Tonight during dinner, we were suddenly all piled in the truck and following Muli, who was driving the tractor, down the windy roads of Fatumu towards the beach. Halfway there the truck was parked in the middle of the road, and Sione jumped out and disappeared into the uta.
After a minute or two of hesitation with the palangis (white people) , our other host siblings plunged in after them...we followed. Down a dark mud path we quickly walked, until we realized the tractor was headed back out, so out we ran (with the tractor right on our heels). The question "what is happening" went through my head approximately 20 times in this 5 minute scenario.
(an aside: radical face "Welcome Home" will forever take me "home" to that bright blue house our first summer...sitting in the backyard on our soon-to-become white trash nasty couches....home is that song, that house, that summer, with a cool breeze in the air, a fire going in the fire pit, and a hot dog in hand. Thanks for making that home, you special group of people that knit together those magical moments. When I'm an old lady and talk about the good ol days...somewhere in there will be this story, and you people.)
What was happening is this: community at its best, what God envisioned when he thought up the church, sharing.
We eat every meal in the garage, and the garage doors are never closed. And to every person that walks by, every single person, "come eat!" is yelled. Now, this town Eva pes like no ones business, so that's a lot of dinner invitations.
Our family owns a generator and some sort of air compressor...every other evening, it seems, someone is driving by and needs their car tires aired up, etc. Our family stops everything, in the middle of dinner, to meet any need, to help, to share.
Tonight was no different, a car stuck in some mud in the uta, and our tractor the only thing that can pull it out.
I have so much to learn.
Opening up and learning to Vahevahe,