The Wedding

The wedding is over, and what an experience!

A few days before the wedding, we were invited to take part in a premarital counseling session for Orpa and Herry at their church.  They had already met twice privately with the pastor, Pak Niko, but this third session was open for the church elders, family, and anyone else the couple wanted to invite.  Different people, including us, stood up to give advice or words of wisdom to Orpa and Herry.  It was encouraging to see their church family stand behind them as they "launch their ship out onto the sea of matrimony," as Pop would say.

The morning of the wedding I walked in the kitchen and there was Orpa, scooping rice into the rice cooker, and a chicken was defrosting in a bowl on the counter, just like it was any other day.

"What are you doing?!" I exclaimed in disbelief.

"Oh, Ibu, my parents are going to come here to get ready and I have to cook for them," she hurriedly replied. I helped wash up some dishes, then Orpa showed me how to cut up a pineapple as we discussed some weighty matters (yes, after almost ten years in Indonesia, I still didn't know how to cut up a pineapple - I am that pathetic).  We discussed the wedding, what their marriage might be like with Herry spending most of his time working at a rock quarry many miles from Tarakan, and then we got down to the facts of life.  We had lots of laughs as we worked our way through that conversation.

Orpa's phone rang; her brother was on the phone.  "Where are y'all?" she asked, then burst out laughing.  She looked at me and explained, "My brother said they're late, because he's having to teach my parents how to wear shoes.  They've only ever worn flip-flops in their village!"

Orpa's parents had never been on a boat, never really ventured far from their small village in the mountains of Sulawesi.  Her mom speaks only their native dialect.  So for them to travel on a ship for three days to attend their daughter's wedding was a big deal.

Orpa chose her 25th birthday as her wedding day.  I told her - lucky for your husband, he only has to remember one day!  I made her a cake that morning, and we laughed about how it looked like it was a 25th anniversary cake.

After the parents finally showed up and got their meal, the makeup and hair lady from the salon arrived with the dresses.  Orpa's dress, the mom's dress, and my dress were all crumpled up in a plastic bag - but amazingly looked pretty good once we shook them out and hung them up.  Makeup Lady ordered Orpa to lie down on the floor while she applied makeup to her.  I'd never seen this technique before - but considering the amount of makeup she put on her, it was the best position to be in.

My friends Joy and Sarah arrived to start working on me.  I haven't been this gussied up since - well, since my own wedding fifteen years ago, I guess.  They did an awesome job, and it was really fun.  I kept popping out to take peeks at Orpa, and when I first saw her all done and in her dress, I lost it.  I kept thinking of her as this 18-year-old girl, who came to us looking for a job, and how she has lovingly worked for us through the years - cooking for us, rocking fussy babies, helping me navigate cultural dilemmas, hanging out countless loads of laundry - all done with her gorgeous smile.

photo by Dave Forney

photo by Dave Forney

Orpa and her mom

photo by Dave Forney

Orpa and her American mom.  She often calls me "Mami".

photo by Dave Forney

Striking the quintessential Indonesian pose

photo by Dave Forney

After our little photo shoot with MAF teammate Dave Forney, Orpa hid herself in our guest room and waited for the groom and his entourage to come and fetch her, per Indonesian custom.  Herry and his family arrived, knocked on the door, then tentatively came in and inquired after the bride.  A few photos were snapped, a prayer was said, and we were off to the church.

The arrival of the groom's family

Unfortunately I don't have any photos of the actual wedding ceremony in the church.  But here is something different - we all - Herry, flanked by her parents, me, and his parents, walked her down the aisle, and all the entourage, walked in behind us.  It was a fairly typical wedding service - music and exchanging vows - but it was different in that the pastor gave a long sermon, the power went out a few times, and after the church service a man from the Indonesian government held his own civil service and gave them their marriage certificate on the spot.

From the church we went straight to the reception, which was held at Herry's parents' home.  A huge tent had been set up, with a stage for the bridal party, and a buffet line.

The looooong line into the reception.  The ladies in the picture are some of our neighbors.

photo by Dave Forney

The buffet line

photo by Dave Forney

Orpa and Herry changed clothes for the reception, as is typically done here.  They then sat on the stage, along with the parents, to receive guests.  Orpa wanted her dad and me to represent her side of the family.  Sitting next to me was a little girl whose job was to fan Herry (another little girl was on Orpa's side) but after a while she succumbed to the heat and fell asleep and was moved, then David joined us on the stage.  I felt like I shook a thousand hands, at least, and smiled so much my cheeks were sore the next day.

Orpa and Herry, on their throne

photo by Tripp Flythe

They very solemnly fed each other wedding cake...

...then they also fed the parents!

photo by Dave Forney

Two of Orpa's sisters and some of her friends performed a traditional Torajanese dance.

photo by Dave Forney

photo by Dave Forney

Orpa with Dorkas on the left, Abi on the right.  Dorkas lives with us and is about to graduate from high school.  She plans to go to nursing school in Sulawesi.

Orpa with her family.  There are nine siblings all together - only five in the picture.

I'm sure we looked a little out of place (ok, maybe a lot!) but it was such an honor to be a part of the wedding.

photo by Dave Forney

Wedding Bells

Wedding bells are in the air in Tarakan.  This beautiful invitation was delivered yesterday.

Here's what was inside:

Isn't that the most unique wedding invitation??!!  Beautiful, and practical - in the equatorial heat, you always need a good fan, especially at an event like a wedding reception. The wedding is for Meily,  the daughter of our beloved office manager, Pak Simeon, who passed away in June 2009.  I don't know if you can make it out on the invitation, but David is listed as one of Meily's "pihak" or supporters.  We were humbled and honored by Simeon's family listing David on the invitation.

This is the first time David's been listed on a wedding invitation (other than his own, of course), and the crazy thing is the day before Meily's wedding, our beloved Orpa is getting married, and he's also listed on hers!

Ah, my Orpa is getting married, and I don't know if I'm ready for this.  Orpa has lived with us for the past eight and a half years, and has been such an important part of my life.  It's been such a joy to watch her develop spiritually, to grow as a young woman of great faith.  She has such a joyful and giving spirit, and I have learned much from her over the years.  

Orpa wearing traditional Torajanese dress

A few weeks ago she and I headed off on the motorbike to look at wedding dresses.  She directed me to a little nondescript, out-of-the-way house that apparently is Wedding Central for the neighborhood.  A few guys wearing shorts and smoking cigarettes sat with us, looking more like they should be discussing their next expedition on the Jolly Roger than wedding dresses, colors, and flowers.  But these were the Wedding Guys and they knew their stuff.  

The first dress Orpa tried on had layers of white, fluffly satin.  Orpa's future mother-in-law clucked her approval, but Orpa shot me a look that said, "This isn't the one - help!"

The next dress was bone-colored and not at all to the liking of the mother-in-law, but Orpa was glowing.  

"You are gorgeous!"  I told her.  And she was.  Never the mind the cracked concrete floor she was standing on, the layer of cigarette haze hovering around her head, the rooster crowing his lungs out at the window - in that dress Orpa rose above time and place and was what little girls everywhere dream of becoming - a beautiful bride.

In about an hour, Orpa had decided on colors for the bridal party platform, outfits for the mothers (I am one of them!) and outfits for the greeters, her dress for the ceremony and her dress for the reception (typically, brides change dresses at least once), flowers, etc.  She hadn't pored over any websites of Martha Stewart wedding magazines.  They haggled for a while then decided on a price, and it was done.  I couldn't believe it.

Hopefully my next post will have wedding pictures!

Introducing Baby Vera

Just after Christmas, one of the MAF national workers and his wife welcomed their daughter into the world.  Before she was born, Pak Isto told us he would like David to help with the naming of the baby.  We felt very honored and started brainstorming name ideas.

There are quite a few kids running around the interior of Borneo who have been named after David, kids whose moms were in labor when he picked them up in the plane.  There's even a brother and sister in one of the villages named David and Natalie.  One family chose "Holsten" for their child (yes, as a first name).  But this was the first time we were asked to choose the name ourselves.

I immediately thought of my late grandmother.  Her name was Vera, though everyone knew her as "Beebie" and we called her Mamaw.  She often joked that any of the grandkids who would name a child after her would get all the inheritance.  She was a sly lady, knowing that "Vera" probably wouldn't come back into fashion for a while, at least not until most of the populace forgot the "kiss my grits" Vera from the tv show Alice.

But "Vera" with an Indonesian pronunciation is just lovely - "Ferrah" - rolling the "r".  And while I'm not sure the exact meaning of Vera, to me it means a beautiful, godly, funny, hard-working woman of faith.

Baby Vera needed a middle name, so David suggested my name, since the baby was born just after Christmas (hari Natal).  So Vera Natalie was thus christened.

Ibu Leni, Pak Isto, and me, holding baby Vera

Since before last Thanksgiving I have struggled on and off with stomach issues, the details of which I will spare you.  It got to the point that I went to Singapore three weeks ago to be checked by a specialist there.  It was hard to leave David and the kids behind, and I have to give a shout out to my wonderful MAF team in Tarakan who helped out with watching kids and having them over for meals.  While in Singapore, I stayed with some Singaporean friends who took very good care of me.  All my tests came back normal, and the doctor suspects I had some kind of bad infection that was slow to respond to the various meds I took.  I seem to be on the mend - thank you, Lord!

And now...some news.  After over nine years living in Tarakan and bucking the MAF trend of Move Again Friend, our family will be soon making a major move.  In July we'll be starting a five-month furlough in the U.S., then next January we'll move to the MAF base in Sentani, Papua, way over on the other side of Indonesia.  It was a hard decision to make, because we love where we are and what we do.  But we felt like the time was right for our family to move.  The kids will be able to attend an international school, David will fly and fix planes, and I - what will I do?  Aside from learning how to function without our faithful house helper Orpa (who's getting married next month), maybe I'll find time to start that book I've always wanted to write.

Natalie

New Year's in the Krayan

After a lovely Christmas in Tarakan hosting Indonesian friends, opening gifts, attending church services...

...and riding around the island visiting friends, we headed interior on a ministry trip on New Year's Eve.

As always, the scenery was gorgeous...

...the kids had a blast...

...and we ate well.  Freshly-harvested short-grain Krayan rice is hands-down the best rice in the world!  Still recovering from a parasite, I was unable to eat this big hunk of fat and skin, but I appreciated them giving it to me just the same. :-) 

Two other MAF wives and I led a Sunday school for the kids.  Some of the kids brought small tin cans of rice with them.  Their teacher explained that if they don't have money to give, they bring a can of rice...

...and give it for their offering.

The people were so kind to us, accompanying us out to the plane as we left, one lady grabbing my arm as I fell into a big mud hole (it had rained a lot) and pulling me out.  She then told me how she had two children, but the oldest, a daughter, got sick when she was in college, and David was the one who flew her home to her village so she could die at home with her family.  She was so appreciative - even several years after the fact - that David did that for them.  

Sometimes I count the cost of what we do and I think it's too high a price to pay - the distance from family, the frustrations of living in a different culture and climate, the giving up of silly things like Chik-Fil-A and shopping at Target.  But every time we take a trip interior, I am reminded of why we're here - and I realize the cost isn't too high, that I am glad to pour out my life in service to the Lord here.  

Usually I make some sort of resolutions at New Year's, but having failed to meet last year's very lofty ambition of learning to whistle loudly (you know, that kind of loud, ear-piercing whistle your p.e. teacher could do), I'm not feeling very motivated to make new resolutions.  I'll keep working on the whistle, and I'll keep plugging away at reading the books stacked on my shelf, and I'll keep working on an idea for a novel.

Happy New Year from Tarakan!

Another Christmas in Tarakan

A few friends have asked me this past week, "Ibu mau pulang kampung untuk Natal?" Are you going home for Christmas?

Nope, it's another Christmas in Borneo for the Holstens.  And strangely, this year, I am perfectly okay with that.

I miss my family, of course, and the wonderful Christmas ambiance that permeates every shopping mall in America.  Some days I wish I weren't sweating away like it's the Fourth of July, and I would really, really love to be part of a flash mob and belt out the alto line of "Hallelujah Chorus" with gusto.

But I have come to appreciate our Christmases in the tropics.  In some ways, holidays overseas have become more meaningful because of the effort I have to put into them to make them happen.  And there are some traditions unique to our location that I enjoy - like driving all over Tarakan on Christmas Day and visiting our Indonesian friends.  And getting together with our MAF friends Christmas evening, eating yummy desserts, and trying to get the group to indulge me in singing "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

This has been by far our most "Christmasey" Christmas in Tarakan yet.  A few weeks ago we went to a tree-lighting ceremony at one of the local hotels.  A choir sang, punch was served, and I basked in the glow of Christmas tree lights (so what if it wasn't a Frasier fir?).

Zoe participated in the children's program at church, where her class sang "O Christmas Tree" and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" in Indonesian.

Our church also hosted a Christmas Carnival, which included a nasi goreng (fried rice) cooking contest, volleyball tournament, a coloring contest (Grace won first place in her division), and a visit from a clown and Sinterklas.  Not exactly what we might expect from a Christmas carnival, but it was fun nonetheless.  And I got to chow down on one of my favorite foods, daun singkong (cassava leaves).

Yep, Santa wears shades in the tropics

Last week we had our last English Club for the year, and we played a game where kids had to create a snowman out of toilet paper, which then turned into a crazy free-for-all "snowball fight" with the toilet paper. 

Grace as an Indonesian snowman, with friends from English Club

So this week on our agenda is Christmas baking, getting ready for our open house on Thursday (I'll be serving chicken fajitas for our Indonesian friends to try), and hopefully finding some quiet moments to sit and contemplate the Word becoming flesh.

Merry Christmas from the Holstens!

Birthday Madness

Our baby girl turned five this week.  Our kids look forward to their birthdays and plan them months in advance.  So back in August or so Zoe decided she wanted a My Little Pony birthday.  My mom sent us some My Little Pony themed party gear, and then last week Zoe decided she wanted to invite all the MAF kids to her party, especially all the little boys in her preschool class.  So I quickly came up with a craft (a stick hobby horse) that could reach across the gender lines.  Although, most of those rough and tumble little boys have at some point played with Zoe's My Little Pony dolls at our house.

MAF kids enjoying their stick horses

I love to make and eat cakes, but unfortunately I am not very talented in making them look pretty.  Alas, I lack skills in all areas of decorating, crafting, sewing, etc.  But for the love of my kids I do make an effort; over the years I've made cakes in the shape of squids, pandas, snakes, and fish.  So I found a pony cake online that looked easy enough and decided to give it a whirl.

I have a newfound appreciation for the cakes my mother decorated for my brothers and me over the years.  She took a decorating class and her cakes looked and tasted GOOD. Whatever shape we wanted - be it Holly Hobby or R2-D2 - she could do it.  But one year, maybe it was not too long after the R2-D2 cake, she gave it up, and I never really understood why.

Until the other day. Standing in my kitchen, sweating buckets (the electricity was off), trying to make four pieces of cake come together into some kind of equine shape, I was feeling ready to throw in my decorating spatula.  But an hour later, the cake was done and I was feeling pretty good about it.

Then I showed it to David.

"What is it?" he asked.

He almost got a pink pony cake in the face.  But Zoe loved it, and that was all that mattered.

Tomorrow my oldest son turns 13.  For years - pretty much as long as I've been a mom - I have dreaded the teenage years.  But now that we're almost there, I'm not feeling so intimidated.  I know there will be challenges, but I'm not quaking in my boots, er, flip-flops, like I thought I'd be.  Carter is already showing some signs of teenagedom - he has, of late put some effort into his appearance - at least, his hair.  He wants to have hair like Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter.  However, his attempts to grow his hair out have not gone how he planned.  He resembles not his favorite reptile wrangler, but instead that teenage wonder, Justin Bieber.

We recently were interior, a million miles from anywhere, and a group of teenage girls saw him and squealed, "Justin! Justin!" and ran over to get a picture with him.  Carter was mortified.  Zoe has picked up on it and informs people that Carter looks like "Justin Beaver."

Though he may not have the Crocodile Hunter's hairdo, Carter does share his passion for animals.  He spends a good many hours looking after his many critters.  It was a real thrill when a few weeks ago one of our neighbors called saying a huge python had been found nearby.

Carter aka Justin and friends with big mama python (photo by D. Forney)

We are looking forward to celebrating Thanksgiving next week with our MAF teammates.  David and I picked up the turkeys for our feast when we were in Balikpapan a few weeks ago.  For two birds - $100!  David's mom told us they're selling for 59 cents a pound in Georgia.  That makes me ill.  We will nonetheless enjoy our Thanksgiving - one of my favorite holidays we celebrate over here, despite the heat, distance from family, and lack of Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  It's a fun time together with friends.

And then it will be on to Luke's birthday and a few days off from home school.  

Pop

Packages.  Oh, how I love them.

Normally, packages from America contain some sort of goodies from my dear mother - dark chocolate, sugarless gum for the kids, t-shirts she found on sale.  Sometimes we get packages from sweet little Awana groups or Sunday school classes - gifts for the kids, grits, supplies for care packages for our medivac patients.

But this week I received something totally unexpected in a package.

A family friend in the U.S. mailed me two books that belonged to my grandfather, the Rev. John Beam, affectionately known by many as "Brother Beam" (often shortened by kids to 'Butter Bean'), and in our family as "Pop".  This friend found Pop's books among her things and thought I would like to have them.

Pop's books (photo by Tripp Flythe)

What makes them especially meaningful is that when we packed up and moved to Indonesia nine years ago, we took very little with us that had sentimental value.  We'd been advised not to, because in the cross-pacific trip, things are often damaged or lost, and once things arrive in country, whatever made the trip intact can be damaged by mold, critters, etc.  So we took the bare essentials with us, leaving behind letters, old photographs, our nice dishes, etc..

So when I received these books, and saw again for the first time in years my grandfather's beautiful handwriting, it touched a place down in my soul that I rarely go to over here.  I am a sentimental sap at heart - I tend to save every letter, photo, and scrap of paper that has any kind of memory attached to it.  I remember before we left to come overseas - which coincided with my parents' move from the house of my childhood -  I went through boxes and boxes of the most random assortment of junk:  ticket stubs to movies from 1989, a note from a seventh-grade boyfriend (complete with the obligatory "Do you like me? Check the box" postscript), neon green cassette tapes of my brother and I singing.  Most of it got tossed; the good stuff was promptly squirreled away again.

Having reformed my junk-collecting ways, I have no desire to return to the life of a packrat.  Thus, piles of papers and old junk sort of freak me out now, and are quickly tossed.  But these are two old books that will stay on my shelf forever, because they belonged to Pop, the all-time King of Packrats.

I have found myself missing Pop - who passed away in 1999 -  a lot lately.  My growing-up years were spent at his inner-city church in Savannah, Georgia.  I remember riding the bus with him as he rode through the projects to pick kids up for Sunday school or weekday clubs.  He was one of my heroes - a man of faith, a man who believed the best about others, a man who lived out Jesus' command to love "the least of these."  He is one of the reasons I am serving in a far-flung corner of the world with my family.

I wish I could discuss ministry matters with him.  How did he deal with being surrounded by needy people, knowing he probably couldn't help everyone?  How did he avoid burnout?  Did he struggle with doubt and discouragement?

I will take care of these books.  They will stay in our air-conditioned bedroom, safe from the tropical heat and humidity.  I will pull them out from time to time, maybe even read through the one that is an old commentary on Mark's gospel.  And I will remember Pop, and thank the Lord for such a heritage.

Thank you, Tami, for sending them.