Until last week. It's missions emphasis month at our Indonesian church, so everyone was asked to wear their baju adat (traditional clothing) from their own suku (people group). Alas, being a Heinz 57 American, I am seriously lacking in the traditional clothing department. I feel very culturally poor in this regard. The German, Scotch, Irish, English, and Native American blood that flows through my veins is so diluted that I can't truly claim any of them as my suku, hence the lack of traditional dress. If I had access to a Goodwill store (or, better yet, my parents' closet) I could have put something interesting together - like a German dirndl, a Scottish tartan, and a Native American headdress.
We tossed around the idea of dressing as cowboys, since many Indonesians have that perception that Americans are all spur-wearing, lasso-toting cowhands. Luke wore a cowboy hat and vest (David did grow up on a working ranch in Colorado, so he does at least have that in his heritage) but, in a nod to our island residence, wore flip-flops in lieu of boots.
So, not having a traditional American costume, I became Lun Dayeh (one of the tribes of the people interior) for a day. Several older women in the church came up to me and said, "Oh, you need a belt" or "You need bracelets" so that by the time I went home I had a complete outfit with all the accessories.
The church service itself was a glimpse of Heaven with many suku from across the Indonesian archipelago represented - Java, Toraja, ethnic Chinese, Bali, Lombok, Sumatera. David and I looked at each other during one of the songs and we both had tears in our eyes, moved by the visual reminder that even though we are a diverse group, we are unified by our shared faith.