The Muslim month of fasting is almost done. This coming Monday, Ramadan is over with a bang. Or rather, many bangs. Firecrackers will go off all night. People are feasting and visiting. Speakers will broadcast prayers and chants until daybreak. You can either stay awake or sleep with industrial earplugs.
For those of us who celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus, this is the second week of Easter. My heart is sparking louder than fireworks, happier than those eating big big meals, and more grateful for God's provision than I could imagine. Immersion in the Big Story of scripture does that to you!
1. Immerse yourself in the scriptures - you'll find yourself there
One of the things I enjoy is listening to is a big chunk of scripture. Not just a verse or chapter, but books of the Bible. Last week, when the night sounds picked up and sleep was impossible, I listened from Acts through the end of Revelation. I'm almost through Genesis, the story of Abraham and his children.
Now there's a Story and encouragement for the ages! Gives you hope and instructions for living a full and righteous life. I encourage you to make scripture your go-to when you feel tired or worn - or when you want to worship and celebrate God's goodness.
2. Treat every detour as an adventure - even when you're so hot and tired you can hardly put one foot in front of the other. A tough experience makes a good story later on.
Thursday, February 29, 2022
We walk. We love our mountain walks every Thursday.
Today we head for the Dutch forts in the hills. The concrete bunkers were tunneled into the mountainsides to repel enemy invaders of WWII, and then used until 1945 by both Dutch and Indonesian troops during the War of Independence.
We pause an hour into the walk to share slices of banana bread, baked by IbuA. Cocoa loved banana bread and would hunt down the last crumb when I tossed her a piece. It's a good tribute and a fun memory. Roni snaps a picture.
The views are breathtaking on our side trip to the Independence monument atop the next hill.
There are no guardrails so we won't back up all the way to the edge of the courtyard for our selfie.
Like in the USA, Indonesia's national bird is the eagle or garuda.
After we go past the Dutch forts, we walk. And walk. It's not unusual to miss the turnoffs, especially during rainy season when the intersections of trails are overgrown. While Veronica's internal compass says, "turn somewhere near here," W's GPS says, "keep going."
We get to the edge of the next hill and have to turn back - we can see where we want to be on the other side of the valley. The slopes are too steep to go straight across.
Somehow we miss the turnoff to the well-worn path again. We end up on a wet-clay track. It's covered in inches of bamboo leaves - we marvel at the beautiful stands of bamboo, even as we slip and slide our way over the hard dry leaves atop the mud.
Wow, it's slick and very narrow where the trail has washed away or slidden downhill. We jab our walking sticks into the muck and proceed with caution.
Gypsy sticks nearby. He misses the companion who loped ahead with him.
The fungi and flowers are beautiful everywhere you look.
We have less than a half hour at home, just enough time to gulp down lunch, shower off grime and sweat, change our clothes, and head out the door. We're introducing friends to each other at Vilo, the gelato place up the street.
The ice cream is good and the company is even better. Josh introduces Yoel to #Latingate, a coaching program that empowers young entrepreneurs. Esther and I are happy to see each other - and the kids have shot up a few inches since we saw them last.
On the way home, we see that the scaffolding along the high wall on the lane is removed. The bricks have been mortared back in and plastered over where they were hammed out for the cross-braces of the scaffolding. The next phase of brick-wall covering will be after the Ramadan break ends.
3. Be grateful for everything you learn - about people and their values
Friday
Kristi and I have an online culture lesson with 55 participants. What are funerals and burials like for Muslims in Indonesia? We spend most of the time discussing expat experiences. We would have liked to know more about family rituals, foods served, how the body is wrapped, who comes to the funeral and how the service is conducted ... but we learned a few things. The burial is within 24 hours of death. Experienced neighbors are tasked for the job of wrapping the corpse.
The morning gets away. I need a flower arrangement for the weekend. There aren't a lot of blooms in the yard but there's a lot of red in leaves, bromeliad centers, and anthuriums. I have no time to arrange them and toss them into the sink. We leave that until tomorrow. I quickly pour water over the oasis to soak it.
We spend much of the day in the city. Kristi hasn't been to fabric markets yet. It's time to acquire batiks to make some clothing while she's here. She finds a bunch of lively patterns and I find 2 pieces for a blouse or loose dress. Mine is $14 total. Made-in-Indonesian quilting cottons sold by JoAnn Fabrics and other American shops are here but that's not the point. We're looking for batik, the resist-dyed cotton popular in every part of Indonesia.
W has heard from friends about a good Italian food stall. Since it's fasting month and we're eating at noon, we have most of the foodcourt to ourselves. It IS yummy.
Saturday
Today is a serious workday. I wake early but am immediately diverted. Bailey has pooped in his crate - a first. W washes the crate and I help wash down the dog. "If you didn't know I loved you before, you know it now," he mutters, gagging.
His gag reflex reminds me of the 12 years when I was scraping toddler poop off the 4 kids' bottoms (while he was at the office.) I'm grateful for 2 things as I soap down Bailey's wet white hair: glad I don't have diapers lying around and glad that W's helping. He is one in a million. I toss the scrubbed-down laundry into the machine and hang it to dry on the covered rooftop.
The backyard is awash in green. The lemon-grass is over a meter high and the ponds are bursting with plants. I feed the fish and birds and brush out the rapidly-drying Bailey before heading inside to work.
The guava branches have silvered in their metal stands. They are hung with this and that, including orchids and a pony-tail plant.
Oh oh, I have to tackle the flower arrangement for tomorrow. Our usual florist is on holiday but I've left her armature tied to the empty vase. I think of a basic shape and poke coleus, red anthuriums, bromeliads, and vines into the oasis. It's tall (1 meter, 39") - I worry about tipping the vase when it's top-heavy. (The glass vase is 14" high.) The guys drop it off at the hall.
Once that's out of the way, I toss my batik yardage into the sink to soak and swirl out the excess dye, before hanging it on the rack to dry. Time to write.
The rain pours down. Oh oh, PakG and the dogs are walking their loop. Meanwhile, W's walking downtown. I watch the shafts of water fall from the sky from my perch at the desk. It's hard enough that you can take pictures of the drops - can you see them mid-air?
After a few minutes, the sun comes out and the pavement is steaming. That's why everything is so green ...
QUESTION: what good - what wise or lovely new thing - has come from a downpour in your own life?
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[Today, a reflective poem by Job, a man who lost everything: wealth, family, and reputation]
But where can wisdom be found?
Where does understanding dwell?
No mortal comprehends its worth;
it cannot be found in the land of the living.
The deep says, “It is not in me”;
the sea says, “It is not with me.”
It cannot be bought with the finest gold,
nor can its price be weighed out in silver.
It cannot be bought with the gold of Ophir,
with precious onyx or lapis lazuli.
Neither gold nor crystal can compare with it,
nor can it be had for jewels of gold.
Coral and jasper are not worthy of mention;
the price of wisdom is beyond rubies.
The topaz of Cush cannot compare with it;
it cannot be bought with pure gold.
Where then does wisdom come from?
Where does understanding dwell?
It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing,
concealed even from the birds in the sky.
Destruction and Death say,
“Only a rumor of it has reached our ears.”
God understands the way to it
and he alone knows where it dwells,
for he views the ends of the earth
and sees everything under the heavens.
When he established the force of the wind
and measured out the waters,
when he made a decree for the rain
and a path for the thunderstorm,
then he looked at wisdom and appraised it;
he confirmed it and tested it.
And he said to the human race,
“The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom,
and to shun evil is understanding.” (Job 28:12-28)
