Not too long ago, the boys and I had an outing with some good friends of ours. She’s an English woman married to a Filipino and they have five children, three of whom are adopted. And then there’s our family. Not surprisingly, my sons have become accustomed to convincing people that they are brothers. As we were leaving the restaurant, one of the workers audibly commented on how international we looked.
I guess we’re so used to comments like this that they don’t even faze us anymore. The commonplace nature of someone who is curious about how we can actually be a family amuses us. After all, we certainly know many more families who’ve adopted internationally and interracially now than we knew ten years ago. It’s kind of becoming the right thing to do in some Christian circles, and we’re the first ones to applaud this. Plus, we live in a big city where foreigners commonly marry Filipinos and cruise around the mall with their offspring in tow. So what’s so different about us (apart from how much we dislike the mall)?
We don’t actually think we’re different. Our perspective is perhaps skewed because we’ve been on all sides of the spectrum, sometimes to our disdain and sometimes to our benefit. To be honest, we don’t even know what to call it. We’ve been afforded privilege based on the color of our skin in countries where we are in the vast minority. And we’ve also had a host of paradoxical assumptions made about us based on the color of our skin in those same countries ⎼ we’re rich, we’re self-seeking, we’re full of love and grace, we’re willing to help anyone in need. And, well, we do understand why these assumptions exist, and we don’t necessarily winnow them down to negative stereotypes and take offense. At least we think we don’t.
Nevertheless, I’m reminded of a few basic facts about life.
1. There is no longer a singular, monolithic definition of family. The traditional definitions I learned when I was in school don’t seem all that apropos anymore. God sets the lonely in families, He’s adopted all of us, and He’s the God of all families (whether or not all families recognize this to be true).
2. However antiquated it may sound, we need to teach our children to be color blind. Dave and I had a laugh the other night when he had to explain to Damascus that Joshua did not come from my stomach. Damascus has even told his classmates he’s Kenyan even though he sometimes pretends he’s Filipino and says he’s from the US. Either he’s really adaptable, or his upbringing has really confused him.
3. It really isn’t polite to stare. A smile can deflect a stare by causing the gazer to look away, feel embarrassed, or smile back. However, in all truth, sometimes I have a penchant to tell the person off. Of course, I know it’s not kind and that it’s against the culture. I know it will only make me feel better. But it still irks me.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Life Support
In the past week, two people I know have asked me to help them with medical costs for their children. One woman texted to ask for $14 because her four year old daughter was sick with a bad cough, and the other woman called me at 11:30 p.m. because her newborn son was in the hospital with diarrhea. She could not pay for the dextrose that was keeping him hydrated. Neither woman wanted to have to ask me; they’d rather pay their bills by themselves. However, a mother’s desperation and passion supersede what the mind wants.
The week before that I was in a government hospital with some friends of ours who live near a local landfill. A one year old girl who lives there was diagnosed with TB. Fortunately, the Philippine government provides free medicine to TB patients, but to be so young and to be inflicted with a relatively complicated disease just doesn’t seem fair. On top of that, the line to see the doctor was easily a 5 or 6 hour wait.
While medical costs in the western world do bankrupt families, those costs often reach into the thousands of dollars. And entire volumes of books are devoted to the deconstruction of healthcare costs in some of those western countries. However, the difference between life and death in the majority world may be a matter of $10 or $20. Rarely does it involve insurance companies or any paperwork beyond writing your name on an index card. I commented to Dave that it is hard for me to imagine what it would feel like to be unable to pay a medical bill that seems so small to me, especially for my child. This is not a new revelation -- I’ve experienced it over and over. Even though we live on the generosity of others, that generosity affords us the luxury of seeing a private doctor ($7-12) in the Philippines when we are sick.
So what does this mean? I guess I’m still learning that compassion is a lifestyle. Compassion has the capacity to change everything we know about ourselves -- how deeply we can love, how much we can give, how fully we can accept, how interdependent we ought to live.
The week before that I was in a government hospital with some friends of ours who live near a local landfill. A one year old girl who lives there was diagnosed with TB. Fortunately, the Philippine government provides free medicine to TB patients, but to be so young and to be inflicted with a relatively complicated disease just doesn’t seem fair. On top of that, the line to see the doctor was easily a 5 or 6 hour wait.
While medical costs in the western world do bankrupt families, those costs often reach into the thousands of dollars. And entire volumes of books are devoted to the deconstruction of healthcare costs in some of those western countries. However, the difference between life and death in the majority world may be a matter of $10 or $20. Rarely does it involve insurance companies or any paperwork beyond writing your name on an index card. I commented to Dave that it is hard for me to imagine what it would feel like to be unable to pay a medical bill that seems so small to me, especially for my child. This is not a new revelation -- I’ve experienced it over and over. Even though we live on the generosity of others, that generosity affords us the luxury of seeing a private doctor ($7-12) in the Philippines when we are sick.
So what does this mean? I guess I’m still learning that compassion is a lifestyle. Compassion has the capacity to change everything we know about ourselves -- how deeply we can love, how much we can give, how fully we can accept, how interdependent we ought to live.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Changes
This morning as we dropped off the boys at their new school, we stayed for the morning assembly. Damascus is only entering third grade, and he’s already been to schools with three different national anthems in three drastically different languages. Joshua has been to six different schools since preschool. As far as we can tell, they are used to this.
And then there’s the other side of the spectrum. I went to the same school from kindergarten to high school in the same small town in upstate New York. There are some great things about having gone to the same school my entire life: my friends didn’t change too much, it was close to where I lived, it was predictable, and I knew most of the staff and students. There are also some downsides: the same friends, the same small town, the same routine. My boys have had a wide range of friends from all over the world, but so far they don’t have any friends about whom they can use the phrase, “I grew up with.”
While I do wonder at times if it really is the best for my boys to change schools so often, there are some other things they have the opportunity to learn as a result--things I didn’t really learn until I left my small town--because the people and the environment are quite different in each location. They can relate to people from all classes of society; that includes children who grew up in the farmlands of Kenya to children who grew up in wealthy families in the Bay Area. They adapt to a wide variety of teaching methods easily. They understand how blessed they to be able to attend school at all, especially in a country where millions of children do not. Above all, they know courage, even if it sometimes wobbles when an 11-year-old Joshua realizes what it means to look different from every other person in a school. Yet, when he gets to know his classmates, those external differences disappear for him. Indeed, they teach me a great deal.
Maybe in the body of Christ we get too used to the same environment, the same routine, the same seat in church, the same parking space in the lot, or even the same small group. What would happen if we just changed one of these things? It would be awkward. It might make us nervous. However, it would also unlock the opportunity to learn more about God and ourselves in the process. Change isn't always good. There are times we need to stay planted. Change isn't always bad. It can force us to rely on the constancy of the Lord's presence rather than the constancy of what we think we can control. Still, I’m asking God what He wants to change about what I do every day. I’m also asking what shouldn’t change.
And then there’s the other side of the spectrum. I went to the same school from kindergarten to high school in the same small town in upstate New York. There are some great things about having gone to the same school my entire life: my friends didn’t change too much, it was close to where I lived, it was predictable, and I knew most of the staff and students. There are also some downsides: the same friends, the same small town, the same routine. My boys have had a wide range of friends from all over the world, but so far they don’t have any friends about whom they can use the phrase, “I grew up with.”
While I do wonder at times if it really is the best for my boys to change schools so often, there are some other things they have the opportunity to learn as a result--things I didn’t really learn until I left my small town--because the people and the environment are quite different in each location. They can relate to people from all classes of society; that includes children who grew up in the farmlands of Kenya to children who grew up in wealthy families in the Bay Area. They adapt to a wide variety of teaching methods easily. They understand how blessed they to be able to attend school at all, especially in a country where millions of children do not. Above all, they know courage, even if it sometimes wobbles when an 11-year-old Joshua realizes what it means to look different from every other person in a school. Yet, when he gets to know his classmates, those external differences disappear for him. Indeed, they teach me a great deal.
Maybe in the body of Christ we get too used to the same environment, the same routine, the same seat in church, the same parking space in the lot, or even the same small group. What would happen if we just changed one of these things? It would be awkward. It might make us nervous. However, it would also unlock the opportunity to learn more about God and ourselves in the process. Change isn't always good. There are times we need to stay planted. Change isn't always bad. It can force us to rely on the constancy of the Lord's presence rather than the constancy of what we think we can control. Still, I’m asking God what He wants to change about what I do every day. I’m also asking what shouldn’t change.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Family Entertainment
One of the many things we appreciate about living in the Philippines is the low cost of eating out. The four of us can eat a good, sit down meal for $11-20. In fact, it sometimes costs less to eat out than to buy all of the necessary ingredients to cook at home. Still, we’re well aware that this one meal out is the weekly or monthly salary for many of the people we see each day. That story will come at another time.
Last week, since all of our things were in boxes and suitcases in preparation to move, we went out to eat. And we spent the entire time laughing. It began with Dave doing an impersonation of me. I can’t remember what behavior he was mimicking, but it was likely related to me wanting the boys to have proper table manners. We spent the next hour joyfully making fun of one another by playing, “Who am I?” Joshua is particularly gifted in copying our idiosyncrasies and mannerisms: “Who am I? Wait guys. I just got in the door. Let me go to the bathroom first.” He does gestures, gaits, intonations--the whole thing.
As we became more jovial, we garnered more stares. We didn’t mind. As we left the restaurant still smiling, I was thinking to myself that this is what family should be like. We should know one another that well. We should spend entire meals laughing. We should attract long gazes because we enjoy the company of one another more than anyone else on earth.
Last week, since all of our things were in boxes and suitcases in preparation to move, we went out to eat. And we spent the entire time laughing. It began with Dave doing an impersonation of me. I can’t remember what behavior he was mimicking, but it was likely related to me wanting the boys to have proper table manners. We spent the next hour joyfully making fun of one another by playing, “Who am I?” Joshua is particularly gifted in copying our idiosyncrasies and mannerisms: “Who am I? Wait guys. I just got in the door. Let me go to the bathroom first.” He does gestures, gaits, intonations--the whole thing.
As we became more jovial, we garnered more stares. We didn’t mind. As we left the restaurant still smiling, I was thinking to myself that this is what family should be like. We should know one another that well. We should spend entire meals laughing. We should attract long gazes because we enjoy the company of one another more than anyone else on earth.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Missionary Blog Block
It has been awhile since we last blogged but not for the lack of things going on in our lives. In fact, we have just been through an incredibly busy month. Whenever I sit down to write out my thoughts or experiences here, I feel conflicted. How do I conveniently summarize the complexities I see in everyday situations? To simplify an occurrence cheapens it, but adding depth and color may cause a loss of readership. How do I find that line of communication that draws people in enough that they might want to deepen their connection with us in prayer?
We had this same conversation with some young men who came to stay with us for about 10 days. How do they communicate all that they saw and experienced while they were here? What should they say when people ask, “How was your trip?” Through our discussion, we spoke of relying on one-on-one conversation more than relying on a large group presentation. Why? They can gauge the person’s interest, and the person can also gauge yours. The passion they see in you when you tell a story is what adds depth and color and will cause them to want to know more.
The problem with blogs is you can’t read our passion. You can’t see our faces as we write about the work that we are doing through Red Window or the work we do as a missionary family. If you did you might see . . .
a furrowed brow from the anger we feel at the injustice . . . and indifference.
a tear in the corner of our eyes from seeing the plight of the street families.
a laugh line from a joke that Joshua or Damascus tells.
a bead of sweat from the intensity and speed of the work . . . or just the heat.
a smile as we interact with the Red Window staff and share in victories together.
In our next blog I will try to be more eloquent, but maybe that is a good prayer request for now. Would you pray that we know how to tell the story? Would you pray that God gives us the words and tone that would honor Him and those we serve? Thanks for reading.
We had this same conversation with some young men who came to stay with us for about 10 days. How do they communicate all that they saw and experienced while they were here? What should they say when people ask, “How was your trip?” Through our discussion, we spoke of relying on one-on-one conversation more than relying on a large group presentation. Why? They can gauge the person’s interest, and the person can also gauge yours. The passion they see in you when you tell a story is what adds depth and color and will cause them to want to know more.
The problem with blogs is you can’t read our passion. You can’t see our faces as we write about the work that we are doing through Red Window or the work we do as a missionary family. If you did you might see . . .
a furrowed brow from the anger we feel at the injustice . . . and indifference.
a tear in the corner of our eyes from seeing the plight of the street families.
a laugh line from a joke that Joshua or Damascus tells.
a bead of sweat from the intensity and speed of the work . . . or just the heat.
a smile as we interact with the Red Window staff and share in victories together.
In our next blog I will try to be more eloquent, but maybe that is a good prayer request for now. Would you pray that we know how to tell the story? Would you pray that God gives us the words and tone that would honor Him and those we serve? Thanks for reading.
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