Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

I have been told several times by different people here that I am "so pretty" or "beautiful". Yesterday was the 2nd time I was asked if I had been in a beauty pageant when I was younger - "maybe miss universe"?

I almost choked from laughing - but I realized she was serious and I didn't want to offend her. I tactfully told her that in America there are very high standards for beauty and you have to be "perfect" to win a beauty pageant.

Interestingly, the facial features (of mine) that are so admired here are my nose (long and slender), my eye color and the shape of my lips. I never spent much time thinking about my nose, but I suppose it has served as another reminder of what I can thank god for.

The young women here find it hard to believe that americans think the women in asia are beautiful. I've noticed that every store shelf here sells a product called "whitening cream". I've also noticed that on days when I see women wearing facial makeup, their skin is a shade lighter. I told the women here that american women spends lots of money going to tanning salons or applying lotions and/or facial bronzers to appear darker. They laughed.

I was hoping to post a picture taken of me and Maricel (staff social worker)yesterday when we were out on the town for lunch, but I didn't like the picture: it made me look fat...

Dashing through the...rain!

I must admit, I sometimes miss the days when Mara was still young enough to go trick-or-treating through our neighborhood. Last night I was involved with an activity that stirred up those memories.

In the Philippines, it is customary to go christmas caroling door to door in your neighborhood. The twist is that the people you are caroling to are expected to give you money. I have noticed that several times when we've been in town, there have been small groups of kids gathering around groups (or me since I'm white) who will break out in song.

The director of PDK decided last year to start a new tradition which we continued this year. We went caroling last night, but instead of accepting money, we handed out gifts to each home. I spent a week working with the kids who live here making a christmas ornament. I also bought candy, and we made up bags for kids who lived in each household to hand out as well.

We got all kinds of reactions last night. Some people hide or keep their door closed because they know they're expected to hand out money. Some people were wondering why we hadn't stopped at the "big house" on their block. News seemed to travel by the time we'd been to 5-6 houses that we were not accepting money.

The caroling quickly turned into an adventure. The neighborhoods here aren't joined by paved roads and sidewalks. We walked through a neighborhood that was a maze of handmade wooden "bridges". I could see through these slats of wood and was praying that I wouldn't fall. I was more worried about what I might land in than falling on the wood itself. There are no street lights and it had rained all day so it was very slippery. I thought about the irony of this - we (americans) pay money to go to a "ropes and obstacle course".

It was too dark to take pictures (and I'm careful about there I take my camera) but I have attached a picture I took of the city hall lit up.

comfort zone

"Comfort zone" is something we read, hear, see. If your like me, you don't think about it beyond admiring a piece of framed artwork saying things like "life begins when you step outside your comfort zone". I never gave this set of 2 words much thought- until I got here. According to the dictionary, comfort zone is defined as "a place or situation where one feels safe or at ease and without stress".

Honestly, I am out of my comfort zone here every day - from the time I get up in the morning and need to use the bathroon ("cr") until I wash my face in the evening with cold water (there is no hot water here) and lay down on a wooden slat bunk bed made for children.

...getting into town using public transportation that is questionable, loud and dirty...having to go into 4 different shops to find bagged candy...losing sense of time because schedules and leaving when you say you will are not important...being stared at to the point of people literally stopping in their tracks to look at my face...beggars everywhere I go...sitting around a dinner table unable to engage in conversation because I don't speak the language...visiting communities where children wear rags and don't have underwear...stepping out of the van to hand out bags of warm food and being swarmed by children under 10 who live on the street and want to touch my skin or hug me...sitting through a church service spoken in a different language...unable to leave the compound by myself...eating a meal that I don't know what I'm eating...walking into a filthy hospital and searching for words to say to a young woman who lost her baby during childbirth...

Then I read in this same dictionary that "if you stay within your comfort zone, you will never improve". THAT brings me comfort.

"He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When others are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us."

view to the sea

Hospital Visitation

As I walked down the hallway of the public hospital, I felt a hand take mine. It was Beej  - telling me that some parents wanted me to come and pray for their baby. I willingly agreed and went with her into the room full of patients. I don't know how I didn't gasp when I walked up to their bed...baby VinceJeo has a head the size of a balloon. He was born with meningitis and swelling on his brain has continued to enlarge the size of his head. They brought him to the hospital due to complications from asthma - he can hardly breathe. I sat down next to his mother (Erliza) and put my hand on her back - it was sweaty from the heat and strength needed to hold her baby up. I followed her gaze and looked into the eyes of her baby boy. When I looked up, I noticed the window that ran across the length of the wall behind their bed - coated in dust. The room was filthy dirty. I wanted to run down the hall and scream at the staff.

But, I just sat quietly and tried to take it all in. Erliza sits on the bed all day/night holding her baby since he can't lie down. She is fatigued, but everytime she looks at her baby you can see the love she holds for him. I told her that VinceJeo is lucky to have a mother who loves him that way. Tears start to run down her cheek and she tells me that it is so hard. I sat there, nodded my head and agreed that it is hard. But I could also share with her that God has a  plan for that baby boy and our god is just and unwavering.

I thought about Erliza the next day and then the next. I had a feeling that couldn't be shaken off that I needed to go see her, so I asked and Beej went back to the hosptial with me . (The irony, of course, is that the public hospital is the LAST place I would choose to go here). We walked into the hospital and back into the filthy room and found Erliza holding her baby.

I've learned quickly that as much as I'd love to swoop in, shake up the staff, get the facts on the surgery (when, where, how much) and take care of this problem - that it's important to just be in the moment. The only thing I had to offer her that day was a few items on hand that I threw together in a bag, an arm to rub her aching back, words from one mother to another, agreement that it is hard, and some time to pray for her. I don't know what will happen to VinceJeo (he could die without surgery) but for today, it had to be enough.

As a sidenote, Monday night is Hospital Outreach night for PDK. Basically, the kids and staff go to the public hospital to provide food and prayer for patients. The outreach starts earlier in the day because there is a hot meal to prepare (hot rice porridge) and then place into plastic bags for easy hand out. We spent several hours cooking, chopping, filling bags. The light in  the darkness of the hospital outing is that the kids here (former streetkids) are giving back. I got to witness first hand, their hard work and ability to sit and pray with others so unfortunate. It was magical.

random photos

ferns and herbs we're eating

fish market

garden outside bedroom

garden 2

parakeet cage

red fish

sunday worship

One of the best things about traveling on mission trips is attending different churches and experiencing how different cultures worship. PDK alternates traveling to church every other week with “home church”. This morning was home church. I was thankful in large part because it was pouring rain and it was nice to stay here and sit in the (covered) common area. It has been transformed from dining hall to sanctuary complete with sound, instruments and a podium of sorts.

My favorite part of the service this morning was worship – the music. I recognized all the songs, and the girl who led worship did not have the best voice by our standards. What made it so beautiful is knowing the story behind this girl called “king-king”. King King ran away from home after her mother disappeared. Her father was part of a cult and the only thing he gave her was a tattoo stamped on the top of her forehead as a young girl. Like most of the kids here on the street, she turned to prostitution. At age 15, she became pregnant but continued prostituting. In her 7th month, a client (local cop) took her on his motorcycle and after being serviced, he beat her until they both thought she was dead.

When she recovered, she went with a friend to the PDK drop-in center. Shortly after delivering her baby, she was allowed to come and live in the PDK residential compound. Not only has she stayed with the program, she is healthy, her baby boy is healthy (although he may have some long term issues as a result to the blows he received while in his mother's pregnant belly) and she is now attending university.

Somehow, the words she was singing this morning took on a new meaning for me. God in all his glory can save a 15 yr old pregnant, dirty, runaway girl without parents and no reason for hope - and become real. She's found that hope -It was written all over her face as she was singing. It took the words off the page for me as well. I'm sharing a photo of the kids who are currently living at the PDK compound. King-King is the smiling girl holding "kon-kon".

first impressions

My first morning here was spent in Manila (to await the short flight to Butuan). Our room rate included breakfast so I eagerly went to the dining room searching for coffee. The dining room was packed and we waited in line - cafeteria style - to get our tray. MENU: rice and your choice of egg (only 1), hash and something that resembled sausage links - but tasted like cold, sweet/sour pork. There was coffee, but it was served out of a large canteen behind the line and only 1 cup. I spotted bread and asked for toast - which they handed me dry (no butter and jelly).

A meal is not complete here without rice and it is served at every meal (yes, even for breakfast).

Since we had some time to waste before heading to the airport, I asked if we could walk around the block. I was searching for sunglasses - and was anxious to see what kind of goods the various "vendors" would have laid out. As soon as we walked out the door, I was overcome with smells, noise, traffic, and crowds of people. Maybe it's because I live in UT, but I've become acustomed to quiet (not to mention manageable traffic and a very clean downtown). It is - to say the least - overwhelming (even if you've experienced it before). I also saw my first pair of street kids - a boy and girl, arm and arm, maybe 4 and 5 wearing tattered shorts and a skirt (not shirt) and barefoot. About an hour later, we drove past a woman wearing a dress made out of a trash bag - no shoes...

We got to the airport early - to take my oversized trunk (yes, the trunk saga continued) to the "cargo" area. Apparently domestic airlines don't allow excess or baggage over 30 pounds. I have never seen so many "workers" standing around doing what appeared to be nothing. I was glad they had me wait in the car, because the chaos was unnerving and I had to squelch my impulse to have someone explain why they weren't more organized. It took 4 steps - at 4 different windows -just to get the trunk weighed, tagged, written up (no computer) and then shrink wrapped. The irony, of course, is that after all that we arrived at the Butuan airport only to find out that the trunk WAS NOT put onto our plane (not to worry, it arrived the next day).

I have attached a short video of the last few minutes of the drive to the PDK compund so you can get a feel for what it looks like here. PDK is about 15 minutes drive from the airport and town - off the beaten path so to speak - and it is quiet. When we pulled in, the first thing I noticed was a large welcome banner (see photo) with my name on it. The word "ate" means sister and it is commone for women (esp. older) to be called that over here. Everyone had gathered in the (outdoor)dining area to greet me. No one here is fluent in english, but a few of the staff can carry conversation. I've spent most of my time listening to meal conversation that I can't understand.

Not surprisingly, my first breakfast here was - yes, rice - but this time it was red garlic rice served with turkey spam and fried eggplant. I'm pretty sure I have never eaten spam nor had I planned on it, but I was sitting with the director and as I was placing the bite into my mouth, she told me what it was.

The small amount of land around the compound has been filled with pots of every imaginable material and size so they can grow eggplant, cucumber, tomatoes and potatoes and some things I have yet tofigure out. I ate something last night that looked like spinach, but was actually the leaves of this kind of potato, and cooked with red onion and tomato. I was told several times it is very nutritious (it was tasty).

The kids have been spending time practicing music and dance. Christmas is HUGE over here and there are a number of events and parties going on in the area including christmas caroling door to door. I will  have to video the kids so you can hear them singing our favorite carols. Even the kids who don't know english are learning "hark the herald", "oh come all ye faithful" and "joy to the world".

I'll end today by sharing that there are 3 babies here. The youngest is the baby of the couple who are on staff and live in the boys house. The 2 toddlers are both a result of girls who were once prostitutes (one of whom lives here and has almost completed the program). Her little boy is nicknamed Kong-Kong and has decided I'm his new best friend. We can't understand a word we're saying to each other- but words don't matter when you can laugh, hold hands, play and eat together (pictures to come when I feel more comfortable taking photos here).