Rotting Wood.

* Wai Jia has almost completed her 3-week attachment to a mission hospital at a jungle in Kalimantan during her holidays. It is her last day here before she heads to an Indonesian city to stay for a night, before heading home tomorrow. She writes from a place with wireless connection (in a jungle, yes) and will be back soon.

It was just a rotting piece of wood. Or perhaps, had I been blind to what it really was? Perhaps, everything is simply a matter of perspective.

I remember how I went about the day in a stupor, amazed by what I had experienced. Dr. Steve (the American Ophthalmologist) and his family had invited us for lunch at his humble home in the hospital compound. After a beautifully simple meal, we went hiking together with his wife and three young children. As we hiked up the jungle trails on the hills, it began to rain. Dr Steve’s eyes lit up with excitement, “Hey guys! Lets go for a swim!”

Swim? In a jungle? I was stunned for a moment. Suddenly the sight of my own pool back home, with clear, chlorine water in a perfect rectangle where expatriates would sunbathe next to floated into my mind. The kids squealed with excitement. Before I knew it, we were in front of a primitive reservoir filled with rainwater. The water was green. There was a large rotting wooden crate floating in the middle. It had a metallic smell.

“Here?” I asked, half in shock, looking at the rotting piece of wood in the middle of the jungle pool.

“Yeah, come on right in! It’s AWESOME!” Dr Steve, who’s almost fifty by the way, and the children scrambled in.

It took me a while before I overcame my shock- I wonder if they saw how perplexed I was. I thought to myself: this family must certainly have had a large home, a clean environment and a chance to swim in a luxurious pool back home. Yet, by looking at how enthusiastic they were, you would’ve thought they were swimming in a water amusement park.

I joined them.

"RAFT!!" They squealed. Jw ( my close friend whose parents are missionaries too) had a great time making games up. Before we knew it, the rotting crate had transformed into a boat, a surfer, a raft, and as we squealed and splashed and played water games and laughed ourselves silly, I suddenly realized just how beautiful that moment was, how it represented life here.

People don’t have much here, and yet, live in abundance.

These doctors are likely like you and I- from well-to-do backgrounds, with a comfortable life waiting for them back home. All their lives, they’ve lived in big cities, shopped at malls, had the ability to buy whatever they fancied. Living in a small community, away from home and their familiar community, away from familiar foods and places, away from their usual routine and recreation means learning to find joy in the simple things, and being grateful for them.

As we tried to cook lunch, the power went off and we had to wait for it to come on. As we made spinach quiche and baked potatoes together, I learnt that cheese, milk, spice and butter are rare here- they were all gifts from visitors overseas. As I ate in their simply furnished home, I learnt that it is the people inside and not the things which make a home, Home. As we talked and exchanged stories, I learnt that generosity, especially in scarcity, is a beautiful quality.

Every time I enter a house of a missionary doctor, the starkness of the furnishing never fail to amaze me. Dirty walls, grey, dank cement floors, cheap wooden and plastic furniture, typically a map on the wall, plastic cutlery and a tiny stove are the usual sights. When these met my eyes, I must have shut them for a moment to take it all in. Oh God, I never knew. But what was I expecting?

But they aren’t saints either. “Some days are really hard too. Little things get into you.”

Simple things- like not having had a bite of an apple for months, or cheese or tomato sauce- things we typically take for granted back home. Simple things, like not having been to a mall for ages. Simple things, like missing home. There are days one wakes up feeling absolutely nostalgic, wishing madly for a glimpse of home.

I remember my first week here was the hardest. I missed simple things- my friends, clean water, my bicycle, taking the train and apples. By Day 4 I wondered how I would pass the 3 weeks here. As the days went by, however, the strong sense of community and camaraderie took over. The breathtaking scenery of the jungle landscape glistening in the golden and purple sunset every evening reminded one of God’s purpose for placing one here.

I missed my friends, but made new ones; I didn’t have clean or warm water to bathe in but learnt to enjoy bathing with cold water in a bucket; I didn’t have my bicycle but started jogging to the village school in the early mornings, enjoying the sight of low clouds shrouding the hilly jungle and smiling at the village children walking to school; I didn’t have apples, but started to enjoy pineapple, mangosteen and langsat- fruits I hardly ate back home.

Now that my 3 weeks here are over, and I am about to leave, I finally understand how life here is not only possible, but beautiful too.

As time goes by, what may be considered frugal becomes beautifully simple; what may be considered spartan becomes rustic; what may seem boring (no cinemas, malls or sport complexes here) comes to life with a little creativity.

Perhaps, purpose and gratitude truly make all the difference. Perhaps, being rich is a matter of perspective. Perhaps, joy really does depend on one’s inner haven and not on external circumstances. With thanksgiving and a pure heart, rotting wood can become a raft, simplicity can become beauty, and suffering can become divine.

“Sure, life back home is more comfortable, but we’re happier here.” Dr. Y and his wife, 12 years his senior, said they wouldn’t be happier anywhere else. It seems to be the sentiment of all the doctors here, too.

So as I thought about the raft and the meals we had, the inconveniences, the homes I saw, and my longing for my old way of life, I saw how how heading out here by myself would be absolutely impossible. But with God and His provision- for His assurance, for a like-minded spouse, a family, strength and trust, life here serving the poor, could not only be possible, but abundant, too.

There're no malls here, but there is peace. I don't have my roadbike, but there're hills to hike, jungle trails to climb. There aren't art galleries or big bookstores or museums to visit, but there's God's creation written in the heavens at every sunset.

People here don't have a lot, but have life in abundance anyway. Serving the poor, can be fulfilling beyond words.

I suppose, it's just a matter of perspective.

" ... for I have learned, in whatever state I am,

to be content:

I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound.

Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry,

both to abound and to suffer need.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

- Phillipians 4:11-13

"Blessed is he who has regard for the poor...

... he will be blessed on the earth..."

-Psalm 41: 1-2