The Guardian of the Toilet

Twasn't much bi

gger than two inches. The entire body was smaller than my pinkie and the head no bigger than a dime.

But I stared.

At 6 o'clock in the morning, the chickens had been croaking out their greetings for about an hour, and the Filipinos were hard at work. The lumber shop across the way bustled with new wood being unloaded and the men laughing and shouting. I didn't know what they were saying. The guest section of the old Bible School, in which we were staying till we travelled to the farm, held the only air-conditioned rooms on the complex. So far I had felt pretty spoiled. The warnings of the unbearable heat and the hardships we would endure had excited me. I'm not sure what I expected, but a waterbed and fan for the first four nights definitely wasn't it. I kept thinking that God wouldn't change me if I wasn't sweating profusely or overcoming fears. Somehow I wanted to accomplish a dangerous feat in order to have an exciting tale which I could take home to my friends. Yet this early morning, with the sun high in the sky, Hannah and I were waiting for the rest of the family and desperately looking for something to do.

The only air conditioned room. 

We'd had our devotions, written in our journals, sat out on the stairs, and - were silent.
Suddenly, I had to go to the bathroom.

I hurried into the narrow hallway off the dining room that led to the small bathroom. The thin green curtains were motionless against the screen. I looked to the toilet, as we all do, and noticed a little friend. He was completely exposed against the white washed wall, just above the toilet. I took a step forward, but couldn't sit down. I couldn't put my back to that thing, I couldn't expose myself. Images of his spindly little legs jumping on me while I was unaware forced my feet back, closer to the door. Just a tiny gecko, with a curvy tail. I felt his beady little eyes challenging me. It was like Satan's voice from those old Story Hours was creepily coming from this creature.

"Come on, you think you're brave?

 I thought you wanted to be changed? 

Sit down, relax, I promise I won't touch you..." 

Lies. Isn't that what Satan did to Eve? That was it, this thing was Satan in the flesh. I took a picture to show Hannah, laughed at myself just a tad, and exited the room.
Relief would have to wait.

Twenty minutes later, I obviously still had to go. I'm sure its gone by now, the bugs back home never seem to stay long. But this was no bug.

That stubborn little gecko did something that seemed even more threatening. He hid a portion of his body behind the mirror above the toilet as if he were pretending to leave, only to later pounce. I paced back and forth and talked to myself.

"You're being ridiculous Erin. That is a stinking little lizard! 

Do you know how many other things will be threatening you on the farm?! 

Suck it up. Sit down and go." 

Yes, I gave myself a pep talk in the bathroom in the presence of an unsuspecting amphibian. But fifteen minutes later I emerged more confidant than when I had gone in. A huge smile played across my face, I showed Hannah the pictures, trying to play it down a bit, hoping her reaction might be one of esteemed amazement. 

"Ha, that's funny." 

Yep, my first victory of mastering my fears showed me how silly they could be. I took advantage of an honest friend's reaction, and did not boast of my feat to Luke and Annie.

The Arrival in Manila: Sticky and Crowded

It wasn't that easy.

Every port that could hold an airplane did. All the airlines had flights at the same time unloading. We were the only white. I felt like a newborn baby coming from the airplane, after being prepped for birth, launched into a whole new world.

I felt the heat envelope me like a thick hug. It wasn't as bad as I thought, but it was definitely warmer than Detroit, Michigan. We were ushered through tunnels and lines. It was 12 p.m. Manila's time. We hadn't slept for over thirteen hours. We somehow found the right line, showed our passport, the whole time afraid that they would turn us away because we didn't have an extended visa. Not even a second glance. A nod, and the passport was back in my hand. Did they even stamp it? I didn't notice- I just wanted to get out of the throng of people. I searched for a familiar face, Hannah and I were both silent. One from anxiety, the other from exhaustion.

Down this corridor, up those stairs, over to the luggage area. We grabbed our bags and followed a stream of people through a thinning crowd. Yelled at by a security guard, we turned around, we had nearly skipped our THIRD check. Glad I still had the right papers from the plane.

Here we were stopped.

A best friend is a wonderful thing because you can argue and be irritated with each other and somehow find comfort in that familiarity. I have to admit though, the tenseness of the situation did not produce much of a bonding.

We didn't see our native missionary friends, Pastor Nelson and Sister Ellaine, and we had no contact number. The night was damp and sticky, I looked across the street and believed myself to be in some sort of natural disaster movie. There was a small two-story building with people filling every possible space. Some were pushed against the windows holding signs, all seemed to be shouting at the passengers coming out of the building. There was no Sister Ellaine. A dread filled me as I looked around, making awkward eye contact with strangers. We were standing in the middle of the platform with our suitcases, being bumped on either side. I couldn't keep the movie Taken from entering my mind and every character became suspicious. We were standing for about ten minutes with no indication of what to do, and no sign of our friends. The crowds were not dissipating and the guards and fences kept people from entering to pick up their loved ones. We had no idea what was going on. So I did the only thing which seemed to make sense. I called my pastor. He definitely wasn't expecting a call from me, and I'm sure I must have sounded terrified. I had to ask him for a number, he gave me the only one they had on file which was from the '90s. Needless to say, it didn't work.
Thank the Lord that at that moment Sister Ellaine touched my arm, took my suitcase and had us follow her. I cannot express how thankful I was to see her. I wasn't sure what I would have done next.

"They wouldn't let me out, only five at a time were able to go. Finally I pointed to you and said you were American and I needed to get you. Somehow they let me go in front of so many others," she seemed frazzled and apologized that they hadn't been able to get to us. "It has never been this busy before."

Pastor Nelson and their daughter Paula were waiting in the air-conditioned car. As we drove through the streets I had so many questions. Part of me just wanted to sit back and stare at everything, but I can't just sit still when I'm with new friends. Never before had I seen cars, trucks, bikes, pedestrians, motorcycles, and tricycles all driving together - not obeying traffic signs! Honking was a friendly use, for the majority of the time, and the maze of actors made me want to retract further into the car.

"Do you want McDonalds? Jolly Bee's?" Couldn't eat.

 The colors and advertisements on every building, covering every inch was so much. I can only compare my experience of culture shock with that of my two-month old nephew's scowl when too many faces come in to kiss him. Yet it was all so fascinating. Finally I stopped asking questions and allowed the experience to soak in.

About two hours later we were on a bed, on the fourth floor of the building, writing in our journals and yawning. Not many words had passed between Hannah and myself. We hit the pillows hoping for a good night's rest.

Too bad there's such a thing as jet-lag.

An Introduction to the series: Rewind to the Ordinary, Everyday Exotic

It has been almost a year since I walked onto a plane with my best friend to visit a small orphanage half way across the globe. Has it really been a year? It seems as though I came home, and jumped right back into my life, but piled on more responsibilities and drew in more distractions.

It reminds me of a diet. A person forgoes chocolate, sweets, carbs, fats, anything that has been labelled as "unhealthy" for a period of time in order to see a long-lasting result. We know now, if we've been influenced by the health movement that is progressing, that diets don't work. When you say "No," something triggers a "Gotta Have It," and you're at ColdStones telling them to put brownies AND chocolate chips. Don't misunderstand me, I am all for self-control, my point here being that when we restrict ourselves without the proper motives, we are more likely to gain back all the habits and then some!

I tried to have the proper motivation as I journeyed to the Philippines, but I'm not sure I did. I imagined laboring hard in the sun, getting a missionary tan, taking beautiful pictures with the locals, that I would come to adore; and coming back a fabulously fit and spiritual person. I did pray and fast for this trip, therefore I knew it was the Lord's will, but I didn't know what to expect. That was the most intimidating thing. I didn't exactly know what I'd be doing, and I felt more than unqualified. All I knew was that I needed a change in more ways than one and this was to be my ticket to "a changed nature, an altered spirit!" (Christmas Carol, Dickens)

The purpose of this blog series is to remember the lessons I learned and somehow understand how to alter my motivations in order to obtain a lasting effect. I kept an account nearly every day for the entire five weeks that we were in the Philippines, though most were simply accounts of the activities that took place. Though my trip sounds more exotic than my suburban life here, it was  truly living an ordinary, everyday life in the Philippines. However, I did not expect to be afraid.

June - 2013 - Palawan, Philippines

 The night was thick, the screen windows let in a small breeze, but there was a deep silence. I rolled to my right side, but switched as my arm grew numb. I began to rehearse in my head what my testimony,  that I was to share at the church in Manila when we returned from the orphanage, might be. I selected my words carefully and structured the stories, which examples would better fit in certain areas. 

Then I realized that rather than create in my head what I believed the changes in me would be, I had better start making those changes. I stroked my friend's back as she fell asleep and I began to quietly pray. I could not understand why I was so awake, but prayers continued to come out easily. Then one song stuck in my head, but I didn't really want to sing it. Softly I recited the words. 

"You are my strength, Oh God.

You are my help, Oh God.

You are the One on whom I call.

You are my shield, Oh God.

My life I yield, Oh God.

For you will ever be my all, in all."

I didn't want to sing it at first because I kept thinking, 

Why am I having such a difficult time? 

I'm not truly struggling because I'm not weak and I know I am better than this. 

I can do this. I know that all of this is not hard, I am being ridiculous.

What I couldn't admit was the fact that I was weak, whether or not it was a difficult struggle wasn't my judgement to make, it was still a struggle! Therefore, God alone was my strength. He alone was my all in all. 

Late in the middle of the night, it clicked. 

No matter where I was on the earth, only He could be my strength. 

That moment I began to understand God's work in my life. It wasn't to have me come home a tan, fit, and spiritual person (I mean, hey, if it happened naturally well then, that would just be awesome) he wanted me to trust Him. In the little things, in the big things. He wanted to teach me to humble myself, and to ask for help. 

Sometimes it really is just that simple.