Jubilee's Christmas Poem

In the midst of this darkness and chaos and strife

You entered the world and you breathed in its life

So helpless and cold, the room filled up with cries,

You looked up at our tender and jubilant eyes

In the gaze of this fragile, immaculate face

We also felt helpless and desperate for grace

Such innocence we’d never dreamed could exist

A picture of promise and infinite bliss

When I think of my little girl’s tale still untold

When I pray for her path that has yet to unfold

I’m filled up with hope because all that’s in sight

Is a future that’s full of potential and bright

--

But also at times I am swallowed by fear,

For stories of heartache are painfully near

Why should I hope, and why should I pray?

Our joy could be crushed into sorrow today

For innocence seems like a short, fleeting breath

Choked out in the grip of our suff’ring and death

--

Yet when doubt sings its whispers in my straining ear

When no spark in this world full of darkness appears

I remember that poor insignificant inn

Above which a star shone a shimmering glint

When light from a vast, insurmountable height

Came down in the form of an infant that night

God’s answer and comfort to innocent cries

Was found not in an audible word, but a life

A father’s unearned, inconceivable love

Was instilled in the life and the heart of a son

Who entered the world in the form of a child

Like my little one, so meek and so mild

He too endured hardship and tasted our pain

He too had his innocence stolen away

In a plan to redeem what is lost and corrupted

And all that our evil and sin has disrupted

All darkness was pierced and enveloped by light

That appeared in the inn on that humblest of nights

Written by Mark

Churchgoing and Being Home

It's been a while...thought I'd share some thoughts.

Serving in the Peace Corps has changed us in countless ways, and our views about God and the church are among the things that have been impacted the most. When folks ask us what was most difficult, we always seem to mention, in some way or another, the lack of an English-speaking spiritual community. Church was a huge part of our lives in Tonga, but the vast cultural differences (not to mention the language barrier) made it very, very different. We missed everything about church - worshipping corporately in our native language, enjoying fellowship and community with a group of people that share the most foundational part of our worldview, listening to a trained and dedicated preacher teach about the Bible and theology.

Needless to say, we returned to the U.S. with a hunger for church. And, over the past few months, we have gotten to attend a lot of church services - We've actually been to five different churches in four different states. We've also had so many great, life-giving moments of spiritual communion with friends and family spread across the States. Throughout all of these experiences, my reflections about church and community have been different than in the past.

My thoughts are summed up pretty well in a passage I re-read recently from C.S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters - his satiric, stylized correspondence between two tempter demons that brilliantly turns ideas on their heads to make readers think about things in a different way. In one letter on the subject of church, the mentor Screwtape advises his novice nephew in his temptation of a young Christian:

Surely you know that if a man can't be cured of churchgoing, the next best thing is to send him all over the neighborhood looking for the church that 'suits' him until he becomes a taster or connoisseur of churches. The reasons are obvious. In the first place the parochial organization should always be attacked, because, being a unity of place and not of likings, it brings people of different classes and psychology together in the kind of unity the Enemy (God) desires...In the second place, the search for a 'suitable' church makes the man a critic where the Enemy wants him to be a pupil.

I (and much of my generation, I fear) have at times considered myself this kind of "church connoisseur." I shudder to think about the countless, prideful conversations I've had, somehow believing that I had figured everything out, that all who had gone before me had gotten it wrong.

As Lewis cleverly points out, it is so easy to miss the point of church, especially when you live in a place with a veritable buffet of different churches. He warns us that our focus should not be finding a church with a style that suits our preferences and people that are nearly identical to us. In the words of Screwtape, it is so important that we approach church as a pupil, not a critic, and that we embrace, not shy away from, the diversity and great differences of people within a congregation.

In my post-Peace Corps church hunger, I've found myself looking at church with baptized eyes. Regardless of music style, I have joyfully joined others in corporate song, remembering the times when we would save our IPad battery just to listen to a couple English worship songs on Sunday mornings in Tonga. I have been challenged by and learned from preachers of very different backgrounds and theological bents, remembering all the times I would zone out during a Tongan sermon because my brain could translate no longer. I have rejoiced at the opportunity to reconnect and talk with family and old friends, remembering the thousands of repeated, surface-level Tongan conversations when my vocabulary had been completely exhausted.

The most powerful and memorable moment that I felt these things most deeply was when we participated in the Eucharist at Hope, our old, wonderful church in Denver. As I prepared my heart for this, the most powerful and beautiful of all sacraments instituted by Christ himself, I was moved to tears as I gazed around the room. It was a brilliantly beautiful portrait in my mind as I reflected on the meaning of this ritual - people of a wide variety of age, background, and belief standing with Christians all over the world and throughout the centuries of history, eating bread and drinking wine, remembering our Savior's sacrifice and professing together that we belong to this global body of Christ followers. And as I took the bread and the wine, I thought of my brothers and sisters in Tonga, Wisconsin, Oklahoma, California, Thailand, and all over the world, doing the same thing and professing these same truths. Despite our differences and our preferences, we are a part of this beautifully broken thing that Christ himself instituted to be his chosen instrument of bringing redemption and his upside-down Kingdom to this world.

I hope and pray that when we inevitably join another church community, this time in Bangkok Thailand, we will remember these lessons, stay hungry, and guard ourselves from the ease and dangers of missing the point...

- Mark

From Tonga to Thailand (Part 1)

To all those who will read this, whether you know all or nothing about our next steps, the purpose of this blog is to share some very big news with you. But before we do that, we first want to say thank you. I don't think either of us knew what it would look like to try to stay connected with family and friends from various stages of our lives during these last two years, but it's been hard. We've done our best to be invested in the present and in our current home, but we have also strived not to forgot those from our past and those far away. And I know I've written a couple times about the dangers of technology, but we can't express how meaningful a quick email, message, or comment can be when things get hard. So, to all those who have supported us and continue to love us well, we say thank you.

Also, before we share our news, I feel the need to share this. For the past five or so years, both Alissa and I have wanted to live and work in Southeast Asia. Call it what you wish...a calling, a dream, a vision, a goal...we've certainly used all of those words ourselves. Whatever the case, based on countless prayers, conversations, and events, that is what we want, and that is where we believe that God wants us to go.

So, the first part of our news is that we are finished with our Peace Corps service, and are now home in the U.S.. We've shared briefly on our blog, and more extensively with close friends and family, that Peace Corps' decision to move us from our island was a pretty negative experience. Still as we look back, we feel that we were moved for very inconsequential reasons, and that the process was done very hurriedly and insensitively. Once we arrived to our new site, we were disappointed to find that Peace Corps did not develop our worksite and was nowhere near finding us a house to live in.

We do feel that we went into this new situation with as open of a mind as we could, but since we were over a year into our service, we ultimately made the decision to leave Peace Corps early. It was a very hard decision, but we felt a lot of peace about it very quickly. When the day came for us to talk about it with our Country Director, he was very understanding and supportive about it. In the end, we were released from our commitment through what Peace Corps calls "interrupted service", stating basically that our service ended because Peace Corps did not hold up their end of the deal and provide us with satisfactory housing and worksite. All in all, we left Tonga on good terms, at peace, but with heavy hearts, remembering all we had done and all the amazing people we crossed paths with.

Peace Corps has been such a blessing in so many ways, but we were and have remained a little disappointed that we were not sent to Asia. However, for many reasons both practical and idealistic, we said yes to the South Pacific. And we are so glad that we did. We wanted a cross-cultural immersion experience. We wanted to learn a different language We wanted to live as part of a small, village community. We wanted to experience living without our many modern amenities. We wanted to know what it was like to live at the same standard, wages, and cultural expectations as those we are serving. We wanted many things from this experience, and whether or not we wanted them with the best intentions or experienced them to the fullest degree, we got everything that we wanted in our wonderful, tiny island.

Yet regardless of what we wanted or gained from our experience, far and above the most lasting and important part of our last two years abroad has to do with the people in our lives. We realized very quickly that the most meaningful, sustainable, and precious part of our service was our relationships with the Tongan people on our island. What we learned and how we grew as a result of knowing these people that are so entirely different from us is what we will remember the most. I still assert the statement that I made very early in our service - that cultural differences are much more significant and run much deeper than I ever imagined. And that challenge, that beautiful struggle to build meaningful, give and take relationships with those wonderful people was, to say the least, life changing.

Lastly, something else that I realized early on is that our Peace Corps Tonga service would be much more of a team effort than we had originally imagined. Because Tonga is such a small place, the roles of the members of our Peace Corps group extended much further than us simply being trained together. Our group was very much, for lack of a better world, our community. And it was a community made up of people that at times felt more different from us than the Tongans we were living with. But, it was such a journey and such a joy getting to know each and every one of them. We are leaving Tonga with some amazing relationships with some incredible people that it's hard to imagine we didn't know at all just a year and a half ago. We will manatu'ofa (remember and cherish with love) all of them, and we know that these relationships will endure.

Mark

On Technology and Reverse Culture Shock

It's not hard to believe, I'm sure, but one of our observations and struggles after coming home after a year and half abroad had to do with re-entering a culture that is obsessed with technology and being "plugged-in" to the online world. Of course, most of us realize and freely admit this, but it was something that was a glaringly stark contrast to how we had lived on our island. I came across this quote from Thoreau's Walden a while back, and it kept coming to mind over and over again during our time in America.


"Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end, an end which it was already but too easy to arrive at."


(side note: unsurprisingly, these sentiments seem to be right in line with the spirit of this famously subversive "fight the man by finding the meaning of life alone in the woods" piece of literature. But, it's also funny to realize that the "pretty new inventions" that Thoreau was ranting about were railroads and the telegraph. I wonder what ole Henry D. would think of Facebook and iPhones...)

Now, it may seem trite and predictable for us to pretend that we have come back enlightened and elevated above the evils and distractions of contemporary America after our short time abroad. But the true, saddening reality was how easy it became to fall right back in to the temptations that our technology offered us. How easy it was to disconnect from real conversation when there was wireless internet to be had. How easy it was to care more about how people on Facebook perceived me than fully loving the actual people around me.

The other funny and interesting thing to notice was how other people talked about this phenomenon. It seemed like everywhere we went, people would make remarks completely on their own about "how lucky we were to have lived so simply" or "how damaging our society's obsession with technology is." It is as though we are addicts who are fully comfortable admitting that we have a problem, but helplessly floundering as if we don't have the tools to fix ourselves.

Yet, I will always believe it is an unbelievably tough subject, because of all the benefits of modern technology. It was amazing to be able to share our stories, pictures, and experiences with all our family and friends. It was so cool to be able to correspond with and hear from friends living and serving the Lord, literally, all over the world. I believe that globalization and the growing smallness of our world has the potential to connect us in ways never before possible, drawing us to be more compassionate, understanding, and informed people. But, of course, there are dangers on the other side of that coin.

Meditating on Thoreau's quote brings up so many important questions for us. What are the "serious things" that our pretty toys distract us from? Genuine community? Vulnerable relationships? Deeply embracing nature and beauty? Denying consumerism and embracing simplicity? True intimacy with God?

And while our technology has continued to improve and develop at an astounding rate, what is the "unimproved end" that we are striving for in our use of these fancy gadgets? Are we spending time using our inventions for healthy or unhealthy things? Are we choosing to engage with people and the world through online personas rather than genuine, face-to-face interactions? Are we capable of embracing life-giving simplicity while finding a proper balance in our technologically-oriented world?

I'm certainly still very far away from understanding this balance and putting it into action. But, more than ever, I realize that it is so important that we guard ourselves against the temptations of modern technology and strive to live genuine lives free from these easy-to-fasten chains.

Mark

An Overwhelming Goodbye

By far the most meaningful and heart wrenching farewell occurred our final morning in Nuapapu, when the village loaded up all of our belongings on the tractor and we all headed down to the wharf. It is impossible to capture the emotions of this scene, but we were absolutely blown away when the entire village came down to the wharf to see us off.












After our things were loaded onto the boat, everyone walked to the edge of the wharf and formed two lines. Then, weeping, we made our way down the lines of people for a goodbye fe'ilo'aki and 'uma (hug and cheek kiss) with every single person on the wharf. As we stepped, tear soaked, onto the boat, the village waved and softly sang a hymn of farewell as we sailed away. It was an unbelievable send-off, absolutely unlike any goodbye we have ever experienced.








I was again moved to tears as we rounded the bend, and all of my old students from the school at Matamaka were standing at the edge of the sea, singing and waving goodbye with palm branches.



Later that day, another PC volunteer remarked how different it must have felt saying goodbye to an island, and literally sailing away from everything and everyone we knew so well in one place, disappearing in the distance. When we said goodbye in the States before we came to Peace Corps, it was a very gradual farewell. It happened in stages, as we said separate goodbyes to people at work, church, family, and friends. Never in our lives had we experienced such an overwhelmingly emotional, totally communal goodbye. So hard, so wonderful, so fitting, and so Tongan.

Mark

Faikava Faka'osi (Final Kava Ceremony)

Another part of goodbyes in Tonga is holding a final faikava (kava ceremony) for the man who is leaving. It's funny to think about the mystery of kava culture to me a year ago, and how much a part of my life it has become. On the island, it is essentially the equivalent of hitting the town and having a good time with your buddies. I have grown to love it so much, and I will always fondly remember my times at kava as some of the times that I felt most connected to these people, this island, and this culture. In many ways, to me and all the men that I am close with, the goodbye feasts and gifts were only a precursor to this, the real party.

I wanted to celebrate right, so I bought a bunch of canned sodas, candy, bags of kava, and tobacco to bring. This might sound like a funny combination, but to a group of Tongan guys, these are all the necessary ingredients for a truly good party. Most of the guys had already shown up to the hall, so I entered, put down my box of goodies at the appropriate spot, did the kava handshake circle, and was asked for the first time to sit in the seat of the "matapule", the seat of highest honor that is directly opposite of the "kumete" (wooden kava bowl). Then, I gave a little speech of appreciation and respect to them and kava culture, and the party got underway.

Eventually, most every male on the island came to join in. Some men from Matamaka even made the trip across the island for it. After a while, because I couldn't resist on my last kava, I got my ukulele and moved to join the band. The music was played, the kava was drunk, and the good times rolled late into the night. I stayed as long as I could, knowing that I would need the energy the next day to move. It was another wonderful way to end things, to say goodbye, and to bring closure for our time on our wonderful island.

Mark

Fakamavae

In Tongan culture, formal "fakamavaes" (farewells) are very important. When the village found out about our move, we were very humbled and blessed when they planned a farewell celebration for us. We had seen it before, when the Wesleyan pastor was transferred earlier this year. Nothing too out of the ordinary happens - just lots of eating, lots of speeches, and giving of gifts. It's impossible to fully describe the emotions of the everything that happened; needless to say, it was unlike any goodbye we have ever experienced.

Ours was set to occur on our last Sunday in the village. In typical Nuapapu fashion, as the various church denominations make it a challenge to plan anything as the whole village, there was a bit of drama when the day came. It was set to occur after church in the evening, but when one church asked around if they could move it to lunchtime, confusion ensued. Eventually, through much deliberation and grumbling, and eventually lots of laughter, the families who were ready brought their food to the hall after church. The majority of the families came to this one, and it was really beautiful. As is typical in Tonga, all speeches, including both of ours, were full of tears. We felt so loved, so sad, and like such a part of this wonderful village.

Pictures from the first feast:












The remaining families that were not able to come to the lunchtime event planned another one for the afternoon. It was a simple celebration, and the families just brought a little feast to share on the floor of our house. We again felt so blessed at their love and acceptance.

Pictures:












Mark

On Social Media and Service

We try to switch up our blog between accounts of our life and writing about our hearts. Here's one from the heart.

For a long time, I've struggled with how to deal with Facebook. It is certainly a blessing, and I don't think that I'll ever delete mine. To me, there exists no better way to keep up with friends, reconnect with old ones, or to simply check in with anyone in the whole world. Yet, I believe that there are dangers - better yet, temptations - that come along with having what can be considered a place to present a personality and life to the public that is entirely up to our choosing.

When my friend Ryan and I discuss it, he calls it "creating our narrative". Facebook and similar social media sites carry with them a chance to create what one could call an alternate self - a person that we carefully control how to present to the world. There exists a temptation to create a more ideal online person and to rely on likes and comments to give ourself worth and meaning. And I would venture to say that anyone can fall prey to these temptations - from high school students, to middle-age housewives, to Peace Corps volunteers.

It is because of these inner struggles that I did not blog or Facebook much for my last few years in the states. But when I joined Peace Corps and moved to the other side of the world, I hoped to share and update friends and family about my already difficult to explain journey by using social media.

Yet, I've found that for people engaged in overseas service, these social media temptations only grow greater. There is always part of me that feels the desire to present myself on the web as one doing something remarkably meaningful and to try to prove to the world that what I am doing matters. There is constant tension in my heart about these motivations. I sympathize with those, and it draws me even further from this kind of life, who live off of monetary support from churches, friends, or family. I wonder how they deal with this pressure to present their work and their hearts to people who, in reality, are literally paying them to perform "meaningful service."

Sometimes, I find myself jealous of the missionaries of old - and even Peace Corps volunteers who served 30+ years ago. They got the chance to embark from their homes to far away lands, unencumbered by the world of cell phones and Internet. While yes, having these means of communication is such a huge blessing, how refreshing it would have been to be able to return years later and share only face-to-face with friends and family about their indescribable experiences. How I long for the chance to sit down with everyone who has followed and supported us and talk face-to-face for hours on end about our experiences. And better yet, how I long for each one of you to ride on one of the little boats to our tiny island and to meet and talk with every person in our village. For they, and nothing else, are the reason that we are here.

At the end of the day, I rest and remember that it does not matter in the slightest how many likes, comments, or messages we receive. It does not matter how we present ourselves to the social media world. What matters are the little choices we make every day to choose to love everyone around us. What matters are all the decisions we make on a daily basis to turn our hearts either towards or away from God.

Continuing to deal with struggles and temptation,

Mark

Unexpected Visitors

Here in Vava'u, there are two distinct worlds: the Tongan world and the world of white tourists, most of whom arrive in luxury sailing boats. In modern Tonga, these two groups go about their lives side by side, but their very many differences could not be more obvious. Yet, as volunteers whose mission is to work towards the development of Tonga by integrating and trying our best to live "like Tongans", we find ourselves in a difficult spot somewhere in between these two worlds. Much of the time, we feel so unlike the western tourists that their world seems almost as foreign as that of the Tongans. But, no matter how hard we try, the Tongans will always, in some way, associate us with this world that is both so near and so far away.

Now that it is winter in the southern hemisphere, "tourist season" is well underway. What this means, especially on the outer islands, is that life continues as it always does, but it is accompanied by the appearance of scores of sailing boats and curious tourists. As is typical, the tourists are interested in native Tongan life, so there are many advertised opportunities for them, but many would rather explore Tongan villages on their own. So, it is not uncommon for tourists to randomly wander into our villages for a look around.

Many find themselves at our schools, adoring the cuteness of the "native children". The kids of course put on a great show, and the teachers are good at, for lack of a better term, schmoozing the tourists. It is also a common occurrence for these tourists to come bearing gifts, usually comprised of school supplies or toys for the kids. While their intentions are fine, and to them, they are just trying to help out, I've grown to dread these exchanges. From the perspective of people who live in the villages full time, these frequent gifts are nice, but they unfortunately only contribute to many systemic problems of Tonga - namely, a lack of care for resources, dependence on foreign aid, the belief that all white people are extremely wealthy, and a constant widening of the gap between Tongans and Westerners.

In the midst of this constant tension, we were pleasantly surprised by the arrival of Ken and Diane - visitors from Australia who go about their travels in a different way. Ken is a retired mechanical engineer, and he and his wife have been traveling for the better part of the last five years around the pacific. Instead of bringing gifts of material things, they have chosen rather to help the people at their various destinations by sharing their skills. Ken is an extremely skilled mechanical engineer, so wherever they go, they try to fix any variety of broken machines that the villages may have. Throughout their travels, they have fixed countless machines, including water pumps for entire villages in Vanuatu and piles of sewing machines in Papua New Guinea.

When they showed up and met us, we quickly spread the word in our village about their skills and availability. And, quite unexpectedly, our lives for a number of days were thrown into a frenzy of traveling around the village, serving as translators, as Ken and Diane worked their magic. The amount of machines they fixed, many of which were in deplorable condition, was extremely impressive. As word spread instantly through the village of these miracle workers, folks came out of the wood work with all sorts of broken devices. People even rushed to bring things from town in the hopes that they too would be brought back to life. Here is an estimated list of everything that they managed to fix or improve: 4 generators, 4 boat motors, 5 weed eaters, 4 lawn mowers, 4 sewing machines.

Over the course of these last few days, we spent a good amount of time with these two interesting people. It has been full of good conversation, and it's been interesting seeing the village's reaction to their presence. Though their stay was very short, it was a blessing to have met them and hear about their hearts and experience.

- Mark

(pictures of them fixing things at the school. I'm trying to look like I'm being helpful, but I wasn't fooling anyone)

The Kupenga

Because much of modern "Tongan Culture" is so Christianized (and therefore, sadly, Westernized), the chance to experience a piece of old, truly unadulterated Tongan culture is becoming rare, even for us. This, I believe, was one of those instances.

We heard about this village event in the way that most often occurs. People mention things to us in passing and assume that we already know what's going on. A week before the event, someone told Alissa about the "Kupenga Kava". "Kupenga" is the Tongan word for fishing net, so questions naturally came about. What net? People are having a faikava because of a net? We assumed we misheard and went about our week.

Then, a couple days later, one of the village guys asked me if I wanted to come to an event set to occur in the middle of the night. As I deciphered his rapid-fire Tongan, he basically told me that there was going to be a place where you can "hack at fish with your bush knife" at low tide. Sounding like something I definitely wanted to be a part of, I eagerly asked if I could join them. But later that evening, I was told that the event was postponed to the next day.

That next day, someone finally realized that I haven't lived here all my life and took the time to clarify and explain. One section of our island is a beautiful "tide flat" - a place full of mangroves, where at low tide, one can walk very far from the shore in shallow water (the same place that those boys took us exploring a few months back). Every year, seemingly out of duty and tradition, one of the men in the village strings a net about four feet high, tied to a secured stick every twenty feet, over an extremely long distance on the tide flat. He does so at low tide during the day, so that as the tide comes in over the next few hours, hundreds of fish get stuck in the net. Then, in the middle of the night, all the village men go to the net with flashlights, ropes, bush knives, and burlap sacks to collect the fish.

Thus, I finally understood the Kupenga Kava - the night before the event, there was a very formal kava ceremony in honor of the kupenga . I attended and expressed interest in at least seeing this phenomenon. One of my neighbors agreed to come wake me up for it, so at three in the morning, I was awoken and taken to the spot, where a few men were already waiting. A few minutes later, I set off with a few of them for the net. It was a cold night, but reasonably easy work; you simply grab the fish, force it through the net, and give it a good whack if it's wriggling too much. As we worked our way down the hundreds of feet of net, the ropes and bags were quickly filled. Most catches were average size reef fishes, but a number of three foot long, barracuda-like fish with long rows of teeth were caught as well. I even got to witness my first sting ray catch - a feat that involves chopping off the tail while it's still in the water.

After about an hour and a half, we had picked the net pretty clean, so we headed in to make room for some more men. The best fish were loaded into the coolers of the man who set up the net, and as we rested, a couple of fish were scaled, gutted, and sliced right there for some true 'ota ika (raw fish). As I dipped my fish into the ocean for a salty kick and tore into it with the other men, I felt honored having been given the chance to take part in this tradition. I love when you think that you know a place so well, but you can still get utterly surprised by newness.

Mark

A Tragedy in Vava'u

The local economies of our two villages are different, mainly due to the geography. Nuapapu has much greater access to farmland, so most men daily go to the bush and farm their plots. Those with a surplus of crops (which are usually limited to root crops, taro leaves, kava, and fruit) choose to share them with extended family or try to sell them in the market. Matamaka, on the other hand, has far less access to farmland, but their houses are much closer to the sea. So inadvertently, the men of Matamaka have grown to depend on the ocean. For the men who are hard working and want to earn extra money for their families, this means that they spend very extended periods of time spear fishing - filling multiple, giant coolers with fish to sell in town.

One of my closest friends in Matamaka is very hard working and seems to be a leader in the fisherman community. He and some other men typically spend multiple days and nights on "fishing trips" a couple times a month. At first, I assumed that they were merely going to a nearby island and spear fishing there - I figured that there were plenty of good spots. However, a few months ago, he told me that they actually go to a place that is very, very far away. Apparently, he drives his small boat with its meager 15 horsepower engine to a reef that is very close to Ha'apai.

Ha'apai is the middle island group of Tonga, between Tongatapu and Vava'u. Having spent the full 24 hours on the lumbering ferry between these island groups, I was already well aware that this was a huge stretch of ocean, with not much in between the island groups. Yet according to my friend, people from Vava'u have been going to this place for generations. It's an uninhabited place, with a few untouched, tiny islands and some massive corals reefs that are teeming with fish. Men from Matamaka spend around 8 hours on what is surely a treacherous boat ride to reach the spot. Then, they construct a small sleeping shelter and do nothing but eat, sleep, and fish for a few days. Upon hearing this, a few thoughts ran through my mind.

At first, I was amazed at the feat. How downright hardcore a trip like this seemed. But being quite familiar with what kind of seas these boats can handle, not to mention how many times I've already seen an engine break down, I naturally wondered about the safety of a trip like this. When I mentioned this to my friend and his family, they admitted that it is dangerous, but that they pray and trust the Lord to protect them.

About a week and a half ago during kava, someone told me about three fishermen who had been lost at sea. It had been a weekend of rain and some extremely high winds, the worse that we'd seen yet. The news quickly spread throughout Vava'u that a group of six men from a couple northern villages had gone to this distant reef, without having heard the projected weather forecast. The men arrived at the reefs and had split up at night with their gear, each scouring the vastly spread reefs for fish. The weather hit hard and unexpectedly, just as I remembered, in the middle of the night. According to everyone's stories, only three men managed to make it back to the boat, and with the weather only worsening, the decision was made to attempt the voyage home, leaving behind the other three men.

One of the men who was lost tragically turned out to be a brother of my fisherman friend. When the weather improved, the Tongan government sent a plane and ships to look for the men. Even my friend and some Matamaka men took his boat out to search the seas. But after a few days of unsuccessful searching, the men were pronounced dead. It was a solemn time around all of Vava'u, especially Matamaka. We mourned with and prayed for the families of the lost. A terrible tragedy and a grim reminder of the power and unpredictably of the weather and the seas...

Mark

Island Politics

Since I imagine most people aren't well informed about the political system of Tonga, I'll give you a little glimpse. Tonga is one of the few remaining monarchies in the world. The king holds pretty much absolute power, and since most of the seats in Parliament are reserved for nobility, all the big decisions of the country are made by a select few. The king and nobles even speak their own distinct dialect of Tongan. However, the rulings of the king and parliament actually do not effect the lives of people in the outer villages much at all. We came to Tonga expecting the king to be a popular topic of conversation, but people simply don't talk about him much.

The "local government" if you will, has much more of a grassroots and traditional feel. Each island group is divided into districts with one representative to the national government, and each town elects their own "Town Officer". The Town Officer is a highly respected position within the community, and acts similarly to what I imagine a village chief would be like 200 years ago. Projects, disputes, development ideas, and any other important village matters are overseen by the Town Officer. And most importantly, he sits at the head table and gives the last speech at feasts. As is highly recommended as a good strategy for Peace Corps Volunteers, we have built a good relationship with our Town Officer and are sure to keep him in the loop and work with him whenever possible.

This last month, we got the unique opportunity to observe the election of a new Town Officer. Elections are held every three years, and once a TO has served for a consecutive 15 years, he is not allowed to run again. Sateki, our current TO, is very popular and respected, but this year, he hit his 15 year mark. So, it was guaranteed that we would have a new TO this year, and it came down through the village grapevine that three men would be running for the position. We were curious about the process, since it would affect us as volunteers, and when someone told me that there would be "campaigning", I was certainly intrigued.

But, as with all things in Tonga, things are done traditionally, respectfully, and in absolutely no rush. The campaigning that occurred was simply done in the kava circle - the same thing that happens every night. No debates, no slogans, no advertising. Just about a month before elections, there were a few faikavas in which at some point in the evening, a candidate would give a quick, five minute speech about their plans if they were to be elected. And as with all formal speeches, done at every single occasion big or small, they were received warmly and respectfully. Despite all mixed feelings about being here, the simplicity of village life will always be something I love.

Long story short, a winner was chosen a couple of weeks ago, announced the same day as the vote. It was the man that most people predicted to win. The two that lost were from the same church and supposedly the same family, so it seemed inevitable. (we're learning that we can really trace the whole village back to maybe 3-4 families) He begins his term in July, so we are interested to see how this change in leadership will affect things for us. Though, we are sure not much will change, as things in the village continue as they have always continued - slowly and steadily...

Mark

Buster

Over the last few months, I've learned that simple, little things make a big difference when you're trying to make a new place feel like home. And when you're trying to get used to life immersed in a different culture, this is a difficult feat. Though I may come off as a crazy "pet person" when I say this, our dog, Buster, really has made our little house on our tiny island feel like home.

Since we last wrote about him, our puppy has grown from a pint-sized, constantly biting rascal to a life-loving, good natured "teenage boy" of a dog. Compared to any American dog, he has had quite an interesting upbringing so far. As is typical, there is quite a distinction between the way a Tongan treats his dog and the way an American treats his dog. In Tonga, dogs are seen as animals that serve one purpose: they guard your house. Thus, to treat a dog with really any kind of affection is indeed a foreign concept. A large number die off when they are puppies, and when there are too many dogs roaming around, they are eaten. This may seem cruel, but to a Tongan, they are animals that serve a specific purpose, and, well, meat is meat. And I must admit, we have eaten dog, which our neighbors enjoyed immensely, and it wasn't half bad.

While it is unfortunate in many ways to be a dog in Tonga, there are up sides. They receiver total and unbridled freedom; leashes would also be considered pretty weird here. So, as he has been growing up, our spoiled brat of a puppy gets the best of both worlds. He gets plenty of love from us, and because the folks in our village know he is our dog, they treat him well (at least when we're looking). He gets first pick of any of our leftover food, chicken bones, or fish guts. And, as long as he doesn't wander too far into another dog's territory, he can roam the town all day long, free to play with anyone or anything he pleases.

Also, since school has started, Buster and I have formed even more of a special bond. If he's around the house in the morning, he usually joins me on my daily hike to Matamaka. He'll follow me to work, hang out at the school with the kids all day, and walk back with me. No leash, no commands. Just hiking with my tail-wagging, pig-chasing boy at my side. The path is usually incredibly muddy and can be tiring, but my thirty minute hike is one of my favorite parts of the day. It's a great time for some solitude and a great chance to purely enjoy where I live. And walking with Buster, unleashed and running free, makes it all the better. I think there's a part of everyone that would get a childlike sense of satisfaction when you're hiking through the woods with your pup by your side.

Mark

Kava

There are many parts of our experience here that we've become so quickly accustomed to, we forget that they are genuinely unique and interesting to outsiders. Drinking kava is one of those things.

Kava is drink made from a native root, and it is consumed, in some fashion, in most every Polynesian culture. Since the drink is created by merely mixing the ground root with water, it tastes like, well, like mildly-flavored dirt water. It's physiological effects are hard to describe; most say that it just relaxes the body, but if one drinks very large quantities, it could certainly be deemed as intoxicating (though not near to the extent of alcohol). In Tonga, kava circles are intertwined into every part of life. They are held on most nights in the villages, before and after church on Sundays, and are an honored part of any significant village event. Their formality ranges from casual gatherings to very formal, almost ritualistic events, with centuries of history behind each proceeding and spoken word. But foundationally, a "faikava" is simply a group of men sitting in a circle, passing polished coconut bowls of the drink to one another, as it is ladled out of a large, central bowl.

Kava circles primarily occur in two spots in Nuapapu: the Wesleyan hall (essentially a big room used for church events) and an outdoor bamboo tent-like structure outside the Free Church of Tonga. I definitely prefer the ambiance of the outdoor kava circle, and Amanaki, the Church of Tonga pastor, is an especially cool guy.

Being an adult male, I am encouraged to fully participate in the culture of kava drinking to whatever extent I would like. It is an obviously effective way to integrate into village life, a great place to practice my language, and to be honest, I really do like going. If I wanted to, I could drink kava almost every single night of the week - the sleep schedule of a mid-day nap for most Tongans allows for nightly kava circles that extend very late into the night. But, because I have a wife that likes to have me around, and because I am a teacher with a regular work schedule, I have chosen a more moderate approach. I generally try to shoot for one night a week, preferably a weekend night, as well as most special events.

Also, a common sight at many kava circles across the country is the presence of groups of musicians playing traditional songs on acoustic guitars and ukuleles in perfect, four part harmony. Though it is a small village, Nuapapu proudly boasts some formidable musical talent. So, most kava circles I attend are accompanied by these traditional acoustic bands, intermixing the usual kava jokes and banter with beautiful traditional music. The rhythm of the ceremony - sing a song, drink a cup, chat a little, and repeat- just simply continues for hours and hours. The simplicity and monotony of it all was hard to get used to at first, but I really have learned to appreciate it and truly enjoy it now.

The only musical instrument that we brought from the states was the ukulele, which has turned out to be an invaluable choice. Not only is Alissa learning to play it (and getting pretty good!), I often take it to kava and join in, as best I can, with the music. I have loved having this as a musical outlet for me, and it has definitely earned me some points with the guys in the village. When I am proudly introduced to a Tongan from a different village, it usually goes something like this: "This is Ma'ake, our Peace Corps, and he plays his ukulele at kava". You know, just the important stuff.

- Mark

Pen Pals

We have jumped head first into life as Tongan teachers, which as any teacher would know, makes life wonderful some days and dreadful on others. It's certainly a unique challenge teaching English to kids who don't speak a word of it at home. However, there's usually not many spectacular happenings day to day in a classroom, so it's hard to know what to blog about. But this week, our classes did something that could very well be considered blog worthy.

A while ago, my mom, who is a teacher herself, asked around her school in Oklahoma if any teacher would be interested in doing a little overseas Pen-Paling. So, a month or two ago, we received friendly pen pal letters from a class of American third graders. The letters contained the basics- some personal introductions, listing of favorite things, and some questions. This week, the older classes from both villages responded to the letters. The result was a stack of equally heartwarming and hilarious letters which will be mailed back to America straight away, this weekend. The combination of a low level of English and the limited life experience of a Tongan island kid, make for some genuinely funny and enjoyable reading. I'll transcribe some of the best bits below.

"What is Legos? We do not have Legos in here"

"My school is near to the sea. I see whale from my classroom sometimes"

"I am happy to have pen pal"

"I go church every Sunday, Monday, and Friday every week" (he's not joking)

"My favorite color is burble"

"I am go to the cherch. Do you go to the cherch?"

"My favorite food is a chicken"

"Jesus loves me"

"My favorite friend goodbye to you"

(in response to a letter mentioning Chucky Cheese) "What is yore Chucky Cheese?"

- Mark

The Two-Sided Coin

Before our Peace Corps service, I primarily thought of "different cultures" simply in terms of superficial things like language, food, and customs. Having now lived, fully immersed, in a different culture for a while, I'm learning that these "differences" that are so often talked about are much more significant than they seem. A different culture is a different lens to the world; one's motivations, one's rationale, one's life goals, one's daily routines are all so, entirely different.

Something else that I'm learning is that there is no perfect culture. I knowingly idealized the simplicity of village life, but the truth is that there are many things that I enjoy about Tongan culture, and there are many things I don't enjoy. In the same way, there are things that I like about American culture and things that I dislike. And I'm sure that it would be that way in any culture in the world. There is no perfect group of people; there are only people who do their best to live according to their circumstances and their interpretation of life.

This week, our lives were greatly impacted by a fitting example of this two-sided coin.

First, an aspect of Tongan culture that is not necessarily our favorite - their lack of foresight. Something that is unfortunately seen when a boat sinks due to overcrowding, most Tongans (and they admit it) do not often think of or prepare for the future. They live in the now, the day to day. All summer long, Alissa and I have been wondering, "since we are living in the normal teacher's house, where is the new principal going to live?". But the village, apparently had not thought of this inevitable quandary. So, when our new principal showed up, as I wrote before, he had to move in to the tiny thatched roof house that the other teacher was living in. Thus, for the first week, the village was scrambling, trying to decide where he will live.

Now, on to an aspect of Tongan culture that I'm a fan of - their communal spirit and identity. It was quickly decided that the half-built tin and concrete structure to the side of our house (which I was thinking about turning in to a chicken coop) would be improved and made into a suitable dwelling for the new principal. So, as soon as some wood was acquired for the project, literally, the whole village showed up to the school grounds to work on the house. Granted, there was not near enough work for all 50-100 people, but it was a community event, so everyone came to help. It did turn in to quite a multi-day event indeed, complete with mini-feasts and thank you speeches during lunchtime. It was quite a thing to behold, that when something needed to be done, how quickly and efficiently the community rallies to undertake the task, and how truly second-nature this type of community support was.

We could tell countless stories of this two-sided coin of life in a different culture, but I'll leave you that one for now.

'Ofa atu,

Mark

Ps
From our porch:

The Ultimate Invasion of Privacy

One of the inevitabilities of serving in the Peace Corps is getting sick; it just comes with the territory. I've been decently sick, but this week, I experienced my first bout in being significantly sick. It does make for a good story, and I'll set the stage by telling you about some recent changes to our living situation.

Alissa's new principal in Nuapapu is Ma'asi, one of my co-teachers from Matamaka last year. Because he's a younger guy and is a relative of Paea (the other teacher here, also a younger guy), he's decided to share Paea's thatched roof Tongan house, which lies a mere 15 yards from our front porch. This translates into a couple noticeable changes to our home life. For one, the moderate privacy we enjoyed during the school break is completely gone. And, the school grounds have now become the new hangout spot for a good number of the younger guys in our village. These things aren't inherently bad, but they made my situation this week much harder than they needed to be.

Back to the story. I had not felt well all day on Tuesday, and when I arrived home from my hike, I entered our house ready to collapse. My body was stricken by a marvelous mixture of intestinal problems with some heat exhaustion and dehydration sprinkled in there as well. My champion of a wife quickly set about caring for me- preparing rehydration solution for me, putting wet cloths on me, and fanning me- attempting to manage my dehydration and fever. If ever there was a time that I was thankful for being a married Peace Corps Volunteer- heck, just being married in general- now was that time.

What this meant for me was incredible discomfort from my stomach and 102 degree fever and frequent, very frequent, trips to the bathroom. I'm sure you get my drift; I won't go into the gory details. And let me just remind you the location of our bathroom. It's about 15 feet outside our house. Which is about 15 feet from the classroom porch. Which is now, as I said before, the new hangout spot of the village youth. One can only imagine my joy.

After the fifth or sixth trip in an hour of futile attempts to sneak my way to the toilet, they started to visibly take notice. Naturally, I was quite embarrassed and felt that every snicker I heard was directed my way. After a few hours of this mortifying cycle, I came out just as a number of them were leaving. They had clearly deduced what was going on, and were not quite sure how to react to me. Should they laugh? Should they show sympathy? Should they ask if I need anything? This mixture of conflicting questions translated into blank stares, until one of them asked matter-of-factly "puke koe?" (are you sick?). Attempting to bottle my embarrassment and my frustration at this gross invasion of privacy, I sheepishly responded yes. Then, offering the only amount of sympathy that any Tongan feels comfortable doling out (they are not the most emotionally open bunch), he blankly said the expected word of "faka'ofa" (how sad..) and the boys headed home.

The cycle continued off an on for the rest of the night (have I mentioned how thankful I am for my wife?), and the worst of it was over by late morning. I narrowly avoided using the toilet while one of the teachers was bathing in the stall next to me, and made it though the night without the dreaded fear of riding the boat to the hospital, sitting on a bucket, if it had gotten really, really bad.

We think we are mentally prepared to deal with the challenges. We answered interview questions and application essays about how to them. But nothing prepares you for things like this.


On a final note (and this is not meant to worry you, parents), this was perhaps one of the most poignant situations in which I realized how helpless I really am, and how much God (yes, corny I know...) watches out for us. I can't go through being that sick and knowing that I am 2+ hours away from any kind of medical facility, without thinking it. If nothing else, it's a good reminder about how helpless each and every one of us are, even if we don't care to admit it or realize it. Bless the Lord.

-Mark

A Great Day Turned Tragic

Earlier this week, we decided to take it easy one afternoon and enjoy a little midday swim in the ocean. It is summer, after all. We made the trek down to the wharf and were pleasantly surprised to see some kids and a couple families doing the same. The family was planning a "kai tunu" (a barbeque) on the beach, and to prepare for this, the dad took his spear gun out to catch some fish, and a few other folks were diving for shellfish. I've been bummed lately that I haven't gotten to do any fishing yet, so I decided to run back home and get my snorkel gear, in the hopes of tagging along. When I got back, the dad was long gone with his spear, so I joined in the search for shellfish. Those of you who know me know that I love seafood, so I was so excited to give it a try.

Starting out was frustrating. I didn't really know where to look and what to look for, so it took me about twenty minutes to find my first shellfish. Alissa was done swimming and headed home, but I, determined to keep trying, decided to stay. As time progressed, I slowly got better at knowing what to look for and where to dig, and after about an hour, I had covered quite a bit of ground, and had pockets full of about twenty mussels and clams.

Feeling quite accomplished and proud of myself, I headed to shore to examine my loot. As I finished clearing my pockets and checking out my spoils, I noticed something that quickly quenched my happiness and excitement - my wedding ring was not on my finger. We do try to remember to take them off before we swim, but we do admittedly forget sometimes. To put it lightly, I started freakin out, searching frantically in the sand, hoping that it had just fallen off as I was taking everything out of my pockets. But much to my dismay, it became clear that my ring was now resting somewhere unknown within the Nuapapu coral reefs. The Tongans offered to help me look, but I knew it was a futile task, having covered so much ground over the last hour. So, devastated and in tears, I headed back home to tell Alissa the news. Sad, sad day...the shellfish were delicious, but were certainly not worth the price it took to get them.

- Mark

Our New Church

As you know, churches and Christianity play a huge part of life here. There are five churches in both of our two tiny villages. In each one, there's a Wesleyan Church, two different Churches of Tonga, a Mormon church, and a Pentecostal church. Both the Wesleyan churches are the biggest, and some of the smaller ones have only a couple families who attend. All have been quite different in many ways from what we are used to in America, but we have heard from a few people that the Pentecostal church might be pretty close to what we're used to.

Right now, we are in the midst of visiting all the churches in the villages - we figured it would be a good way to meet people and a good way to integrate into our villages. The time finally came last week to visit the Pentecostal church in Matamaka. And, we were doubly excited, as the main family of the church has been one of the friendliest in the village.

From the start, it was a wonderful Sunday. Everything about the church made us feel at home again. Instruments were used in worship, some English was thrown in to the songs and sermon, and the spirit of the church felt more like "real church" (according to us) than we've felt thus far in Tonga. The subsequent after-church meal was full of great, meaningful conversation about God and religion here in Tonga. The family is so, for lack of a better word, legit. Wonderful, wonderful people. We already love them so much and feel like their church is where we belong. At one point, they remarked that they "knew that God had brought us to the right place at the right time." Pretty sure both of us nearly cried.

We know we probably can't commit to going there every Sunday, as what church you go to is such a big deal here. But, we definitely plan on going as regularly as we can. It was a great Sunday, and a huge, huge answer to prayer.

- Mark

Belated Christmas Thoughts

Spending Christmas here was hard...probably the hardest time thus far. Sentiments like homesickness, missing friends, and missing Christian community were inevitably multiplied and sorely took their toll. I caught myself missing even the corniest and most commercialized parts of Christmas in America. Yet in spite of everything, I still couldn't help reflecting on what brings me to my knees every Christmas. Something that is, in my opinion, the most moving truth of our Christian faith...Something that has renewed my faith countless times. The simple truth that God chose to enter and save this world by lowering himself to live and die like a man never, ever loses its beauty or its power. And, how telling it is that this story begins by God in human flesh being born quietly, in a dirty manger, in a small, unimportant town.

From the beginning, one of the most attractive draws to Peace Corps service was the chance to live in the same way, and on the same level, of the people we are serving. Like the Derek Webb song says, "like the three-in-one, know you must become what you want to save." What a beautiful Christ-like notion it is, even working for a secular organization, to adopt the language, culture, and lifestyle of those we are serving and living with.

But now that we've been here a while, this "beautiful notion" has started to rear its realistic, not so beautiful head. To summarize a thousand stories, some short and some long, the challenge of cross culture work has started to take its toll on us. Even for me, an extrovert who gets recharged by being with people, there have been days of exasperation where it has been difficult even to leave our house. Amid the great days, there have been days of extreme loneliness, of feeling unappreciated and unwanted.

But on the worst of days, I am reminded that the one I am following and striving to imitate, faced challenges that were much, much worse. I am reminded that "his grace is sufficient for me and his power is made perfect in my weakness". I am reminded that this type of life is not supposed to be easy, but on the same hand, we stand to benefit in unimaginable ways from the challenges we will surely continue to face.

- Mark