, was Pioneer Bible Translators San Antonio Banquet. 

Jacob and I were invited to come and help represent PBT. Mostly because of how pretty and articulate I am....

We drove down on Monday and got to stay with the couple who were a particularly generous benefactor for our trip to Papua New Guinea last year. Moreover, they are a delightful couple who make splendid hosts and are good for hours and hours of storying about their adventures across the world. 

The banquet was a smashing success. 

Greg Pruett, president of Pioneer Bible Translators, spoke on transformed lives, a topic for which PBT has a multitude of stories. Quite a few times, I had to think about monkey brains (a nifty tool I use to distract myself from the subject matter enough to regain my composure) lest my eyeliner run. The breathtaking stories, the legacy of PBT, the accounts that I can only pray my ministry will contribute too, threatened to bring more than a tear to my eye. 

It's so good to be reminded of what Jacob and I are a part of. Oftentimes we can get bogged down in school work and to-do lists and forget the amazing adventure that this is merely a step of. 

I am so pleased to be a part of this organization. So pleased that I can sacrifice three days to work bring funds, not to my own ministry, but the greater ministry of Pioneer Bible Translators.  

As my beautiful hostess said, "My favorite organization to give to is Pioneer Bible Translators. Because I know that when I give to them, I'm giving to something that will extend through generations." Few things are more important than Bible Translation, she said, than giving the Word of God to people in their heart language. 

And I have to agree. 

I am ecstatic to be a part of this legacy. 

3 Abusrdly Simple Tips for Extending the Life of Your Missionary

So recently Danielle, who was my maid of honor, moved to Dallas with her husband. We hang out casually pretty frequently but we also workout together 3 days a week. And it's been great. Crazy. Having a friend. Like crazy.

I used to have a ton of friends! But then, I was living in a dorm and everyone lived right down the hall. Not everyone was free all the time but someone was usually up for some conversation whenever I was in the mood. And given that they were right down the hall, I didn't have to call and face rejection should they be busy. (After too many rejections, you stop trying...)

And then I left college. I left my home and my family and my friends. And I moved to Texas. Which wasn't a move I was really excited about. Excited about moving to the next step of the journey that'll take me to Papua New Guinea! But ... I'm pretty sure that the only reason Texans are so proud of Texas is that they need something to cling to, justifying why they live here. It's a delusion.

The missionary community has been great. Sympathetic of those who have left their family and loved ones and welcome them in. I've had friends come. But they also go. In some regards, it's easier to maintain these friendships as no one is leaving anyone. We're all at this huge train station waiting for our turn to leave.

But when I go home. When I try to reconnect with old friends...
It's hard.
I left them.
I left. and they went on living their lives. And then I try to butt back in again like nothing ever happened.
"Um... excuse me, Elizabeth, right? Listen, yeah it's been a long time but, you know, I've got things, going on, I've got to get back."
And then it sinks in.
This isn't my home anymore.
And then I leave to PNG and it's worse. Out of sight. Out of mind.
No one remembers you. a whisper in my ear. You're all alone.

And that's why missionaries are crazy.


So. If there's a missionary somewhere out there in the world, in the states or out, that you know and love, drop them a line.
1. Like their Facebook Photos
2. Comment on their facebook status
3. Send them an email
These and other gestures of reaching out let them know that while your life may be busy (and we totally get that! Our lives are chaos too!) that you still love them and that they aren't alone.

Happy missionaries stay on the field longer, doing more Kingdom work.
Extend the life of your missionary with a Thinking of You note!

(25) Things I Learned in the Jungle (About Food)

So the thing about married life is that there's two perspectives on an abundance of topics. Sometimes we're completely together on an idea and sometimes our views are quite opposing. It just makes life fun.
I gave Jacob the idea for this blog post and as he started writing, I got super jealous. So I wrote my own. We collaborated only on topics, not on wording. And then we shared our lists with each other and were delighted. Now we share them with you! (My list is reordered for beautiful parallelism!)
Check out Jacob's List Here!!

(25) Things I Learned in the Jungle (About Food)

1. Green coconuts, like Gatorade, are more satisfying on days heat stroke might kill you.
2. Life can be hard when you don't know how to cook with local ingredients. One thing you can always rely on: Curry.
3. I'm afraid of wild mushrooms, even if the nationals are eating them. 
4. Pizza isn't so much Italian cuisine as it is flat bread with random ingredients baked on top. Shrimp, potatoes, whatever's laying about. 
5. Aussie's don't like pumpkin spice lattes, and this is heartbreaking. 
6. Cheese in PNG is very expensive. And totally worth it. My comfort food
7. I'm not very good at baking bread...
8. or granola....
9. In PNG, sweet means good. So when you're looking for English potatoes as opposed to sweet potatoes, don't ask vendors if their food is sweet and then walk away disappointed when they say yes.
10. There's something more delicious about fish you've caught yourself. Until a bone gets stuck in your throat. 
11. There are better cooking techniques than boiling. Trust me. 
12. Passionfruit looks like monkey brains. 
13. Spices. They make a world of difference. 
14. The weevils in the flour are just an added source of protein. 
15. Homemade Australian Ginger Beer is way better than ginger ale could ever hope to be. 
16. Saksak is disgusting. 
17. Missionaries pay children for chores in salt. Like 2 cups. Apparently it's eaten like candy and will be gone in a few hours.
18. Orange Mango Schweppes is the best.  
19. If an Aussie asks you what kind of spider you like, you say Orange Mango Schweppes and Vanilla!
20. Apparently, you can't just toss food in a freezer to freeze it. Something about blanching....
21. Pigs are too valuable to kill. (And cute!)
22. Some food just tastes better far far away from civilization. Like custard. Dang, that custard was good.
23. Blue Mountain Coffee is awesome. Goroka coffee is not. Ask your barista before you order PNG coffee.
24. The nationals will bring potatoes and greens in abundance to sell to you. But good luck trying to get fruit. Some things are too good to share. 
25. If you're hungry enough, you can eat just about anything. 

Why I Pray For Stuff

More Thoughts from My Homework:

Unfortunately, our beliefs swing like a pendulum.
We take things to one extreme, until we realize that something's not right.
And then we go to the other extreme, until we realize that something is still not right.
And we seem to forget what wasn't right about the first way and swing back again.

For example,
To St Francis of Assisi is attributed the quote, "I preach the gospel at all times and when necessary use words."
But then we see a problem. People using this statement as a crutch not to proclaim the Gospel. "I don't have to have an awkward conversation and make myself vulnerable, because I can just live like a good person and that's enough."
So we swing.
I recently saw a post that bashed this idea with an aggressive and solid blow and a wild swing to the far side. Unfortunately, I can't recall it verbatim. But the problem that will come from the swing approach is the problem of Christians who talk the talk but don't walk the walk. People who use the rebellion against that quote as license to live as they want.
But we need to fall in the middle.
It's a both thing.
Live like Christians and tell people about Jesus.

Ok. Here's my point:
You know how people are all, "you shouldn't ask God for stuff, you should just ask the His will be done"?
"God isn't your Santa Claus"
"Prayer's are powerful. You shouldn't be asking for dumb stuff. You should pray that all the orphans are adopted! Our God is big and can do stuff. You need to pray big!"
While there is truth in these statements,
I HATE THAT!
It makes me feel like a horrible person!
Because then I'm all, "But my car is broken and I really need it to be fixed..."
"My husband is sick and I want him to be better."
"I really need the motivation to get all this work done."
And then these statements make me feel BAD for asking silly stupid things for myself!
But I don't feel like this is biblical.
Jesus says: "ask and you will receive". Later in the same passage it says "Your Father in heaven will give good gifts to those who ask Him."
Later right before Jesus dies, he says (paraphrase), Hey I really don't want to die on the cross. Like, I really don't. Please give me some other way. But your will be done.
And Jesus, per usual, gives us a great model.
Ask for what you want.
But God isn't your genie.
He's going to do what He wills.
So keep that in mind.
If God didn't grant you your request, it doesn't mean He doesn't answer prayers.
He has good gifts coming.
Like Salvation for the Entire World.

Ask for the little things. Ask for everything. Pray continuously.
Don't take this to an extreme! That was the point of my preamble!
Prayer involves praising and thanking and confessing too!
But God the Father wants to hear about your day. And wants to seek Him when you have want for anything.
He's just awesome like that.


God is not your Santa Claus.
Ask for big things because God can totally answer big prayers.
But ask for little things too.
Because God loves being sought.


This was actually something a book said that I disagreed with, so there's no point in naming the book here. 

Dream Journal: Superheros And Baby Alligators

I was trapped in a room. A prisoner. But the room wasn't too shabby. I don't know if I was a superhero or some kind of deity but I had powers. But the room had a force field around it to keep me in. Someone from the outside, be it another superhero, deity, or titan, (my dreams aren't very good at fleshing out the back story and such...) smashed the room and the walls separated from the ceiling and the force field broke. So I pushed one wall and it fell off of the cliff into the sea. And I was like, I wonder if they heard that. So then I went up to the ceiling and pushed it back onto the rest of the house. And I was all, they definitely heard that. So then I jumped out into the sea, flying out almost parallel with the water until I slipped under the surface. And then I SHOT UP! OUT OF THE WATER! And there was a pillar of water splashing up with me and I was spinning and it was AWESOME! And then I went back into the water and continued escaping. But suddenly I couldn't fly anymore. Why? Because... it's a dream, ok! And then I was walking in the grass at night, which I never recommend in Dallas because you can't see the tarantulas, but I wasn't in Texas, I was in Louisiana, and it wasn't tarantulas that bit me it was little alligators, a cubit long. And they'd nibble at my feet like my cat. And I was like, NO! NO! NO NIBBLING ON ME! So I'd pull them off and then I got on the lip of this fountain to get away BUT THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE IN THE FOUNTAIN! So I tried to wave down a passing policeman to help me but he didn't see me. And then the alligator started crawling out of the fountain to get to me!! (I had forgotten that they do that!!!) and I started to run away. A bike gang also passed me without helping. And I jumped down on the sidewalk and there were alligators everywhere and then there was a poisonous snake in the middle of the sidewalk and I was like OH NO IMMA DIE! But then the snake bit the alligator and they started thrashing like crazy and I jumped into the grass again so they wouldn't accidentally hit me and I would get bitten by the snake and ANOTHER ALLIGATOR BIT ME! So I jumped back on the sidewalk after the snake/gator scuffle and pulled the gator off my foot and threw him and then my alarm clock went off and I woke up.

THE END!

God Doesn't Like Burritos of Self-Loathing

My readings for my Missionary Formation class have mostly been Christian Living types of books. The other day something stuck out to me. It applied really well to my personal walk. Talking with a friend shortly thereafter, the same words applied to her as well. In that same conversation, we identified an area of growth that she needed to work in. The next textbook I picked up was for that exact thing and, turns out, while my problems in that area are harder to see, it only means it's easier for me to live without addressing that failing, but it applied to me as well.

So I'm going to share some thoughts about my homework on this blog. The ones that might change my life, the ones that make me angry, the ones that are eloquent. And maybe you, my dear supporters, will appreciate them as well.


Brother Lawrence wrote that whenever he fails, he confesses his sins to the Lord and says, "I can't do any better if you leave me to myself." And then walks forward, away from his transgression, with the Lord.
(The quote isn't verbatim and and his words don't imply that Christ left him, so don't read it that way.)

I love that. I love the freedom I have in being completely incapable.
"Oh, no! I did something wrong!"
Surprise, surprise!
I'm a filthy sinner.
I'm powerless to do anything, except cling to Christ.
So, when I mess up, I say, "Yeah... sorry. I'm going to need more of You."
And most importantly, let go of this absurd expectation of myself that I'm not going to screw up, let go of the guilt I have for messing up, and experience the freedom that Christ promised His followers.

BAM!
Liberating!

I just don't feel that I can bask in the presence of God if I'm too consumed in pointing out all of my flaws and wrap myself into a blanket burrito and cry.
God is all, "Um, yeah. You mess up a bunch. But Jesus, remember Him? He took care of that. So stop focusing on yourself and just hang out with Me. Because... well... you're kind of doing it again. Failing. You're being really prideful, all wrapped up in yourself. So stop. And just be with Me."  
"What? Self-loathing? That's not a thing?"
"Yeah. That's not a thing."

I'm a Lazy Workaholic

Everyday I wake up and list to myself the things I need to get done. Every evening I berate myself for all the things I didn't do.
I mock the time I spent on Pinterest and Facebook. The time I spent watching TV.
And then I try to think of SOMETHING that I accomplished that day.
And my list is often HUGE!
Today for example:
I finished reading the articles I had for one class and contacted the department head for the other resources.
Attended my class, planned my semester project, and emailed the person who's brain needed picking for my research. And I read one of two of the articles due on Monday.
I cooked delicious food for my husband and cleaned the kitchen.
I contacted the author who's book I'm editing (an odd job I really enjoy) and the professor I'm doing a work study for about when and what they want me to do, respectively.
At it's only 6:30 pm, which means I have another 7 hours before I go to bed.
Half of that time will probably be spent doing something stupid. And every moment of that time I'll berate myself for not being productive.

I have the mentality of a workaholic without the conviction of one.
I am a lazy workaholic.

I need to give myself a break. A day where I don't expect myself to work and don't degrade myself for relaxing. I need to give myself hours of the day for nothing and for something. So I can enjoy the rest, instead of feeling guilty the whole time.
(If only the Bible would have commanded me to do something like that so I wouldn't have found myself in this self-destructive pattern to begin with! Oh wait! It did!The Sabbath! It's just like, God knows. God is so smart. I should just listen to Him.)

So I'm hereby instituting Saturday as my day of rest! (I know, this is super profound and insightful and original.) And on this day, I will do whatever I fancy! If I want to do book editing because I like it, I will. And if I want to clean the house because I read this blog on organizing my life and got super excited about it, I will. And if I want to lie in bed all day and stare at the ceiling fan, I will.

I also need to come up with a daily plan, but Saturday is like tomorrow and I have so much to do right now if I want to be lazy and do nothing tomorrow. ;)

-recovering workaholic

The Summer of 13

So while our summer should have ended last week since Jacob started classes, we decided to extend it a week for a very special reason.
But overall, the summer was great.
First there was PMI. Always a fun time, especially the coffeehouse where missionaries tell anecdotes from far away lands that will have you in stitches!
Then we were off to Surprise! No really... that's the name of the city. Old friends, new friends, red friends, blue friends, the whole nine yards.
We swung by the Grand Canyon, which tried to kill me.
When we got back, friends from my undergrad who we hung out with a lot while they lived here were house sitting and we got to spend a few days with them before they headed back east.

A friend from GIAL works at Medieval Times and scored us free tickets. A dinner out and a jousting show was fun change from normal date night. While we were at Medieval Times, we spent the pre-show time in the Torture Museum. This was a $2 poorly spent. They started off with the stocks and gallows and guillotine, but then we sunk into the dark ages with torture devices that were sick and vile. That people actually invented for the new ways to violate, humiliate, and torture other humans. I slipped out early and found a comrade in thought sitting on the bench at the exit. "People actually used that stuff," she said to me shaking her head. I just shook my head as I focused on stilling my hands. The horsemanship and swordmanship of the main event was significantly more lighthearted. It was a great show. And our serving wench was amazing.

Looking on the D Magazine event page, I noticed a performance of the Shakespeare Company, The Bible: The Complete Work of God (Abridged). I saw The Shakespeare Company's The Great Works: Abridged in Norfolk once and Jacob had seen their play, The Works of Shakespeare (Abridged). The three man comedic play was not one I would be missing. I saw the manuscript for The Bible on my first exposure and knew it would be great show.
And it was. I think it would be even more funny for a non-Christian, who are not concerned with irreverent comments. Jacob and I, even as firm believers in God's sense of humor, hesitated at a few jokes wondering if they had crossed a line. "Was that a line?" "That might have been a line." "...." The only thing sacred was the Crucifixion and Resurrection before the play resumed their humor with the Axe of the Apostles. But with only a handful of profanity and a few lewd remarks, the play was hilarious.

The Day I Almost Got Eaten by a Crocodile: A Short Story

When I asked if there was anything in the water that could hurt me and she hesitated, I should've known.

Martha habitually took a short walk away from the village to the river we went fishing in to go swimming on Sundays. As it's inappropriate for a woman to venture into the bush alone, she generally was escorted by a gang of national girls who would spend their time swinging off vines and splashing into the water. (It is the jungle.)

But this was just after my fishing experience and I wanted some time of just quiet. So I convinced Martha to sneak off with my instead of summoning her escort. And equally enamored by the idea of not having the squealing clamor of the girls, she agreed and we made it away. 

Slipping into the water, I asked if anything could get me, looking about apprehensively as I sank down to my shoulders and she hesitated. At her less than prompt reply, I stood up abruptly attempting to minimize the amount of me that could be suddenly attacked. 

"Like... snakes?"

I'm not afraid of snakes, per se. I'm afraid of being unexpectedly and fatally attacked. Water snakes just tend to be particularly adept at that. 

"No. No water snakes."

"Piranhas!?!" 

Same principle.
"No. Just, crocodiles swim in these waters. But that's why we brought the dog. The crocodile is way more likely to go for Nandi than us."

Reason #2 for guard dogs: Bait/distraction

While no crocodiles attacked, when we returned from the village the girls scolded us saying that after fishing, with so many dead fish in the water, that's when the crocodiles come around to feed. 

Apparently, I was quite lucky not to have been eaten that day!
Martha seemed to think this was hilarious. 

Vengeance is Savory: A Short Story

So you know those farm scenes where the rooster crows waking you up in the morning?

It leads you to believe that roosters crow when the sun rises. 

LIES!

Roosters crow ALL THE TIME. 

Are you familiar with "Roosters go cock-a-doodle-doo!"?

LIES!

Roosters sound like women screaming bloody murder. 

And while we were in Samban, the first time I was in Papua New Guinea, it set the whole team on edge. One person was so affected that they demanded to be the person to prepare our gift rooster for dinner. 

Vengeance is savory. 

One night in PNG, I was having a dream, I don't remember what about, but it was a good dream. 

But I remember my focus switching to dream-Lindy who was dying. Real-Lindy was sick with malaria. Dream-Lindy was screaming and I tried to run to her. But it was a dream and what's up with running in dreams?!

I woke scared for her when dream-Lindy's screams morphed into real-roosters dying howl. 

It was 2:00 am.

Needless to say, I was quite displeased. 

How to Not be a Crazy Tourist

One day we were in the market when we heard someone shouting. We turned to see this white woman
approached nationals and was shouting at them about the cool way they were holding their babies. Gesticulating wildly and shouting the whole time, she removed her backpack to pull it on her stomach like a baby carrier to show them how they held babies in America.

We deducted that a cruise ship had docked somewhere and tourists were led to the market to rub elbows with the nationals. They were everywhere, shouting, standing in clusters looking frightened of the world, and haggling. 

You can tell the tourists from the local white people easily. And that's because tourists act so ... touristy. 

And if you're from Hampton Roads, you know what a grave insult that is. 

Coming from Hampton Roads, I was raised hating tourists. (Pronounced ter -ists. It also needs to be spat out as if the word is distasteful.) And the reasons for our disdain was well founded. ALWAYS in the way. LOUD, RUDE, IGNORANT. I can go on and on about this but I won't. 

The main thing is, you may be a tourist, don't seem a tourist.

• Dress appropriately.
  Maybe you don't know the cultural expectations. Just look out a window and do what the majority are doing. DO NOT see ONE girl sporting skinny jeans and think that's ok. You don't know her reputation. 
• Shhh!
  If you don't know the language, shouting is not going to help. If you're lucky enough to be in Papua New Guinea where the trade language sounds almost just like English, speak slowly and clearly with simple vocabulary. If they do know some English, it's more likely they'll understand "too much" than "exorbitantly priced."
• Listen!
  Some places you're just going to stick out, like me in Papua New Guinea. I'm the center of attention ALL THE TIME. If you love the spotlight, trust that it will come to you, but spend as much time listening as you can. You'll learn way more that way that if your mouth is going a mile a minute.  
• Be a Follower
  No one expects you to take a class on cultural expectations before you come, but if you don't want to be a tourist, look around. Is anyone haggling at the market? Not in PNG. That would be rude. Trying to say their food isn't worth the price they listed! How are people greeting each other? Men and women aren't exchanging pleasantries? Be careful not to imply you're loose and especially do not extend invitations.
  I know this is so not the American way, but stop and look around. Go second. Be a follower. Be a student in a new culture. 
• Go with the flow
  Act like you belong. Timid, quivering, and hesitant people stand out. Smile pretty, join a wave of people and walk with them, do as the person in front of you does. Is he stopping to look at things? Is he ignoring everything? 

While the examples are Papua New Guinean, the principles apply everywhere. So, go forth and experience the world without being that person that nationals laugh about behind your back.  

Share your experiences! Have you seen bizarre tourist habits? Have you been a bizarre tourist? It's ok. This is a safe place. 

The hat was quickly lost...

I love Biblical Fiction

There's this thing called Biblical fiction.
And I love it!!
I was first introduced in bible college when reading a Biblical novel and writing a paper on it was an option for a semester project.
"I like reading," I thought. "And I like critiquing things. This is going to be awesome!"
And it was.
The awesome thing about Biblical fiction is it really fleshes out those stories we all know so well that we skim over when we're reading. Often it can provide valuable insights or at least food for thought.
For example:

I'm reading The Fall. It's from the perspective of this angel, Rapha. And Rapha is the mentor for Adam and Eve while they're chilling in the Garden of Eden. And so he tries to give them a heads up about Lucifer. "Lucifer is volatile. He will try to devour you and torment you." And Adam and Eve are all like, "torment? devour? What is this you speak of?" They're in the Garden of Eden! It's awesome! Nobody devours anybody! Lions are all, "dang these are some ridiculously delicious dandelions! Hey, Zebra, want some dandelions?" The only things devoured are berries. And, while obviously they should have just done what God told them to, it's pretty easy to see how naive little Adam and Eve could be ignorant of the severity of death. And Satan is all, "Hey, isn't God awesome. He's so smart and stuff. Don't you want to be just like Him? And He also knows the difference between good and evil. If you eat this fruit, you will too! How cool is that?!" Yeah, I can see how that could go bad
quickly.
But then there are also some thoughts like: Strong trees produce good fruit. How will Adam and Eve (or all of mankind) ever get strong if they're protected from the wind and rain and never have to dig their roots deep in search for water? Analogous to if God kept them in a bubble then they would never become strong and awesome.

And biblical fiction is also fiction. Which makes it fun to read. Not to say that reading the Bible isn't fun. But you know, kinda. It's holy. It's set apart. And sometimes it's nice to read things that are just fun.

Now sometimes you may disagree with the author. Like the author here writes about the gap theory (the idea that a lot of time passed between Genesis 1:1 and 1:2). But that's ok. There are a lot of brilliant minds, published authors scholars, who disagree with your interpretation of Scripture. And that's ok. As long as we're seeking God and believe in Jesus, who is God, born of a virgin, perfect, crucified, rose again, forgave the sins of all mankind, we can all worship together and it'll be great. We're all entitled to try and interpret Scripture and we're all entitled to be wrong on some points. There is absolute truth but the world won't end if we don't know it.

Ok! So go out and read some Biblical Fiction! And share the awesome ones!

Dear and Glorious Physician - about Luke.
I read one about Daniel.... can't remember the title.....

The Very Wet Night

Too busy to read this whole thing? Listen to it instead!!!


One of the things I really like about telling stories is you how much you can learn from stories. From the setting where you get to see what Papua New Guinea is like, from the characters through whom you get to see what the ... well... characters in Papua New Guinea are like. The climax where you get to see the problems that could, that have happened. And the solutions. The solutions are really the gem of stories, where you get to hear about what has been done in a situation, if that was a good answer, and consider "what could I do differently?"

This is a great little story that will do that and give you a nice little picture of Papua New Guinea.

When we were in PNG we went to stay in the village of Anguna. They had been building this house for one of the young men who was eminently leaving his parents house. The house was right next door so it wasn't like the kid was moving too far from home. But because no one had lived there before we got the privileged of staying in this house while we were there. Which was particularly nice because it gave us a place, outside of the missionaries home (which I'm sure was equally nice for her), where Jacob and I could go and retreat to. So we would go and take naps during the day in this bush house of ours, which was ridiculously hot. But then at night...
PNG is like really hot. Like 100 degrees.
At night, however, it gets to be like, 80 degrees.
Now you may be thinking, "80 degrees? That's still pretty hot..."
But when you consider it's a 20 degree difference....
80 degrees becomes quite chilly.

Now I'm the kind of person who doesn't like to touch other people when I'm asleep. From the slumber parties when you were kids where you put 30 girls on the floor of a very small room where everyone was touching each other to now, with Jacob.
Stay on your side of the bed.
I'm sleeping.
This is my personal skin.
Your side of the bed.
Don't touch me.
But when we were in Papua New Guinea, it was so cold that we cuddled together at night to stay warm and actually slept like that. I mean. Cold. It was cold.

So we have chilly nights in PNG but here's another thing:
It's the rain forest.
So it like rains.
And we got to experience some of that.
Sometimes it would rain at night. And we'd be over at Martha's cooking dinner, and we'd eat together, and then we'd walk home.
Now Martha's house was a nice little stroll away from our bush house.
So we got to walk all the way back in the mud.
Which, you know, is fine. I'm a missionary. I can deal with some mud.
And we get back to our bush house while it was raining and climbed up our ladder. (They had put a real ladder against our house because I'm a stupid waitmeri and I'm not coordinated and they didn't want me to die. Which I appreciate. So that was nice.)
So we get up to our house and we do to lay down and we discover that our mattress is soaking wet.
When the built the house, rushing to get it finished in time for us to arrive, they didn't quite get around to putting the roof cap-y thing-y on the top of the roof.
I'm sure there's a more technical term, but this is what I've got: roof cap-y thing-y.
So to handle this situation, they threw a trap over the roof and hoped for the best.
Well, that's not what happened this night as the rain penetrated our small little house. And soaked our mattress. So we had this little foam mattress. Well, very swiftly it became a sponge mattress. And, let me tell you, that was great.
So we picked a different part of the mattress to lay on. One that was damp, not sopping.
And we pulled out these tarps and shower curtains because Martha, with her wisdom and forethought, gave us tarps and shower curtains.
Shower curtains are like tarps.... but more... curtain-y.
OK
So, we put some tarps to cover the the mosquito net.
And we get back in bed.
And we notice the water starts dripping again.
So, we get out of get and rearrange the tarps.
And we get back in bed.
And we notice the water starts dripping again.
So, we get out of get and rearrange the tarps.
And we get back in bed.
And we notice the water starts dripping again.
So eventually we grab the last shower curtain and pull it over the bed like a sheet and pull it over our heads to keep the water off.
And i must say, while it was damp, it was the warmest night we had ever had in Papua New Guinea.
Now, shower curtains aren't known for their breathable material.
So it got real stuffy under there, real humid, real warm as I like to call it.


So. If you're ever in the rainforest, you might find yourself in a bush house. It may be a very leaky bush house.
My recommendation for this is dont just leave your mattress out in the open for the rain to soak it all the way through.
That is not a smart decision.
So throw a tarp over it, especially if there's going to be nothing on the roof, because a tarp on the roof? That's not going to cut it.
And always have a shower curtain that you can use as a sheet, because they're awesome and they'll make you happy like they made me happy.
And let me tell you, we were significantly more prepared the next night than the first night!

Our bush house right before the tarps were hoisted. 

Tip: Do Not Vomit in Tropical Ulcers

Have you ever seen a tropical ulcer? Even when I had a "tropical ulcer", it was a wound moving that direction. Not a full scale ulcer.
Now you may think of ulcers as stomach issues. Tropical ulcers are a different animal.
It starts with a small scratch. The sore persists. Becomes infected with mircoorganisms (coral was my microorganism of choice) and it begins to erode muscles, tendons, and even bones. At that point, the cure is amputation.
What does it look like?

Picture a moon crater. Now pop one of those on your leg and fill it with blood, ooze, and pus the yellow-green color of infection. Oh, and it smells.

So there I was, chilling in Martha's house, when I hear a call. I lookout and it looks like some sick people are outside. The closest clinic is 8-12 hours hike away. So they come to Martha for medicine. And, as I was there, they came to me so Martha needn't distract herself from her work.
I grab a thermometer and a watch.
The technique is:
Fever = Malaria = Chloroquine
Respiratory  distress = Pneumonia = Amoxyciline
I know, you're aghast. It's the best we've got. Haters should get medical training and go to the jungle. Until then, the people of Papua New Guinea will live off of Chloroqine and Amoxyciline. (...I suppose if haters want, they can pay for me to get better medical training. That's another option.)
So, I go down and there's this kid with his foot wrapped with leaves and dirty linens.
Wash, bandage, see if he needs Amoxyciline.
I go back on top and grab gloves, Dettol, hot water, and cotton balls, some bandages.
And I get back to see that he had removed his makeshift bandage and beneath it is a gaping wound. The flies had already started swarming.
"I will not vomit. I will not vomit."
I get on my knees and dunk the cotton ball in the Dettol/hot water and begin to clean. I'm not sure this accomplished anything but further disturb my stomach as the center of the cater squished under my touch and the pus stuck to the cotton ball in a stringy stomach turning mess.
It was here I realized I didn't have enough in the way of bandages to cover this kid. But every time I relented in dabbed, the flies went to undo everything I had worked for while impressively maintaining my composure.
"Jacob!" I hollered up to the house. "I need bandages." (He had returned upstairs after snapping the above picture.)
"Where are they?"
Where are they?! They're in the broken refrigerator were all the medical supply was kept.
"In the fridge. Please hurry!" I insisted.
"Where in the fridge?"
I was going to vomit.
"I don't know!" I shouted. "Look around!"
"I don't see it...."
"I AM GOING TO VOMIT IN THIS KID'S ULCER! I NEED YOU TO HURRY!"
So Jacob brought down a large gauze pad.
"Ok." I took deep breaths.
"I need something to keep this gauze pad ON his foot."
So Jacob went back on top.
I swallowed down indications that my stomach was about to rebel.
I covered his wound with the gauze pad. At least I wouldn't have to look at it any more.
It squished.
Just keep swallowing, I coached myself.
"Hurry!"
Jacob was messing with his shoe on the steps up to the house.
"A SENSE OF URGENCY PLEASE!"
My husband has no sense of urgency. Sometimes I need to slow down. I acknowledge that. Sometimes, however, like this time, Jacob needs to HURRY UP!
Hydrocloric acid was burning my throat.
Finally, Jacob got down with some bandage tape and I got the gauze taped down as my body started retching.
Backing away swiftly and thinking of monkey brains (not so much the appearance of them because that wouldn't help. But the comical randomness of deciding to think of monkey brains is a technique I call upon frequently to maintain my composure. i.e. my wedding day.), I resumed control over my gymnastically inclined innards and gave a sigh of relief.
Jacob earned a short scolding on the occasional necessity for haste and when to identify circumstances that required it. (My tone is generally a great indicator. Strained, hoarse, desperate? Hop to!)
Slipping off the contaminated gloves, I properly disposed of the gloves, cotton balls, and used Dettol (I threw them into a wooded area known for its sharp metal remnants of a formed housing foundation where children were afraid to venture.)
Handing over some Amoxycilin and instructions on how to take it, I left the kid to rest from this trauma upstairs, glad that I had saved this eventfulness for last.

Ahh, the life of a missionary. Beautiful tropical vistas. And gaping tropical ulcers. Oh if it were only all fun and games!


... it seems a fair number of my PNG stories involve some tension between Jacob and I. So let me say: Jacob and I had a great time together in PNG. But the times we were watching movies or swimming in the river together (way more fun that bucket showers...) or cooking or shopping or whatever aren't really blog worthy posts. The good stories have a bit of drama. Two months in the jungle and only a handful of accounts speak of Jacob having an emotional break or me letting the little things take me out or snaps at each other like this story? And all of these moments being shortly thereafter forgiven and only remembered as hilarious anecdotes? I think we're doing alright.

Bird of Paradise...?

The Bird of Paradise. It strikes an image of an colorful exotic and perhaps majestic avian soaring through the canopies of Papua New Guinea.
This guy to the left, we saw in the "zoo" at the Madang Resort.
However, as brightly colored and exotic they may be, this video  portrays them as creepy, erratic, disturbing, and  socially challenged birds instead.
For your viewing pleasure:

Hand Washing Clothes in the River. I'm sorry... what?!

Well, I'm not about to paint the prettiest picture of my poor husband, so allow me to get you in an empathetic mood.
Papua New Guinea is... hot. Like once it was 80 degrees, and I put on a jacket.
Papua New Guinea is humid. If you are alive, you are sweating. If you are "cold", you are sweating. Sitting under a fan, reading? Sweating. Olgeta taim! (All of the time.)
Papua New Guinea is dirty. Wet season = muddy. Dry season = dusty. Always.
You cannot get clean in a bucket shower. You may think you can get clean. But wait til you get to a real shower.
And laundry day did not come as frequently as we ran out of clothes....
So Jacob was dirty and gross and sweaty all the time. I mean, so was I but I was cool with it. The nature of the beast. Jacob did not like the beast's nature. He did not like it at all.

So one night, Martha said that she was going to get some village girls to wash the clothes first thing in the morning. Now, I left my clothes at Martha's house. That is wear I bathed. That is where the laundry got done. Why haul it back and forth? Jacob, however, didn't leave his clothes at Martha's.
So I got up and headed over to Martha's in the morning. And the girls had just finished all the laundry. It was now hanging to dry.
Brewed some coffee (in the bush there's this nice pour over system that we got so used to we didn't even notice when the coffee maker in town was broken when we got back. We just did the pour over and people stopped us demanding to know where we got coffee. "...the coffee pot?"), got a cup of granola, and sat to work on my bilum until Jacob got there.
He brought his clothes. Poor dear.
"Um..." Martha said. "They already finished the laundry."
Jacob was in a rage.
Now, if you know Jacob, you might be surprised that he is capable of a "rage". "Elizabeth," you would say, "are you sure this was Jacob? I mean, come on, who's prone to rage?" And you would be so right. No one raises an eyebrow if I start spitting fire but Jacob?
"...Honey," I start cautiously, "...you seem... really upset. What's going on?"
"I just want clean clothes!" he lamented before heading for the bathroom. (Not having one in the bush house made night ... complicated...)
"Should I get the girls to come back....?" Martha whispered to me.
"I don't know..."

I don't know how we got to the topic of me never having washed clothes in a river before but Martha was positively gleeful to send me off with a laundry and a bar of soap.

So there we stood that morning. Me thigh deep in a river and Jacob on shore putzing around. I called to him frequently to make sure he was watching out for crocodiles.

"If I get eaten washing your clothes when you were supposed to be watching for crocodiles, I will haul my crocodile mangled body out of this water to kill you," I assured him.


I did not get eaten. (Obviously.)
The water was fantastic.
Although I'm not sure the clothes got much cleaner....

Machete Wielding Man Strikes White Woman

Background:

This one guy, we'll call him Marcus, got this girl pregnant, we'll call her Jane. Now Marcus and Jane have liked each other for a while but there was a hevi (pronounced heavy, think feud) between their families that had just gotten settled and their families didn't want to dig that up again so forbade their marriage. Jane was supposed to marry someone in another village, her going there in order to balance another marriage where the girl would come to this village in marriage. But she didn't want to go to the other village, so when she was offered betelnut (think.... chewing tobacco, but red and with lime, like lime you scrub the tub with) that came from Marcus (betelnut from a man? Probably has a spell on it. Think daterape.) So then she got pregnant. Now Marcus needs to buck up and take responsibility but he won't there's going to be a meeting of the families. 

So:

Martha wants to know whats going to happen there but can't be there herself without changing the tone. So she sends me. Because "I'm a stupid waitmeri (white woman) who doesn't know what's going on anyway." Turns out... they were right. 

It was supposed to be on my side of the village so Jacob and I went to take a nap thinking we would hear it. Well, it was on the other side of the village so when I wake and hear a distant commotion I go to check it out. It was at Fibi's house and there was a mess of people hollering and pushing and going on. Before I get too close I see Martha walking her dog back to her house. I ask her if this was the fight. (I know, stupid question) But she was so hot about the events she said nothing and kept walking. I, following my previous instructions, go and sit under the roof where I'm normally welcome at Fibi's hourse, trying to figure out what's going on. When Marcus, in a bloodlust, begins to strike the low roof, behind which I am sitting, with a machete and begins to work himself down the length of the roof, toward where I entered striking it all the way. It was now too late for me to remove myself from the setting. I try to decide if I was safer alone or mixed in with the crowd. And quickly made my way toward Fibi, who I thought would instruct me. In retrospect, everyone was so consumed by the happenings I don't think anyone noticed I was there. Beside me was a ladder up to the house. But I didn't think I was allowed up there. A cultural faux pas. In the future, I promise, I will chance a cultural faux pas before chancing physical harm. Marcus turns around the roof, coming in where I had, swinging his machete back and forth in blind rage. He got to where was I and try as I might to sink into the background I was smack solidly with the flat of the machete across my inner thigh. He kept walking. I was shocked! I mean, I was a white woman. Which is kind of a deal. Furthermore, I was a guest to their village and if I had bled! Shame upon shame! But he was so blind with rage he didn't care about anything. And neither should have I. I should have climbed the ladder. 

When he had passed and the thundering of blood and adrenaline had cleared my ears, I began to hear Martha screaming. Doubled over at the waist, screaming my name. I rush to her and she was belhat (think enraged, a fire in her belly was burning hot with a fury). 

"Couldn't you hear me!" she demanded.

"No ma'am! I couldn't hear anything!" Luckily we're both from Georgia and she didn't take my ma'am-ing as an insult but rather submission and obedience like I meant it. 

We walked her dog for a while more as she calmed herself. And I told her I got hit. She was ... displeased. 

Walking back, we past Marcus, stalking back to his house. 

"Is God in your heart or Satan?!" Martha scolded him. 

"Satan!" he spit back, without breaking stride. 

Later Jacob woke from his nap and walked into Martha's house where I was wokim bilum (making a bag). 

"Hi, honey! I got hit with a machete!"

"... what?"

Jacob looked at Martha who glared at the situation. 

He groaned as he sat to listen to the story as I have told it here.

A Terrible Missionary

Ok. So I was in the Grand Canyon for two days and wrote 5 posts. I was in Papua New Guinea for 2 months and also wrote 5 posts. I feel like a terrible missionary. Allow me to first make an excuse, and then remedy that lapse.

1. Missions are stressful in the best of times. Traumatic at the worst. There and returning my head was an indescribable swirl of grey matter. My intention, I believe (it's hard to be sure when your brain looks like a tornado), was to chill, collect my thoughts, and then spew forth incredible stories for your reading pleasure. But considering that we hear approximately... NOTHING from me from November thru May, it becomes evident that classes, while less traumatic, were no cake walk. Lucky for you, I will not be posting anything about my classes as the finer points of Language Documentation and Discourse Analysis ... well, if you're into that, you already know, and if you're not, you don't want to know. So now in my efforts to remedy my mistake I get up to search for my journal. Alas, left in PNG. (What? It was heavy. And I have to bring it back to continue filling it with PNG tales. I might have overestimated my ability or desire to fill a journal.....) Instead, you will get to enjoy the randomness as I remember it!
2. Posted:
   In Transit
   The Big Fight on the Very Stressful Day
   Fishing (Rereading the beginning of this is funny. Right now Jacob is at work, I'm looking at 300 pictures, sipping coffee, with plenty of time. ... .... I miss Tim Tams...)
   Where Magic is Real... and Scary
   NEW: Machete Wielding Man Strikes White Woman
   NEW: Hand Washing Clothes in the River. I'm sorry... what?!
   
   To be posted:
   Tip: Do Not Vomit in Tropical Ulcers
   Godzilla at the Airport
   Xanax is by Bestfriend
   Bob
   Snorkeling
   Making Bread
   Attacked by a Piglet
   Never give Balloons
   Washing Feet. Bloody Feet. I Hate Feet
   The Very Wet Night
   Teaching on Sunday
   Demon Possessed?
   The Menagerie
   The Medical Course
   The Day Martha Almost Got Me Eaten
   Cleaning out the Literacy Building
   Halloween
   Sending out Scripture
   The Expanse
   Note: These are thoughts in my head. They may or may not be worth a full blog post. We shall see.

Camping at Jacob Lake Campgrounds, The Grand Canyon

Ok. So we went camping "in the Grand Canyon". Or at least, that's what I had asked for. Turns out it was an hour away from the North Rim.... whatever.

I love camping. We used to go all the time as a kid. My dad loved to choose the worst weekend of the year to do it. We would load up the van with camping gear and head out to Seashore State Park, or First Landing as it's now known. It would be raining like crazy. So tarps would be hoisted to keep our campground some definition of dry and my sister or I would need to maintain the campfire, which, of course, was not under the tarp. So that was fun. Dad said it was called "roughing it". He also said that we liked it and so we did. And we would sit and stare at flickering flames and listening to the rhythm of the rain as we spoke long into the night. So the idea of camping had me STOKED.


So, we're chilling in this "evergreen forest". (I feel like I was provided with much false information on this trip...) And our campsite was HUGE! And we could see RVs 10 campsites away... So much for that forest...
Our tent was formerly Jacob's brothers boy scouting tent and Jacob said it would be too small for the both of us. He was wrong. It was too small for one of us. The problem was not in the width. It was the length. Four more inches was all we needed. But no. Jacob spent the second night under the stars. I foolishly believed his absence would change the length of the tent.
Our time at the campsite was spent on a blanket with our sleeping bags (Apparently it gets cold in the desert...), reading. Otherwise, we were at our campfire, roasting hot dogs and burning pine cones.

With the exception of the too small tent, freeze nights, fire ban (turns out patience isn't a virtue. Stuff your face with s'mores while you have the chance!), lack of showers, and lack of foliage and consequential privacy, Jacob Lake Campground was lovely. Across the street there was a gas station, gift shop, and restaurant, all very convenient, with helpful staff with the exception of our waitress, with whom I was beyond frustrated and left her a measly 10% tip! (Hey, she's still got to pay rent even if I didn't like her or her service.) The campground itself was very quiet. Park staff rode around on golf carts keeping an eye on things, answering questions, and warning you to put out your fire before you get an $1000 fine. (No one told us there was a burn ban.) Also, their latrines were surprisingly nice.

We didn't get to sleep in the Grand Canyon but the alternative was nice.

10 Reasons I Hate The Desert

I hate the desert. I've traveled through the desert to Vegas and Arizona before but it was this last trip that really set the hated of the desert for me. Why? I have 10 very valid reasons for my great lack of appreciation.

1. It is ugly. Yes there is some degree of beauty. For like, a minute. Afterward the vast expanse of rock and scraggly plant life begins to look just like what Hollywood depicts the world as after it's been destroyed and the survivors become scavengers trying to live off the cruel terrain. 
2. It's dead. I mean not totally but in some places, totally. 
3. The plants are mean. The things that do grow there look mean. Angry, thorny, gnarly things deformed to match the ugliness of their black hearts. And there's jumping cacti and, really, under no circumstance should I be assaulted by vegetation. 
4. When it's not flat, it's cliffs of death. And never can you be just chillin' by a cliff of death. Oh no. You must be making a treacherous turn. Too far one way, you slam into the face of rock! Too far the other way, you drop! And when there's two way traffic!!! As if you aren't concerned enough with your own ability to navigate these turns, you have to trust other people not to kill you! Rule #1 of Driving: Do NOT trust other drivers!
5. There are, like, no trees. Goes hand in hand with things above but really, the beautiful Appalachian Mountains of my country have trees. So if you go off the side of a mountain, you don't die, the trees embrace you with their warm arms and keep you from plummeting to ground very very far away. Jacob tried to tell me that trees weren't that awesome until we went into a valley and the bottom of the mountain had trees. It was glorious. Deep, mysterious, beckoning. Then we got past them and the world looked like the surface of Mars again.  
6. Burn Bans. Ok. What is this? "Burn Ban" psh. You can't have a fire, at your campsite, in a huge metal barrel. WHAT IS THERE TO BURN?!?!? If the entire place goes up in flames will it look that much different!??!??! I DIDN'T GET S'MORES, PEOPLE! NO S'MORES WERE HAD AND I WAS CAMPING!
7. It was cold. The desert was cold. Listen, I have no problem with the heat. When it hit 100, I wasn't complaining! (Although I did like those little mister things around the Starbucks patios...) But the desert has NO BUSINESS being cold! It's a desert. I feel like it needs to be hot by definition! I hate the cold! 
8. There's no cell service. "Oh your car broke down in the middle of nowhere? And you forgot to buy water at the last gas station because you didn't realize the desert is the devil's land? LOL. Have fun walking under the unforgiving rays of the sun on your "refreshing Coca Cola!" It's 100 miles to the next town. HAHAHHAA. dead."
9. I saw no elk. The one thing I was excited about on those absurdly dull and endless hours driving through the desert (please imagine that I am spitting this word out with disgust.) I was promised elk and there were none to be seen! I saw signs for buffalo; there was buffalo. I saw signs for deer; there were deer. I saw signs for cows; there were cows. But when the sign said "Hey Elizabeth, you're going to see elk now! Watch for them!" ONLY LIES!
10. It's dry. I'm from the oceanfront. THE OCEANFRONT! I NEED WATER IN THE AIR! My skin has grown accustom to it! I prefer there to be so much water in the air that Spongebob going to the beach makes sense to me! My skin was dry! I didn't even know what was happening at first... Lost, scared, confused = my desert experience. 

Luckily for me. I am going to Papua New Guinea, where it's beautiful and fertile and the plants are beautiful and the terrain is dynamic and there are an abundance of trees and there are no silly burn bans and cold is defined at 78 degrees and there's cell phone service and the animals they tell me to watch for are actually there and its wet. Ah, Papua New Guinea, the Land of the Unexpected, how you call to my soul! How you and I were selected for one another by a great and all-knowing God who knew how much we would love each other. Soon, my dear, soon we will be reunited again!

Death and Rocks

Beautiful Arial View of PNG