Starry Night of Joy

Pulau Dua: My starry night of Joy

You know those things in life that are good for you? The things that you should like and sometimes do out of conflicting personal obligation; things like drinking 64oz of water, or flossing, or like the things that should make it on your grocery list but are often substituted by much tastier options, like cool ranch doritos?

Welcome to my inward struggle. Hashed out right here on the second island. To be honest, my heart was far away from the Sea Tribe peoples. I struggled to love them like God loves them. I struggled to embrace them and understand their thoughts and values. I couldn't mask the reality of my stale heart. I could not break my heart for these people. I could not fake compassion, care, or concern. So I asked God, I pleaded with God, to break my heart for the Sea Tribe peoples.

This is the story of Island Two.

Rambutan, the hairy fruit. Lots and lots of rambutan. And coconut milk, with floating bits of coconut flesh swimming around in the mix matched glasses. It was kind of like drinking sweet water with an occasional slug. The island leader passes around a megaphone urging all the american friends to say their names and where their from. Enter one of my favorite moments in time: My friend Clint rather than saying, "my name is" introduces himself as, "I am from Clint." Even better, he thinks the explosion of native laughter is because his name is like, as many teased him before, "Bill Clinton." Alas, dear Clint, we were laughing at your bahasa.

We meet our host family. A lovely Ibu, local teacher of the Koran, a mother of two, and a heart set on having a baby girl. A thoughtful Bapak, shrimper, our island tour guide, and deemed body guard. Two crazy boys, who really love rambutan. . .and mischief (ie bringing me a collection of bugs, including one very hairy, and scary spider).

The transformation begins. There is a sense of great delight and joy as we share company with each other. We stay up late and have, what the 16 year old girl inside me calls, pillow talk. We share stories about life and ideas about God. Bapak paces the house at night to make sure we are comfortable and safe and rescues our bags from a leaky room during the Monsoon of Torrential Terror one night. He takes us on a tour of the island and shows us the bat cave. Ibu makes snacks and eagerly waits for us to wake up from our afternoon naps. She just enjoys being with us. The boys sing songs with us and tag along during our island excursions. With each encounter, God moves in my heart. I begin to see this family through the eyes of Jesus. The staleness of my two dimensional view of these people began to crack. Through shared experiences and conversations, God lifted this family off the page of some culture tour book and gave them beating hearts, real spirits, personalities, joys, sorrows, memories.

The last night Ibu wanted to take us to the shore line to look at the stars and city lights from a neighboring island. The simplicity of her invitation and desire just to spend time with us melted my heart. Together, we praised God for creating the stars, sang a few songs, and sat in a warm, satisfying silence.

The next day when we left, I thought about the moment Jesus looked a Peter and, "loved him." I looked at Ibu and I loved her. Tears fell from our eyes and we hugged.

The South China Sea became a little less salty and a little more sweet the day I left Pulau Dua. God is able to change hearts, all kinds, and all conditions.

On our hike to the bat cave we were afforded this incredible view of the island. Island two's houses rested inside the jungle, rather than over the water.

The island's Mosque.

This is me eating, what I like to call, "the fruit of death," but the official name is Durian. There were only two close calls of regurgitation on this trip. You are witnessing one of them.

Swimming is enjoyable all hours of the day.

Bapak climbed the coconut tree to bring me this fun treat. (Bapak is actually in the background, most likely about to hack into more coconuts with his mighty machete.)

Greeted by the drum chorus moments before the birth of "Clint-ville."


Rambutan: the hairy fruit.