School's Out

“The things that have been most valuable to me I did not learn in school.”  ~Will Smith

“It’s time to say goodbye but I think goodbyes are sad and I’d much rather say hello.  Hello to a new adventure.”  ~Ernie Harwell

And just like that, I have a high schooler – my firstborn, my daughter, and mercy me, how did that happen? – and a sixth grader – a 5’4” son, with feet larger than mine, who is beginning his last year of Primary School and looking forward to graduation festivities of his own a year from now.

As the release bell rung at the Primary Campus today, I captured several photos like these:

I asked my son last night if he preferred homeschooling (which we did on furlough) or going to school here.  “Going to school, Mom,” was his response.  “Definitely going to school.”

(But of course he was glad to be done, too.)

To flesh out the conversation, he and I talked about how the dynamics are different in more ways than one.  In Washington he really didn’t have any friends; in contrast, even if he was homeschooled here, he would have plenty of friends to play with in the afternoons. 

This is one of the best parts of this community: the availability – and proximity - of friends for our children.  Two of my son’s best mates (I can say that because one of them is Aussie) live within five houses of us.  My daughter’s friends are a bit more scattered, but it’s still only a six to eight minute walk to one house or another.  Not to mention the classmate who lives under our roof.

But these friendships – and the eventual but inevitable partings - are ironically also one of the things that can make the life of an MK (and often of their parents, too) difficult and even painful. My daughter’s first best friend “went finish” (a local colloquialism for leaving and planning to not return to PNG) back to Germany in 2010.  Her subsequent best friend “went finish” back to Finland (yes, there were the associated “going Finnish” jokes) in 2011.  The next dearest friend she latched onto “went finish” to Australia in 2012.

All in June.

Personally I’ve never felt compelled to participate in “Cry Week,” but it’s probably only a matter of time before my kids will want to do so.  Just tonight my might-as-well-be-adopted teenage daughter said that she was going to be picked up at 6am tomorrow “to go out to Aviation” to say goodbye to a friend.  Here’s the scenario … as soon as high school graduation (which was tonight) is over, our aviation department is overrun for the next week or two with families flying out, going on furlough or finish.

Now, for the seniors whose families are simply going on furlough, they still have to face the fact that they themselves may as well be going finish.  While some alumni do eventually find their way back here to visit, or even as appointed missionaries themselves, there are no guarantees they will ever be back.

My mother tells me that I was fairly horrid to live with as my own high school graduation approached and then the summer dragged on.  I think she was pretty much ready to throw me out of the house by August, because I was ready to go, and I was acting like it. 

While they definitely do experience a fair amount of “senioritis,” I think these kids here tend to struggle with the milestone, too - experiencing a personal tug-of-war within their spirits, conflicted by a sense of personal adventure that clashes brazenly with an expected, but still very raw, grief.  The class (this year consisting of 24 graduates) has bonded over years of living together in a unique environment, far away from their passport countries and cultures, in this place that truly has a culture all its own.  They have shared everything together.  And now as they walk across the stage to receive their hard-earned and long-awaited tickets to freedom, they also stand on the cusp of having to say real goodbyes to so many people who have loved and nurtured them, who understand them because they have lived this life too, and who are now departing for destinations, literally, all around the world.

Of my own graduating class of 600 students, about 250 went to one state college and more than 200 others to the rival school, leaving fewer than 25% of us to go elsewhere.  Of those, most of us stayed within about four southern states.

These kids are flying off to four different continents.

As per tradition, the last day of school at the Secondary Campus includes what is affectionately known as “the Wailing Wall.”  I have not experienced it personally, but I am told that all the people who are leaving (graduates and others leaving for furlough or finish) line up and everyone else (in the whole school!) walks by and says goodbye to each of them.

Tears, sniffles, sobs, hugs, piles of tissue.

Call me callous, but that just sounds like torture to me.  Like someone somewhere is surely scoring a sadistic satisfaction from such a sad scene.   

To prove I wasn’t totally unfeeling, I asked the girls this evening how it went. They had little to say.

“It was sad,” one of them said.  Uh huh … I would think so.  By its very nature … yeah.

And with that cry week has begun, jumpstarted by this little quirk of Ukarumpa culture.

So over the next couple of weeks, these same kids will be “going out to Aviation” to see their friends off.  To give and receive last hugs and promises of permanent connectivity via email and Facebook.  To pray together.  To wave frantically and bury their faces in each others' shoulders, and then watch through tear-blurred eyes as our single-engine planes rumble down the dirt runway and soar into the next set of life experiences.

No, I suppose I don’t tend to do goodbyes well.  I’d rather do “see ya laters.”  Technically, it would be okay because in Christ we most definitely will see each other again. But I wonder if these teenagers might have it right.  It still doesn’t make me want to “do Cry Week," but perhaps this is a healthier path on which to travel through grief.

These kids are some of the most resilient and amazing people I know.

“There’s more to come: We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged.
Quite the contrary—we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!”
~Romans 5:3-5, The Message

Update, 12 July 2013: This blog has been republished in two parts at Teachers in Service, Inc, an organization dedicated to recruiting teachers for Missionary schools around the world.  Their vision?  "The perpetual surplus of teachers for Children of Missionaries."

Baby, it's Cold Outside

“What, I sometimes wonder, would it be like if I lived in a country where winter is a matter of a few chilly days and a few weeks' rain; where the sun is never far away, and the flowers bloom all year long?” ~Anna Neagle

“How can you expect a man who’s warm to understand one who’s cold?”  ~Aleksandr Solzhenitzyn

I’m finding it’s hard to type when you’re shivering.  Even if what you want to write about is the shivering itself.

Yep … winter has arrived.

Bear in mind that I am writing from a tropical destination in the South Pacific - not exactly your standard Gilligan’s Island scenario, what with people wearing knit caps and jackets, and saying clever and innovative things like, “Brr! It’s really cold!”

I certainly never expected to say that when we first purchased our tickets four years ago.

I can probably count on my fingers (wouldn’t even need my toes, which is probably good because I can’t feel them) how many times I have worn a sweater here in PNG, (my daughter and husband each wear one almost every day, but we won’t mention how that probably has to do more with a relative lack of personal insulation than weather patterns) so these cold days are always a shock to my system.

Shortly before we came to PNG, we had a garage sale.  One of the things that did not sell, but that I knew we would not need, was a set of flannel sheets.  A few days later, a couple who had lived here for several years came to visit. How surprised I was when they mentioned that they were glad they had brought their flannel sheets.

To PNG?  Really?

I shipped the flannel sheets, grateful to the Lord that he had kept anyone from snatching up such a bargain.

I thought of that again last night when I had to get out of bed to get an extra blanket and realised the flannel sheets are still folded up in the closet, quite content to keep themselves warm.  And then sometime during the night I dreamed that it snowed here … I exaggerate not.

So, what’s the temperature?  I didn’t look when I got up, but at 8am, it was 17 degrees outside and 19 degrees inside the house.  Okay, I admit it … that is Celsius, and equivalent to 63 Fahrenheit outside and 67 inside.  

Now, you scoff … you laugh … you roll your eyes, but I suppose we’ve acclimated because to us this is cold.  While you are enjoying your suntans on your north-of-the-equator beaches, we, here in the Southern hemisphere, are enduring the thick of winter, such as it is.

And since the houses here have little (if any) insulation and windows that are always vented, winter or summer it is pretty much always only a few degrees different between the outside and inside.

67 degrees.

Inside.

Baby, it’s cold!

Though normally characterised by lack of rain, this “winter” has been particularly dry.  Gardens, which the people of PNG so heavily rely upon for their personal food supplies as well as some level of livelihood, are drying up.  Rain water tanks, our only source of drinkable water, are also running low, and I have heard of many friends whose tanks have run completely dry.  I noticed several people posting on Facebook a few weeks back asking people to pray for rain, and God has answered with some limited rainfall which has replenished the tanks.  It doesn’t take much – a good rain landing on 1200 square metres of corrugated roofing can nearly fill a 2000 gallon tank.

Another thing that characterises “winter” in the highlands is cloudy mornings.  In fact, many days we have pretty good cloud cover until around noon.  Of course, the solar panels which heat our water are on the Eastern side of the house, so you can draw your own conclusion.

Let me just say that stepping into a shower that’s about room temperature was nice when we were down on the coast and sweating 24/7.  But in the highlands, it is usually not very fun, especially when you’re already cold.

This morning, my husband emerged from the bathroom and described the water as “about two degrees above ‘Hallalujah.’”

But it’s all good.  While her comment about the rain isn’t accurate for our context, Anna Neagle is right about the flowers.  Though winter, our tropical banana trees and passion fruit vines are still producing fruit.  Numerous varieties of flowering plants are still going about their business of blooming and expressing themselves through vivid displays of colour.  Everything is green and lush.

Though occasionally I think about how much fun a good snow would be, if I had to choose, I think I prefer it this way.

Week in Review: May 27 – June 2 (“Banquet 2013: Christmas in Winter Wonderland”)

“Adolescence isn't just about prom or wearing sparkly dresses.” ~Jena Malone

“Every cliché about kids is true; they grow up so quickly, you blink and they're gone, and you have to spend the time with them now. But that's a joy.” ~Liam Neeson

“If you then, for all your evil, quite naturally give good things to your children, how much more likely is it that your Heavenly Father will give good things to those who ask him?” ~Matthew 7:11 (Phillips)

A few weeks ago, when the girls were all “made up” and donning formal gowns for the grade 8 play, I casually mentioned to a friend that I was looking them over (especially my own progeny) and thinking about what they were going to look like in ten or so years.

“Ten years!?” she replied with great exaggeration?  “Try three years when they’re going to Banquet!”

The crowd gathers to watch Banquet arrivals.

Oh yeah …

I have blogged about Banquet before.  Actually, what I wrote then still describes the event pretty well, so I won’t repeat it all here.  But, I do need to say again how amazing it is that (after months of planning) dozens of adults can take a week, rolls and rolls of butcher paper, paint, and (this year) Christmas trees and transform the Teen Centre from drab warehouse into a Winter Wonderland.

Especially in this climate where the concept of "winter wonderland" is just that ... conceptual.

Banquet is our school’s substitute for Prom, and, in so many ways, a love letter from parents to their Junior and Senior children.

I was asked several weeks ago if I would be a part of the photography team for this year’s Banquet.  I recently got an SLR camera, and I guess that must be what makes me qualified … but of course I said yes.  :)  It secured for me an inside pass to experience what sits in my not-too-distant future.

Less than two weeks ago, the Teen Centre looked like this (picture from Evan’s birthday party):

 

During the week, it was being transformed like this:

By Friday night, it was a beautiful feast of white and blue lights, endless metres of tulle netting, and Christmas trees, lovingly knit together with creativity and sheer elegance.

Some of the banquet attendees as they arrived with great anticipation for their special evening.

Even the bathrooms were decorated.  This Yeti stood in the corner of the boys' bathroom just daring the boys to throw styrofoam snowballs into his mouth.  (They then came out of the hole in his belly!)

One of the activity booths was a recording studio where the teens could select a song, sing it, and it would be recorded, mixed, and returned to them on CD.

Another booth allowed the kids to make keepsake Christmas tree ornaments with photos of their class and other assorted items.

At the request of the teens, there was time for dancing, including this sash dance and various line dances.

Each set of parents left a gift for their child under a large Christmas tree.

The students enjoyed an elegant dinner prepared by parents and professionally served by dads.

The parents and some teachers put on a play to entertain the kids.  Of course, any similarity to any real people or events was purely coincidental.  In this scene, the "Ghost of Christmas That Came in March Because Your Cards and Packages Were Held up in Port Moresby for Three Months" came to visit Mrs. Gingergoose.

She was also visited by the "Twinkly Twinkie Winkie Stars of Christmas ... symbols of peace, harmony, and general niceness between everyone everywhere" ... unless they happen to be fighting, of course.

The kids laughed hilariously at their parents' antics, and at the allusions to themselves and their friends.

Some additional scenes from the play.

 

I am grateful for the opportunity to experience this Banquet from the inside, and even though none of the kids were my own (at least biologically), the closing sentiments (including a closing song lovingly sung to the tune of "The Christmas Song" by the choir of all adult participants) brought me to tears.

Surely, this is a good gift from parents to children.   

I am so grateful that our Heavenly Father gives his own gifts to us even more graciously, freely, and abundantly.

What an amazing banquet we have to look forward to!  

I hope to see you there.

Barefoot and Beautiful

"I was a barefoot earth child for a couple of years." ~Isabel Lucas

"When I had no shoes I was comfortable - I used to run barefoot. When I wore shoes it was difficult." ~Haile Gebrselassie

"I found them uncomfortable and after that I decided to continue running barefoot because I found it more comfortable. I felt more in touch with what was happening - I could actually feel the track."  ~Zola Budd


My feet are always nasty.   Seriously ... crusty, cracked heels, calloused toes.  Permanently ingrained dirt. I know you were dying to know that.

Be glad I'm not posting pictures.

When we went back to the States on furlough, it took less than a month of walking on plush carpets before my feet felt "normal" again.  It, along with the actual walking on plush carpets, was nice while it lasted.

The problem here is I wear sandals (Teva or other outdoor-type) almost exclusively.  I can probably count on two hands the number of days I have worn sneakers since arriving in the Highlands in 2009.  I would think, with the high humidity levels here, that feet wouldn’t crack like mine do, so maybe there is something else at play here that I haven’t recognised, but somehow, wearing sandals like this continually and detrimentally exposes my feet to the elements.

That said, many around me prefer to go without shoes at all.  Not many of the expatriate adults, mind you, with our woosy-where-is-my-plush-carpet feet.  But many of the PNGns and kids from all passport countries go barefoot whenever possible.

The rule at school is that kids have to have shoes, and must wear them as they travel around the campus. They can take them off on the soccer and baseball fields during recess, but they must wear them to get there and leave them at the edge of the field.  Because of the intense rainy (read: “muddy”) seasons here, students are allowed to take off and leave their shoes outside of the classrooms, and many of them do … every class, every day, rainy or no.

I am always struck, though, by the things people will do in bare feet.  My own children, determined to not have woosy-where-is-my-plush-carpet feet, regularly walk around our centre barefoot … even to church if they can get away with it.  Of course, if possible they would prefer to walk in grass rather than on the rocky dirt roads, but they tough it out even there if necessary.


They're determined to have "PNG feet."



At sports day this weekend, I was amused to see so many bare feet on the field.  You may not have noticed it in the pictures I previously posted, so I will give you a sampling here for your own amusement.   The pictures below were taken of every set of feet running the senior girls’ and senior guys’ 1500m races.  Yes, granted they are running on grass rather than asphalt, but check out the percentage for yourself:

That's 4 out of 17 runners wearing shoes, for a grand average of 76.5% going barefoot.
About right.  :)


In some ways, I think this culture is much more similar to the culture of Bible times than is the first world from which I hail, and the topic of shoes is one place I see that similarity.

Interestingly, when I look up instances of “sandals” in the NIV using my go-to online concordance, I get 28 results, compared with 247 hits for the word “feet.”

There are no results for hiking boots, flip flops, sneakers, or stilettos.  In fact, there are no results for "shoes" at all.



This makes me look differently at the feet around me.  Especially the Melanesian feet attached to those who this Wednesday will be finishing up their translator training course here in the highlands and preparing to return to their villages, their extended families, their gardens … and their work of bringing the Scriptures to their own people in their heart languages.

Truly,

“How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings,
who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion,
‘Your God reigns!’”  Isaiah 52:7