About That Warrior Poet ]ii[

Tonight I remembered a story that my physician referred me to a couple years ago when I happened to mention to him that I was requesting my marriage be arranged: Isaac & Rebekah.  What he referred me to was actually a five-part sermon to college students about marriage and the selection of their mates from Ravi Zacharias.  (Here's the link to a page with the series.)  The story is found in Genesis 24, and it actually really does reflect what I desire.

The sum of the story is Abraham sent his most trusted servant to go find a wife for Isaac, his beloved, promised son.  Abraham made his servant swear an oath, but also counted for himself God's promises to be true and assured his servant that "He will send His angel before you" (Genesis 24:7).  So Abraham's servant went out - ever so deliberately - and he prayed specifically regarding the responsibility bestowed upon him:

O LORD, God of my master Abraham, please grant me success today and show steadfast love to my master Abraham.  Behold, I am standing by the spring of water, and the daughters of the men of the city are coming out to draw water.  Let the young woman to whom I shall say, "Please let down your jar that I may drink," and who shall say, "Drink, and I will water your camels" - let her be the one whom You have appointed for Your servant Isaac.  By this I shall know that You have shown steadfast love to my master.  (Genesis 24:12-14)

Keep reading:

Before he had finished speaking, behold, Rebekah...came out with her water jar on her shoulder.  The young woman was very attractive in appearance, a maiden whom no man had known.  She went down to the spring and filled her jar and came up.  Then the servant ran to meet her and said, "Please give me a little water to drink from your jar."  She said, "Drink, my lord."  And she quickly let down her jar upon her hand and gave him a drink.  When she had finished giving him a drink, she said, "I will draw water for your camels also, until they have finished drinking."  So she quickly emptied her jar into the trough and ran again to the well to draw water, and she drew for all his camels.  The man gazed at her in silence to learn whether the LORD had prospered his journey or not.  (Genesis 24:15-21, emphasis mine)

I love how the servant responded: "The man bowed his head and worshiped the LORD and said, 'Blessed be the LORD, the God of my master Abraham, Who has not forsaken His steadfast love and His faithfulness toward my master.  As for me, the LORD has led me in the [right] way [faithfully]'...." (Genesis 24:48)

Then even Rebekah's father and brother recognized that it was the LORD's doing (Genesis 24:50)! And even when there was ample opportunity for the servant's fear (Genesis 24:5) to come to pass (Genesis 24:54-58), the LORD still didn't let that happen, either! Oh, He is faithful to the uttermost!

Seriously, this is what I want.  The list of scouts I have made (the number has shifted from 12 to 19 to, now, 14) are men who/whom:

• know me and what I consider to be valuable in my warrior poet
• I have known for a number of years
• love God and possess some same attributes that I desire to be found in my warrior poet
• will make it a matter of prayer as they go seeking on my behalf
• will disciple my warrior poet for a period of time before completely approving him
• I trust with such a responsibility.

What happens after they select a prospect? Well...hopefully by the time I'm inspired to blog again that'll be clarified a little better.  ; )

∞אני לדודי ודודי לי∞

About That Warrior Poet ]i[

Those that know me well enough have at least heard that I've requested my marriage be arranged (non-traditionally).  Some people seem to be perplexed when they hear this and immediately challenge me...some yet will raise their eyebrows and not say a word, probably thinking I'm crazy.  But a few - very few - have encouraged me in this.

- - This is not the long awaited-fully disclosed description of what I hope my arranged marriage may look like and how I pray it at least slightly comes together. - -

There was something I witnessed when I was eleven years old - at the time I truly considered it to be stupidity and hypocrisy at their finest, but I've relented a bit regarding the matter since then.  When I encountered two older friends discussing their latest crushes and their desires to go to this event and that event with these popular guys I could have been enticed to simply cheer them on.  Honestly, when I was sitting there - quite awkwardly - all I could think was, "Why?"  Yet I, being the shy, sheltered, home-schooled girl, kept my mouth shut and silently contemplated the topic.

Having grown up in a God-fearing home and been part of a solid fellowship of believers, I knew that divorce was wrong.  That it broke God's heart and it was (in a simple sense) going against your word.  It was something beautiful being broken by choice - it was preventable, yet somewhere along the line one or both parties in the marriage actually considered it an option.  This understanding at eleven years old crossed over to my developing thoughts about dating and relationships.  Why date if you aren't committed to pursuing marriage? Doesn't dating just continually leave it an option to break up if it gets tough or someone else seems better one day? Okay, hear me out - I AM NOT CONDEMNING DATING.  These are simply a couple of the thoughts that began to occur to me when I was eleven years old, and they turned me off completely to dating.  (I can imagine someone reading this and starting to think, "She must have read I Kissed Dating Goodbye."  Well, I did read it...five years later...and I hated it!! So, ha! [Stereotypers.])

After listening in on this conversation between my two friends, my over-analytical mind continued to roam.  I resolved that day to love one man and one man only in my lifetime.  I began investing in him, my warrior poet, by praying for him regularly and writing him letters on occasion.

About two years later I remember riding in the car with my mom somewhere and over the radio (some Christian station) was a broadcast about the "Proverbs 31 woman."  I had never read Proverbs 31 intently, nor had I ever been taught from that particular chapter.  So, having been struck with "that sounds like something worth reading," I looked it up when we got home and THIS is is the verse that the Spirit highlighted for me:

[An excellent wife] does [her husband] good, and not harm, all the days of her life. (Proverbs 31:12, emphasis mine)

"All the days of her life."  That doesn't mean just when I'm married - it covers my entire life - even before marriage! And it was settled in my mind...there was no way that I was going to risk doing harm to my husband by dating.  My warrior poet was (is) too precious to me to spend any such devoted time with any other man but him!

I wish I could say that I only ever have loved him, but that's not true.  Those closest to me already know about another LONG chapter in my life (that I do not regret).  What I regret is my pride that grew over the matter of loving only my warrior poet.  All I will say in conclusion of this is that God is purposeful and He does not waste anything in our lives.

So today, I'm loving my man, my warrior poet, mostly with prayer & a few other creative things.  A highly valued resource I came across a couple years ago, though, is "31 Days of Praying for Your Husband" from Nancy Leigh DeMoss.  I have a copy printed out and I use it as a guide for praying for my warrior poet.  I love him; I really do.

I'm excited during this season, though, to be able to trust warriors God has placed in my life to scout out my warrior poet and invest in both him and me.  Eh, more about those details later...sometime...maybe...eventually....

∞אני לדודי ודודי לי∞

Happy Birthday, Jefferson

Jefferson Alim, my first sponsored child, is turning 14 today! This would be the tenth birthday I would come up with some way to celebrate his birthday on this side of the world and mail pictures/memorabilia to the Philippines.  I did some crazy things - there was even one year that I recycled a cake: I had written "Happy Birthday, Jefferson!" on it, then crossed out his name three times over the next several days to celebrate two other birthdays within our family as well as crossing out "Birthday" so that the cake read "Happy Thanksgiving."  Gotta say it was one of the cheesiest things I've ever done.  Ever.

This year is weird as Jefferson's birthday has arrived and I don't have the opportunity to write to him.  While I am still celebrating silently and covering him in extra prayer today, I'm missing him a lot more than I realized I might.    I know he knows I'll never forget his birthday (he even wrote about that in his "final letter").  But what matters most that he remember, now that he's no longer able to be sponsored?

As his sponsor, I want him to always remember that his Creator loves him and purposed his life, even when his circumstances declare differently.  I'm hoping that he knows I won't stop loving him or praying for him.  I want him to recognize that commitment is important, even when it's almost a foreign idea and not the trend.

Jefferson's a young man now, and as his sponsor I was privileged to have 9 years to speak into his life, since he was just 4 years old.  I wrote to him almost every week, reminding him of truth from Scripture, telling him about answered prayer in my life, declaring the goodness of God's grace, and simply writing about life and family.

If you have a sponsored child, do not fail to write to them.  Their life is an investment - not nearly as much a financial one as it is an emotional, or even eternal one.  They are yours.  Write to them, be real to them.  Your kid treasures you - and they would recognize you before they would recognize any American celebrity...that is, if you sent them a picture of yourself.  They want to know you.

We're celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas soon, so find some things to write about.  There are traditions within our culture, so approach this season as opportunity to educate your child.  I always found it a fun challenge to describe traditional activities in words that could be easily translated.  Maybe this Thursday take a few minutes to imagine how you would explain to your child what was going on and why, as though they were there - and write that in a letter.  Send a picture or two along with it...maybe cooking your favorite dish step by step or a list of things you're thankful for (with cultural consideration)? Or when snow comes how about writing about sledding, having a snowball fight, or building a snowman? Do exercise caution about how you describe things, as it is healthier to write more about similarities than differences.  Your kids have their own traditions, so ask about them, too!

Bottom line: invest in your kids by writing to them.  You'll be forever glad you did.

Why sponsor?

Here's my story, consider it a sequel to this.

Many would agree with the statement "The best treatment is prevention."  Regardless of who agrees, the concept is accurate (except, of course, when trying to treat sin).  Unicef estimates there are between 143-210 million orphans worldwide (the better supported, single number is 170 million).  How can we define "orphan"? Typically people think of an orphan as being a child whose parents (one or both) have died, but....

Reality: 4 out of 5 orphans exist because of poverty, not the death of their parents.

Translation: 4 out of 5 orphans don't have to be orphans.

An unhealthy assumption now would be that these orphans' parents don't want them and don't love them.  Reality: the majority of these parents are giving up their children to orphanages because they love them and they want their children to be provided for; the parents simply recognize that they cannot do it themselves, so they give their children to someone/someplace that can.

So here's my answer to the question "Why sponsor?": to prevent orphans.

...

When I was 14, I was quite frustrated.  I knew I wasn't old enough to adopt, but I wanted a kid.  I always wanted a younger sibling to take care of and be responsible for, but I never got one.  Then I heard about Compassion.  It was just an insert in a CD that I actually looked at.  So I checked it out, prayed about it for a month or so, then in August 2003, I signed up.  I received the child packet for Jefferson Alim, 4 year old boy in the Philippines, whose birthday was the day before mine.  I was so excited to be a sponsor.  As soon as I got the first letter, I knew I was making a difference.  The first couple years I sponsored Jefferson, he was too young to write, so he would draw pictures like the one below and his mother would write me.

Just a couple months after I started sponsoring Jefferson, I received my first "Country Newsletter" about the Philippines.  The article was entitled, "Tomb Dwellers."  I wept after reading the account of families who were building their homes on top of tombs because they provided a good, strong foundation.  (In the Philippines, tombs are concrete boxes in which the corpses will be slid in, then kinda sealed off at the foot end.)  Because this neighborhood of tomb houses included children, guess where their playground was, too? Yup - right outside of their houses.  As moving as this article was, it did not do the reality justice.  About two and a half years after I became a sponsor, I traveled to the Philippines with Compassion to tour, then at the conclusion of the trip I would meet Jefferson.  One of the days when we were touring various neighborhoods in the city to see where some of the Compassion assisted families lived, it started pouring down rain.  I wore flip-flops that day, and forgot to bring my poncho.  The van full of sponsors got out and followed our guide a couple blocks and led us through what looked like a landfill for the piles of garbage and dung.  Within the landfill look-a-like were tombs, and past the initial tombs were the tomb houses.  I had set foot on these children's very playground.  Even in the rain they were jumping around, laughing, playing, and staring at us Americans, too.  There was something about the experience for me as a 16-year old in flip-flops, walking in the pouring rain through puddles with floating rotten banana peels, that woke me up to what poverty is in one part of the world.

Before my trip to the Philippines, poverty was still two worlds away and pretty much out of sight, out of mind.  In my mind, poverty ceased to be "people who don't have as much as I do," and became "people who don't have enough to continue living."

I went on to sponsor two more children through Compassion.  In June of 2007 I began sponsoring 6-year old Jacqueline from Burkina Faso, and a year and a half later I began sponsoring 11-year old Suwanan in Thailand.  I only had three years to sponsor Jacqueline, as the reality of poverty struck my heart again, only quite a bit more loudly when I learned of her death due to complications of limited access to healthcare in her area.  Just this week, Jefferson had to leave Compassion's program to assume greater responsibilities at home.  **The odds of a sponsor losing two children within two years are small...yet it happened to me.**

So, how exactly does child sponsorship prevent orphans? Child sponsorship through organizations like Compassion International provides the means for children to continue to be reared by their natural families, while also ensuring that they are introduced to the gospel, able to attend school, and given health care.

Though I didn't have the number of orphans in front of me when I was 14, and much less the other statistics to better understand what I was doing, I still did something.  I must say that when I signed up to be a sponsor, it was a step of faith for me.  Had I been more mature and understood better just how big of a personal investment sponsorship is, I probably would not have done it at that time.  Still, I was determined that even if I hated the work opportunities in front of me, I would be sending the funds each month for sponsorship.  One of the main reasons I went on to sponsor my second child was the realization that I was spending as much money on my coffee habit each month as it costs to sponsor a child...so I gave up the personalized drinks.  Giving sometimes requires sacrifice, but in America, what we often think of sacrifice as simply not getting what we want when we want it.  It's not that way for everyone, but I know that sometimes - it's that way for me.

I urge you - step up your sacrifice and prevent an orphan or four...you can.

יהוה–יראה

Every time.  Over the last two years, since I've been living back at home and not had a regular source of income, there have been several occasions that I've gotten frantic over finances.  Since I am living at home, I have minimal expenses at this time.  But, as minimal as they are, they become significant when there is more output than intake.

Today, I was looking at my finances and realized that unless I dipped into my savings again, I have about two weeks' worth of gas money left.  I haven't been called to substitute teach much lately and the babysitting gigs are few and far between anymore.  There is no way that I can ever doubt God's provision...I've seen it growing up and I have seen it first hand, especially in these last two years.

Pretty much the biggest expenditures I have at this time are my sponsorship of my Compassion kids and gas money.  Let me just say that I'll walk before I give up Jefferson & Suwanan - the relationships I've built with them over the years is not something that I will ever sacrifice.  And every time I consider dropping the Child Survival Program through Compassion that I assist (it's not personal like sponsorship), I get an update or a copy of a letter from one of the mothers served there - and I just know that I need to continue with it.  Really, EVERY one of the few times I've been considering it, that day or the next I'll get something in the mail.  I'd say it's crazy, but I know that it's God.

During the years I've been a sponsor, I've been blessed in knowing that as surely as God led me to begin sponsoring Jefferson in September of 2003, He would see that I had the money to send Compassion.  I've never had to fall back on my parents or resort to extremes in order to continue my sponsorship.

So, today, while I'm doing the math and figuring that even with my savings I really only have about three months before I'll have nothing, I start looking around my room to try to figure out what I can sell when I realize that I have less than that because I'm going to be needing textbooks yet.  This is when I got frantic and God reminded me that He makes it all possible.  To end this story quickly, I got a text to babysit tomorrow, and I'll be expecting more calls/texts over the next several weeks because God provides. :)

.יהוה–יראה

Just some of my continual thoughts

As I read the words of Katie Davis in her recently released book, Kisses from Katie, my heart resonates with this: "I knew that one of God's purposes...was to grow in me...this heart for adoption."  She continues more personally,

In an effort to be real, I will tell you: It was hard...But God continued to show me that adoption is His heart, and it was becoming mine.

Adoption is wonderful and beautiful and the greatest blessing I have ever experienced.  Adoption is also difficult and painful.  Adoption is a beautiful picture of redemption.  It is the Gospel in my living room.  And sometimes, it's just hard.

As a parent, it's hard not to know when your daughter took her first  steps or what her first word was or what she looked like in kindergarten.  It's hard not to know where she slept and whose shoulder she cried on and what the scar on her eyebrow is from.  It's hard to know that for ten years yours was not the shoulder she cried on and you were not the mommy she hugged.

As a child, it's hard to remember your biological parents' death, no matter how much you love your new mom. It's hard to have your mom be a different color than you because inevitably people are going to ask why.  It's hard that your mom wasn't there for all the times you had no dinner and all the times you were sick and all the times you needed help with your homework.  It's hard when you have to make up your birthday.  It's hard when you can't understand the concept of being a family forever yet, because your first family wasn't forever.

Adoption is a redemptive response to tragedy that happens in this broken world.  And every single day, it is worth it, because adoption is God's heart.  His Word says, "In love He predestined us to be adopted as His sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with His pleasure and will" (Ephesians 1:5).  He sets the lonely in families (see Psalm 68:6).  The first word that appears when I look up adoption in the dictionary is "acceptance."  God accepts me, adores me even, just as I am.  And He wants me to accept those without families into my own.  Adoption is the reason I can come before God's throne and beg Him for mercy, because He predestined me to be adopted as His child through Jesus Christ, in accordance with His pleasure and will - to the praise of His glorious grace.

My family, adopting these children, it is not optional.  It is not my good deed for the day; it is not what I am doing to "help out these poor kids."  I adopt because God commands me to care for the orphans and the widows in their distress.  I adopt because Jesus says that to whom much has been given, much will be demanded (see Luke 12:48) and because whoever finds his life will lose it but whoever loses his life for His sake will find it (see Matthew 10:39).

Reading Katie's words is quite similar to reading my own journal.  Although today I am still just here.  God has promised, so He will fulfill in His own time.  If I try to operate on my schedule and act on my emotions, my efforts, though with good intent to be obedient, will be ugly and unsuccessful.  But as I wait on Him and fully yield to the Holy Spirit, He will do it...and it will be beautiful.

Does my heart as a mother ache today? Oh, yes, every time I think about what "my" little boy may be doing at that moment, I long to be there with him.  But I can rest, peacefully, knowing that my Savior loves my little boy even more than I do.  I can trust Him because He is trustworthy.  This is my sum.

Just "Yes."

I think about my dreams, just from seven years ago...I wanted to go to the University of Hawai`i at Mano a and study Hawaiian (language) to teach it and make it more readily available for those wanting to preserve that part of their heritage, but my parents would not allow me (at 16 years of age) to be alone so far away [failed plan #1].  My interest in piano increased and I decided I'd like to pursue piano performance, thinking that it would be a cool way to do something "for God," but my ridiculous number of hours practicing (without proper stretching) gave me lateral epicondylitis which still plagues me today [failed plan #2].  Next it was the combination of my (then dreaded) science courses and working in the pharmacy that fed an unknown aptitude for science, so I pursued pharmacy prereq's for a while, but I decided that would be boring [failed plan #3].  I then focused more on the prereq's for med school, planning to get my degree and focus on research/biochem so that I could go to third world countries and develop immunizations for diseases that others don't see worthy of investing their time or efforts in.  I could not finish completing the prereq's for med school because the schools I deemed legit rejected me (being an out-of-state transfer student is harder than you may think) [failed plan #4].  So I decided to take my love of languages and explored linguistics for a while and signed up for a trip to PNG to see what Bible translation was like, because, well, that's how linguistics is best used.  It was while I was in PNG that it was confirmed to me that linguistics wasn't it either [failed plan #5].  In ways that only God could, He brought my heart back to what gripped me when I was just 5 years old: adoption.  I came home to begin courses with LUO to just finish a Bachelor's in something so I could go on to get an MSW somewhere.

I was not ever excited about psychology, but I had already taken enough classes as electives previously that it would save me the most time in finishing.  I thought that I would finish just a year after beginning classes (December 2011), but realized that I would be wearing myself out with the coursework necessary.  I then thought, "Well, I guess graduating in May 2012 won't be all that bad if I get to keep my sanity" [failed plan #6].  Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.  I keep making all these plans and I fail.  I make more plans and fail....like seven times over already! I'm an IDIOT!!! Yeah, okay, God.  I get it.  Really, I think I do this time.

I don't know what God wants to do with me.  I know that the passion He instilled in me for rescuing hurting and orphaned children is a big part of the plan.  I'm not sure what His timing is, but I think for once I'm just gonna stop trying to figure out what it is He wants to do with me.  I will simply enjoy Him and the mystery of His plans.    :o]

Proverbs 16, verse 9 is fitting here: "We can make our plans, but the LORD determines our steps."

20 Boxed Children and 163 Million Orphans

            Most children do not come in boxes, but all of mine have.

            Christmas morning, 1991, with small presents unwrapped and already enjoyed, the more greatly anticipated gift awaited exposure.  As I slowly ripped off the bright red paper with colorful Christmas print, my heart danced inside my chest like a lightning bug inside a glass jar.  I had just unwrapped my very first child, and he was already waiting to be loved on! As my dad assisted with cutting the tape that secured the oddly shaped box closed and untwisted the ties that held my child in an upright position with arms open, my patience wore thin.

            Once out of the box and in my arms, my grandmother inquired, “What is his name?”

            I simply replied, “Eddie.”

            No one knew where I had heard the name before, but that is what he was called.

            About two and a half years later, while shopping with my mother and siblings, I wandered to the back of the store to look around.  While browsing the shelves that seemed to stretch higher than the ceiling, something—rather, someone—caught my eye.  There she was: a little girl, still in her box.  She was so cute with her red and white patterned shirt and matching bloomers! The simple shapes on her shirt led me to believe she must be in preschool, learning what a circle, square, and triangle are.

            “Momma! Momma! I found one I want!” I cried enthusiastically.

            “Which one?” she asked.

            “Her,” I stated, pointing to the little girl with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes.

            My mother quietly denied my plea, “No, I don’t think you should get her today.”

            With a broken heart, I walked away with my mother to meet my siblings before going home…and leaving behind a little girl I wanted to be mine.  Once home, I prayed that somehow that she could still belong to me.

            A few months later when November 22, 1994 came around, my sixth birthday, to my delight the little girl in a box became mine.  Rather than ripping through the box with excitement and discarding everything except her body, I carefully peeled away the tape and unfastened the ties that locked her inside.  I then picked up my “Madeline” and embraced her with long awaiting arms.

            Once Madeline was settled in my lap, I removed what remained in her box.  As I pulled the white papers with green ink out of the small plastic bag, I grew more curious as to what the papers meant.  Not yet able to read big words, I sought out my mother.

            “Momma, what are these for?” I inquired.

            “Well, let’s read them and find out,” she gently replied.

            With careful memory of all the phonics rules I had learned thus far, I struggled through reading the two bold words centered at the top of the first paper, “Adoption Certificate.”

            “What’s ‘adoption’ mean?” I asked my mother.

            “Well, adoption is when a mommy and daddy can’t take care of their child, or sometimes a mommy and daddy might die and their child is left an orphan, and a new mommy and daddy have to take care of the little boy or girl.”

            Stunned that such a scenario was even within the realms of possibility, I walked away to embrace Madeline more tightly, since she must have been left an orphan and was in desperate need of more love.

            The very next time I set foot in a large building that held boxed children captive, I made it my silent mission to somehow bring them all home so they could be loved.  There was no reason not to work hard and complete all my chores every day and do my school work diligently when these kids need to be taken care of!

            So work I did, earning as much money as I could to adopt child after child who was destined to remain in a box unless I did something.  By the time I had adopted all twenty of my Cabbage Patch Kids, I became aware of a bigger mission: there are real kids all over the world waiting to be adopted and loved by a family.

            It is currently estimated that there are 163 million orphans in the world.  To better grasp how big that number is, naming each one of those children at the rate of one per second would take more than five years.  In my understanding, there is no reason that families should delay action in changing the reality for at least one of 163 million.  I’m not waiting, and I’m currently a family of one...or twenty-one, depending on how you look at it.

**This was a short, non-fiction story written in class for English 112, though it may someday serve as the first rough draft for the prologue of a book.**

Mi paitim saksak!

I would have written about this sooner, but I thought for the longest time I already had.  Another story from PNG...

During my stay at Walagu, my teammate and I were set up to rise with the sun and go with other bus meris (women of the bush/village) to paitim saksak (lit: beat sago palm).  I was excited about FINALLY having the opportunity to do something that the natives did-legit work.  By the time this week came, I was accustomed to walking barefoot around the village.  The ground there consisted mostly of hard-packed red clay, so it was easy on the feet.  We were advised to apply plenty of bug spray and take along our water bottles, beef biscuits, bus naip (basically, a machete), and various other small things for our day's adventure.  Once packed, we waited for one of the bus meris to come get us.  I honestly had no idea what was ahead...our hosts kept it a slight surprise.

We walked maybe 4/10 mile down the main path and the bus meris randomly stopped and offered gamshus (gumshoes/garden boots?).  I was slightly clueless as to why they would offer us these when we'd been walking along the main red clay path.  Then one of the bus meris started walking off the main path, into some SERIOUS bus-as in the kind that's nearly as tall as you.  My teammate and I looked at each other and looked at our guiding bus meris to see what kind of foot attire they had on-they were barefoot, so why shouldn't we go barefoot, right? I weighed the present situation for a few moments and spoke up to say that we would gladly take the gamshus.  I praise God for that moment of wisdom.  I love going barefoot and flip-flops are my footwear of choice, but this ground was not to be walked on without proper protection.  We slipped on the gamshus and trekked through the bush, proudly wielding our bus naips and putting them to good use chopping vines, stumps and tall grass in our way (first legit time!).  This journey to the saksak was not predictable.

After walking several yards through the tall bus, we approaches some trees, beyond which we could not see.  Soon we discovered that the trees hid the slope of the mountain.  There was a slight path to follow behind the bus meris, but it was a very winding path.  The gamshus that I was wearing were big for my feet, so when our path was met with the roots of palm trees (if you've never seen them, they are shallow and slippery when wet), there was a lot of sliding.  Had I not been concerned with causing anyone else to fall and if I knew the way, I like to imagine that I would have been the first one down, due to my skill of surfing palm roots.  :)

After maybe 30 minutes or more, we finally reach the sago swamp-and swamp it was.  I had never been to anything like a swamp before, so trudging through muck that was as high as the gamshus I was wearing was not delightful.  Oh-and I believe I forgot to remind you readers that we were wearing skirts, as required.  For reasons I haven't yet sought to understand, sago turns things reddish, though no part of the sago palm that I saw was red.  The sago swamp is almost divided into sections for the different stages of paitim saksak.

The first step of paitim saksak is to actually cut down the sago palm.  This stage is completed by the men.  The substage following this is the *real* paitim saksak, when the men (and sometimes also the women) use an axe-like tool that is angled with dual edges to allow productive swing while sitting.  At this substage, the sage palm has already been felled and the outer layer has been split to expose the pulp.  Workers will then sit on/in the sago to paitim.  When the initial chunks are made, it is more often the women who come behind to use their bus naips to further paitim the saksak.  Once the saksak has been paitim enough, the women will gather the pieces of pulp into their bags (these bags are comparable to rice bags-the kind you'd find at an authentic oriental store, only larger) and take them to the next section.

The second stage of paitim saksak is the "washing" of the sago pulp.  The women take care of this portion.  There is a slanted troth-like structure about waist-height and 4 to 5 ft long that has two filters.  The first filter is about half-way down and the second filter is at the bottom.  Below the second filter is a tub of sorts constructed from multiple bags and bark.  The pulp that was collected at first stage is placed at the top of the troth and "water" from the tub is poured over it.  The next step consists of alternating paitim saksak and squeezing the pulp, mostly paitim saksak, though.  Once whatever water passes through the first filter catches in the second half of the troth, it's all squeezing pulp from there.  From the second half it flows into the tub and the actual pulp settles at the bottom and it's the "water" that sits on top that is reused for "washing."  (The initial source of "water" comes from the swamp.  The most accurate description of the "water" that I can come up with is a beer pond.  It both looks and smells like a big puddle of dark beer-quite disgusting.)  *Note about the second stage: there will be multiple sections, divided by family, though some have more than one.*

Once the pulp has been collected from the bottom of the tub, it is stuffed into bamboo and cooked over a fire.  The consistency becomes something like partially hardened Play-Doh or chalky gummy bears.  There isn't much of a flavor, but it all depends on how it's cooked.  There are a million ways to cook sago (comparable to the number of recipes for Bisquick), but the most popular is definitely plainly in bamboo.  We later heard of more appetizing ways to prepare it, such as with coconut milk in pancake form (didn't have opportunity to sample this).

Having gone on this adventure, we earned the title of bus meri. :) I'd say it was worth it, even if I got too many mosquito bites to count.

**there aren't any pictures because by this point, my camera battery had died. :(

The Gospel