tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17713665184263691262024-02-20T07:16:06.585-06:00Beyond ImaginationCatherine Rivard serving with Wycliffe Bible Translators as a linguist/translator in Papua New Guinea invites you to look beyond your imagination as you follow life with her among Bibleless people groups in the world.Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.comBlogger333125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-44878127868952021632017-10-20T15:12:00.001-05:002018-11-24T18:03:16.936-06:00Ever Recorded in a Toilet?<br />
Have you ever recorded in a toilet?<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthtl5ytRHnPl0iFNEuFqdK56Ix0kE8LT9n48YI-0DZ32x1342C-nYZabF7w-kdYm62KI3WRHVzTUAfljcdY2J336vZootcmvE-XUTu1njXActqFf9KBqEdMcomcb_HhMI8lzw3_B6HfpU/s1600/IMG_2004+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthtl5ytRHnPl0iFNEuFqdK56Ix0kE8LT9n48YI-0DZ32x1342C-nYZabF7w-kdYm62KI3WRHVzTUAfljcdY2J336vZootcmvE-XUTu1njXActqFf9KBqEdMcomcb_HhMI8lzw3_B6HfpU/s320/IMG_2004+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Receiving a New Testament in her own language!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/3wpnorhuy2foh0p/C.%20Rivard%20Newsletter%20Oct%202017%20online.pdf?dl=0" target="_blank">You can read more about those adventures in my latest newsletter,</a> along with some important updates about life, health, and job. You can also access this newsletter and other ones on my <a href="http://www.catherinerivard.com/p/newsletters.html#.WepYKohrzIV" target="_blank">Newsletter Archive page on this blog. </a><br />
<br />It's a privilege, not a right, when we get to glimpse behind the curtain and see what God is doing in our lives...and sometimes that is only after many years.<br />
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Last year, Alan had just such an experience.<br />
<br />
Alan was in the process of recording the Gospel of Mark when he realized he was one man short...and his only volunteer was not a good option.<br />
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<a href="https://thepngexperience.wordpress.com/2017/03/13/the-right-man-for-the-job/" target="_blank">You can read more about this story on the PNG Experience here. </a>Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-27220162871404677842017-04-26T09:29:00.002-05:002017-04-26T09:30:04.996-05:00Newsletters and Narnia<script type="text/javascript">var addthis_config = {"data_track_addressbar":true};</script> The<i> Chronicles of Narnia</i> are one of my favourite series of books. My dad started reading them aloud to me when I was around four years old, and they've been an integral part of my life ever since. Recently I've begun my traditional yearly pilgrimage through the books with a friend, and we've found ourselves sitting with the Pevensie children around the Beaver's dinner table, listening to that marvelous prophecy about Aslan, the coming King.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,<br />At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,<br />When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,<br />And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.”
</i> <br />
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(Lewis, 79)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo courtesy of Jan Magne Sæther, freeimages.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sometimes it feels like winter can be endless--especially here in Minnesota when snow can still fall in May. After the long trudge through those monochromatic seasons of life where it's "always winter, never Christmas," you wonder if Aslan will ever come, if there will ever be green and crocuses and warmth and open windows. But there is an end to winter, a death to winter, a defeat to winter. And we live in the anticipation, the assurance, of that coming spring! Happy Easter!<br />
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<a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/r3h5i1k6xj8judz/C.%20Rivard%20Newsletter%20Apr%202017%20online%20version.pdf?dl=0" target="_blank">You can check out my newsletter here</a><a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/r3h5i1k6xj8judz/C.%20Rivard%20Newsletter%20Apr%202017%20online%20version.pdf?dl=0" target="_blank"> </a>(don't forget to read the second page!) or <a href="http://www.catherinerivard.com/p/newsletters.html#.WQCjZsa1vIW" target="_blank">you can explore my newsletter archive page </a>(dropbox changed some settings recently, so the broken links have now all been fixed).<br />
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Lewis, C.S. <i>The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. </i>Scholastic, 1995.<script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/250/addthis_widget.js#pubid=makana" type="text/javascript"></script> <script type="text/javascript">
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<br />Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-54962525393911200582017-04-10T15:23:00.001-05:002018-11-24T19:15:28.416-06:00A God Who BearsIt’s Palm Sunday, and little girls in twirly dresses with giant bows run around the church waving palm fronds. The worship team declares the joy of this day—our King has come! And, for the first time in eight months, when the congregation rises to go forward to take communion, I walk with them. I can’t stop grinning—what a day for my diet restrictions to finally loosen enough that I might drink the grape juice (though not the bread yet)!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJazUQW_ctE3K0tnhuvICi1w8chr2JDe__DpXiNEiZ4iY4Fe7tSIO4m7bjROMO_i-THgxUtERjCYFOZbKVdMZAs6XaKzreu8gGFedMwokTvlRaPfLF8n6S-MZaf5AUsbTmCWXQcmnyr0vW/s1600/communion-1328820-1920x1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJazUQW_ctE3K0tnhuvICi1w8chr2JDe__DpXiNEiZ4iY4Fe7tSIO4m7bjROMO_i-THgxUtERjCYFOZbKVdMZAs6XaKzreu8gGFedMwokTvlRaPfLF8n6S-MZaf5AUsbTmCWXQcmnyr0vW/s320/communion-1328820-1920x1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Gary Scott, www.freeimages.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What was it like for the disciples—to see their <i>rabbi </i>lift the cup, lift the bread before them in the age old tradition of Passover? And then, suddenly, the script changes, and the lamb that substituted for the Israelites generations before is reclining next to them at the table, speaking <i>now </i>into the words of history.<br />
<br />
This is my body broken for you.<br />
<br />
This is my blood shed for you.<br />
<br />
<i>This suffering, this punishment you deserve is not something you can carry</i>, He says. <i>And so I take this burden. </i><br />
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And eyes wide open, the sweat dripping blood in anguish, He walks into darkness and bears.<br />
<br />
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor and theologian who spent time in a Nazi concentration camp before being executed, writes, “Suffering must be borne in order for it to pass. Either the world must bear it and be crushed by it, or it falls on Christ and is overcome in him. That is how Christ suffers as vicarious representative for the world. Only his suffering brings salvation. But the church-community itself knows now that the world’s suffering seeks a bearer. So in following Christ, the suffering falls upon it, and it bears the suffering while being borne by Christ.” (65)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Qk4tmqVfAxe9O640DAh6ZCH8cyBO9G-9qY8xOahJqHkjzxD7VR-pSXaf8xQeK4MNy-6ph0LTuvAZedNk1r_RQG56A1qTilhFyjX_JZOeRB3jWQ0jjINtgSYQP9p4iuErVPLJddA-rd2j/s1600/communion-1-1458089-640x480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Qk4tmqVfAxe9O640DAh6ZCH8cyBO9G-9qY8xOahJqHkjzxD7VR-pSXaf8xQeK4MNy-6ph0LTuvAZedNk1r_RQG56A1qTilhFyjX_JZOeRB3jWQ0jjINtgSYQP9p4iuErVPLJddA-rd2j/s320/communion-1-1458089-640x480.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image by Marcus Buckner, www.freeimages.com</td></tr>
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I didn’t expect the tears as I finally took this thimbleful of juice, this symbol of <i>bearing</i>. There’s been minimal progress on the medical front—tests have been screwed up, results misinterpreted, specialists flummoxed. I’ve been too tired to do much more than manage life, much less blog. The other week one of the medical professionals (30 in the last 4 years—I just counted) summed up the general frustration as he stood up from his rolling chair to leave, “You’ll likely just be sick for the rest of your life, and probably never know what’s wrong. Sucks, doesn’t it?”<br />
<br />
<br />
<i></i><br />
<i>This is my body broken for you.</i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i>This is my blood shed for you.</i><br />
<br />
This is me bearing your suffering.<br />
<br />
This is your invitation to follow me, to imitate me. <i>To bear.</i><br />
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Paul muses, “Yes, we live under constant danger of death because we serve Jesus, so that the life of Jesus will be evident in our dying bodies. So we
live in the face of death, but this has resulted in eternal life for
you.” <i>(2 Corinthians 4:11-12) </i><br />
<br />
To bear while being borne—to let this sometimes aching walk be allowed the privilege of bearing in imitation… well, then Lord, may it be. <br />
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So I drink the grape juice and cry and laugh, and stumble through Holy Week toward Easter, when bearing fades beneath joy and uncertainty is swallowed up by assurance and death falls before life.<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="citation_text">Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. "Bearing Suffering." <i>Be
Still, My Soul: Embracing God's Purpose and Provision in Suffering: 25
Classic and Contemporary Readings on the Problem of Pain</i>. Ed. Nancy Guthrie. Wheaton: Crossway, 2010. 65. Print. </span>Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-72891232206182249692017-01-06T17:11:00.000-06:002018-11-24T19:16:10.163-06:00Walking Between Verses<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicOlp6xor-6YLQAuyiGHAxOV8Ea-l1334b3oVZrV18HB7FgoqMAZcJGxks2qZYthnwcMfHCHzsRYiHokHaNlpIupFdzyK29b-Spj_USHaHpkA67bNgP1H_VMSGRNAvSQ_kot31sY4sMHba/s1600/DSC01879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicOlp6xor-6YLQAuyiGHAxOV8Ea-l1334b3oVZrV18HB7FgoqMAZcJGxks2qZYthnwcMfHCHzsRYiHokHaNlpIupFdzyK29b-Spj_USHaHpkA67bNgP1H_VMSGRNAvSQ_kot31sY4sMHba/s320/DSC01879.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes it's a balancing act!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Today is a Psalm 6 sort of day.</i> It is not really a surprise for me—it’s the day after a doctor appointment, and nothing quite rocks my emotional equilibrium than yet another opportunity to scrutinize in explicit detail everything that’s not quite right, and then realize that the laundry list is actually <i>longer </i>then the last time. But my ever-optimistic doctor scribbles with her red pen and comes up with a new regime of <i>more </i>medicine and <i>more</i> diet trickiness and <i>more </i>things for me to try, and it sounds beyond exhausting and overwhelming. “Come back in a month,” she says. “We’ll see if this makes a difference one way or another.” <i> </i><br />
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<i>If my life was a movie, or a book,</i> I grumbled to myself, <i>we’d sum up this whole period in one or two sentences or maybe 10 seconds of film clips dubbed over with sad violin music! </i>After all, we want to get to the climax quickly—skip the tedious journey and arrive at that moment of victory when the unlikely hero turns the battle, when lovers are reunited, when evil is finally defeated. When there is <i>an end</i>.<br />
<br />
Even Luke, the author of Acts, condenses time: <i>Then Peter took the lame man by the right hand and helped him up. And as he did, the man’s feet and ankles were instantly healed and strengthened….For everyone was praising God for this miraculous sign—the healing of a man who had been lame for <b>more than forty years</b>. (Acts 3:7; 4:21b-22)</i><br />
That 41st New Year’s when he finally had his legs back must have been a joyous moment—<i>look what happened this year! God healed me! I can walk!</i> But I wonder, what about the forty years previous…when the calendar flipped over without resolution and the future was as grey and hazy as the past?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RL_pS6Q9_WPEPOIJsJauYnZ8u8QWIrCYAWCBW8CTpXnXJ5I7u9LsZzdawjuHh1PfAQERdbe9R1d8dTgrNVkf9D_qnjPrVwaubEoujXv_urgNuC7dzDADq9ZPXCjD5-Agv8guNhqDJO9C/s1600/morobe+panoram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RL_pS6Q9_WPEPOIJsJauYnZ8u8QWIrCYAWCBW8CTpXnXJ5I7u9LsZzdawjuHh1PfAQERdbe9R1d8dTgrNVkf9D_qnjPrVwaubEoujXv_urgNuC7dzDADq9ZPXCjD5-Agv8guNhqDJO9C/s1600/morobe+panoram.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A long walk through the mountains (Morobe Province)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It can be a long walk between verses—a walk of forty years perhaps to beg lame beside that Temple, to trudge through the pain of broken relationships, to live in failing bodies and weeping hearts, to wander through the paths of injustice and see evil explode in airport gunfire and human trafficking.<br />
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It’s a walk that can have Psalm 6 sort of days.<br />
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Sometimes I think we like to pretend the laments are some muffled minor note in the back of the orchestra—they don’t fit nicely along with our tambourines and <i>joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart</i> and cards plastered with serene, sinless lakes. They aren’t <i>pretty</i>. They aren’t the <i>climax</i>. They are the tedium, the middle, the long walk.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6KxTON8IGS-5hzruEjs2W_g1Fb-NFEJwERI3RQNs5Rz1Ux2DeAnD-XMFU1NMv4G5XHnf4ncio5dl9gNOCrZeXaBEW6Eovc19dGk4sRvmGG75MbWYsB3vadEr3mT9c6Plgwu1m-Om0JTMV/s1600/Petterson+Gulf+%2528293%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6KxTON8IGS-5hzruEjs2W_g1Fb-NFEJwERI3RQNs5Rz1Ux2DeAnD-XMFU1NMv4G5XHnf4ncio5dl9gNOCrZeXaBEW6Eovc19dGk4sRvmGG75MbWYsB3vadEr3mT9c6Plgwu1m-Om0JTMV/s320/Petterson+Gulf+%2528293%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes there is a lot of mud, like here in Gulf Province </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> (photo by Debbie Petterson)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But, they are beautiful. Because we have a God who is not intimidated by the heart-cries of Psalm 6 or Psalm 88. We have Immanuel, <i>God with us</i>, who came down to slog in the mud—to touch lepers and writhe under thorns and agonize from betrayal and grieve bitterly at the death of friends. <i>Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani</i>, He cried. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"<br />
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An eternity for Him between those verses. An ending for us.<br />
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“Teach us to number our days,” Moses says in Psalm 90, “so we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Teach us to look around and see our death in full view, so we might walk as <i>light</i>.<br />
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We love resolutions because we are made for them—because our Lord dipped down into the depths of Psalm 6 <i>and answered</i>. Our aching walk might span the entire prelude of this life before conclusion—or perhaps only forty New Year’s. But one day the lame will dance, the tears will dry, and the chains of this world will fall away—and there will be an end<br />
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which is just the beginning. <i>Hallelujah</i>.Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-52862578958769591652016-12-31T11:04:00.000-06:002018-11-24T19:16:36.350-06:00Not Plan B<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRc3ZaF1xnlXDFPaenDzRqUIe0Kiy9Bak8pAyz73_eleojvm8bhK3r0Hg6tJmqfSAmfmNG2XwXLsK6hk5o18OYzNjFlNy2T_CfWbG3mjW4e49thGnoU1-fPyPJfWqDm0ItKwp6_CAOCyG/s1600/waiting-room-1-1526405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRc3ZaF1xnlXDFPaenDzRqUIe0Kiy9Bak8pAyz73_eleojvm8bhK3r0Hg6tJmqfSAmfmNG2XwXLsK6hk5o18OYzNjFlNy2T_CfWbG3mjW4e49thGnoU1-fPyPJfWqDm0ItKwp6_CAOCyG/s320/waiting-room-1-1526405.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image from freeimages.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A cheery voice erupted from the TV above me, startling me out of that glassy-eyed daze that descends after sitting in one too many medical waiting rooms. “I decided that if I was going to die,” the doctor’s recorded voice proclaimed, “It was going to be <i>on my terms</i>. I’d die with <i>good </i>health, not from bad. The power of positive thinking enables my body to be healthy and whole—and if you choose, you can too!” <br />
<br />
I blinked. <i>Was he serious?</i> But fire-red brochures pasted on the clinic’s doors echoed the sales pitch: Don’t <i>settle </i>for the life that you have today—accepting it is a form of slavery! You’re <i>entitled </i>to something better. Choose the power of the mind. Choose freedom!<br />
Suffering, our culture says, is something to be eluded, rejected, and if it happens to catch you in the gut like a hard-thrown dodge ball, all the onlookers cluck their tongues in surprise.<i> Duck faster next time! </i>So we eat the latest “superfood” and read books on restoring relationships and try the essential oils and put on our seat belts in our great attempt to delay death and sidestep suffering, but when those bedfellows finally ring at our door, we stare in bewildered shock. <i>Wasn’t I positive enough? Didn’t I deserve something else?</i><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAFibSaeN3cK1-MzNZ9P9Cw1j6aEnwust7mFRYfZirdQfv5FRkF8BEnGtjkhxzlNJa6mWR8-gntCTnj0wXU4n4dFWBasyBTA_CMY7uTjonygWFryJi69kZZOhtbcstBGXNAGx9asNLZO-/s1600/P1100559+cropped+resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAFibSaeN3cK1-MzNZ9P9Cw1j6aEnwust7mFRYfZirdQfv5FRkF8BEnGtjkhxzlNJa6mWR8-gntCTnj0wXU4n4dFWBasyBTA_CMY7uTjonygWFryJi69kZZOhtbcstBGXNAGx9asNLZO-/s320/P1100559+cropped+resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bridge collapse was a problem. But not a surprise.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But in places like Papua New Guinea, suffering is seen as a matter of course. With few conveniences to provide an illusion of control, ugliness and joy stand visible together. Not a person walks through life unmarked—why waste time on surprise? This is the world we live in—one that is dark and fallen and corrupt, and no power of the mind can gild into entitled wholeness that child’s distress, that blood-soaked country ripped by war, that brain tumor, that man hiding for his life from sorcery, that grieving widow.<br />
<br />
<i>Choose freedom</i>, he said. As if challenges and illness snuck up in God’s and my blind spot, and because I didn’t swerve fast enough, think positively enough, I now am living in the slavery of a cosmic Plan B.<br />
<br />
But I am already free.<br />
<br />
For my trust is not in the script that I think my life should follow, but in the Author Himself. And thus, this is no Plan B.<br />
<br />
<i>Dear friends, </i>Peter writes in his first letter, <i>don’t be surprised at the fiery trials you are going through, as if something strange were happening to you.</i> God’s ultimate aim isn’t our happiness nor is life an obstacle course to navigate unscathed, but perhaps instead it’s a vehicle that He may choose to use to show Christ <i>in </i>our weakness instead of in our <i>escape </i>from it. And for me, that is freedom, for now suddenly instead of trying to follow Him in spite of my weakness, my weakness is part of how I follow Him.<br />
<br />
<i>We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus <b>so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.</b> (2 Cor. 4:8-10)</i><br />
<br />
And that’s a beautiful Plan A.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>We follow a scarred Captain</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Should we not have scars?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Under his faultless orders</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>We follow to the wars.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Lest we forget, Lord, when we meet,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Show us Thy hands and feet.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Amy Carmichael</span></div>
<br />Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-69819061153499565512016-12-08T09:18:00.001-06:002018-11-24T19:17:23.215-06:00Not Weak Enough<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiK5KhP6kVwTQWnRk6O9Pwd5rnXXx31Ud-7GpO297ybRGt0g2izWimhELG_SWvDLOcrXvTQArQD3_B2exY30xU_BKucQjYjljzAbQ5Slsk3pSTv652Kjnx41Kk3GSvbldDCpcqtEJ6mrgf/s1600/IMG_1381.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiK5KhP6kVwTQWnRk6O9Pwd5rnXXx31Ud-7GpO297ybRGt0g2izWimhELG_SWvDLOcrXvTQArQD3_B2exY30xU_BKucQjYjljzAbQ5Slsk3pSTv652Kjnx41Kk3GSvbldDCpcqtEJ6mrgf/s320/IMG_1381.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James, an excellent carpenter and translator (photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
“Sister, the roof on the translation office is leaking.”<br />
<br />
I looked across the table at James, one of the Kamano-Kafe translators, and bit my lip in frustration. <i>What was I supposed to do about this? </i><br />
<br />
He waited patiently as I grappled for an answer. “Umm, okay…yes. How bad is it?”<i> Maybe it was just a small leak.</i><br />
<br />
“It’s pooling on the floor. We need to fix it immediately.<br />
<i><br />
Of course.</i> Such is life in Papua New Guinea’s (PNG) rainy season.<br />
<br />
When Rich and Joyce, the primary advisers to the Kamano-Kafe language group, were getting ready to return to the US for a year-long home assignment, they asked if I’d be willing to take over the administration and translation advising of the program in their absence. It seemed like an ideal fit, since my chronic Lyme disease meant I needed to remain in Ukarumpa (our linguistic centre) instead of in a village, and the Kamano-Kafe translators already came into Ukarumpa every week. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTt6yh2L5N__E95-U5TBA7CjjAgdM2x2KwBglM4s0OSfJfNp5kqHFRh-EOohN7ampGM4OgumfwiX-RK9yjjZZaV9eZgjzjZewoCUMOdEaLTpj6a6-IBlxkn30kCpSHT8KPeUUsmSglmgo/s1600/IMG_1364.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTt6yh2L5N__E95-U5TBA7CjjAgdM2x2KwBglM4s0OSfJfNp5kqHFRh-EOohN7ampGM4OgumfwiX-RK9yjjZZaV9eZgjzjZewoCUMOdEaLTpj6a6-IBlxkn30kCpSHT8KPeUUsmSglmgo/s320/IMG_1364.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard at work at translation! (Photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
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And so, I found myself, a young, single female (thus holding very low innate status in PNG culture), who could some days barely crawl out of bed, somehow sitting at a table with a team of very experienced, older male pastors and community leaders. And I was not only supposed to provide leadership and guidance (in a culturally-appropriate manner) for the translation project, but also for the enormous complex set of project finances, local language material sales and distribution, the business-as-mission coffee project, the maintenance of the dozen or so computers, and the newly opened trade store, all after only a few hours of orientation. And now, when my brain was fried and my body was crying for rest, I needed to know about fixing roofs. <i>I just can’t do this, Lord! </i><br />
<br />
I turned back to James.<br />
<br />
“Well, I guess I will have to put a work-order into our construction department, but…” I sighed, “We’ve recently lost the manager, and they are very overworked, and I’m not sure when they’re going to be able to get here to fix it…I can send it in today, and we’ll see what happens, but I don’t know anything about roofs so…”<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAyeWpA9QZ-niB8U4BCmYi1yZduRgGJ-azWz3bpNIJ64HBJZMzZyB1FkTN7LxbqmtB8ktxAnl_BrMVSIZ6yUq9-wUb8SnvJx9A8FujpL5zcRT2RlkTOx2JJJxacfl0Vma-8iFteP4Ddjr/s1600/fixing+canteen+roof.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAyeWpA9QZ-niB8U4BCmYi1yZduRgGJ-azWz3bpNIJ64HBJZMzZyB1FkTN7LxbqmtB8ktxAnl_BrMVSIZ6yUq9-wUb8SnvJx9A8FujpL5zcRT2RlkTOx2JJJxacfl0Vma-8iFteP4Ddjr/s320/fixing+canteen+roof.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James fixing the translation office's roof</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
“No, no.” James shook his head, “I’ll just fix it. Don’t worry, Sister.” He smiled at me, and the man who worked as a highly sought-after carpenter when he wasn’t serving in translation promptly disappeared out the door.<br />
<br />
I’m good at giving God my strengths. After all, since He gave them to me, I expect He has plans for them to further His kingdom. We pick careers that play to our strengths and fill out spiritual gift inventories so we know if we ought to serve in the church nursery or not. We shore up weak walls and strengthen weak muscles. Tok Pisin, the trade language of PNG, doesn’t even have a general word for <i>weak</i>. We just say <i>nogat strong</i> or “not strong.” And when I hand God my weaknesses, it’s so He can transform them into strengths. “Teach me patience, O God.”<br />
<br />
But what if God wanted to use my weakness…and leave it weak?<br />
<br />
I’m good at handing God my strengths.<br />
<br />
And yet He says, <i>My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.</i><br />
<br />
A few weeks after the roof incident, James walked up to me. "Sister, the drainage around the office isn't working. I've drawn up plans for how we need to reroute it, I'm bringing a team of guys from my village on Thursday to dig the ditches. I'll be supervising them and providing the materials and tools, and I'll keep track of their time sheets. You just need to sign the receipts."<br />
<br />
From that point on, I watched as the team took more and more responsibility for the project…from managing the coffee program to organizing and selling Bibles at a Christmas camp to dealing with a disciplinary issue to maintaining the office and administrating themselves. And me? The longer I worked with them, the sicker and weaker I got. There never was a transformation of weakness into strength. And yet despite the setbacks and shortcomings, the Lord blessed our translation as we worked through Leviticus, Deuteronomy, and part of Joshua.<br />
<br />
Before he left, Rich shared with me his desire that the Kamano-Kafe community would take more ownership and responsibility within the project and that we would do less (important in Papua New Guinean culture to increase the acceptance and effectiveness of a translation). “We need to pray God will make it happen,” he said, because our best ideas and efforts weren’t quite making the impact.<br />
<br />
I guess we just didn’t know how weak we really had to be.<br />
<br />
----------<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This foolish plan of God is wiser than the wisest of human plans, and God’s weakness is stronger than the greatest of human strength.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br />
Remember, dear brothers and sisters, that few of you were wise in the world’s eyes or powerful or wealthy when God called you. Instead, God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful. God chose things despised by the world, things counted as nothing at all, and used them to bring to nothing what the world considers important. As a result, no one can ever boast in the presence of God.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>1 Corinthians 1:25-29 </i></div>
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<br />
<br />Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-86927260983758946222016-11-30T15:13:00.002-06:002018-11-24T19:17:54.812-06:00The Tin Man, a Potato, and Hope<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmIAhihTzIRs2CJ-4wdq-jN86CNlF8u2dZyZH5bqHJzZ6DoNYKy8NShBIJT7SrN2s_FDDuscpsP62HDB1_KhHOEzq15R7PghxF-WC47Qb0mc0oE4BSUa_PCzyXxw82juwoyDVUi0ncVMAM/s1600/36cb174c375ccba109449104ea612564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmIAhihTzIRs2CJ-4wdq-jN86CNlF8u2dZyZH5bqHJzZ6DoNYKy8NShBIJT7SrN2s_FDDuscpsP62HDB1_KhHOEzq15R7PghxF-WC47Qb0mc0oE4BSUa_PCzyXxw82juwoyDVUi0ncVMAM/s320/36cb174c375ccba109449104ea612564.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me today! Pinterest has some of the most </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hilariously funny chronic illness memes! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Now this is ironic…</i><br />
<br />
The fork slips out of my hand again onto the counter. I will my stiff fingers to move, to somehow pick it back up again and then shuffle back to my desk carrying my lunch with unbending knees and elbows. Chronic Lyme disease as well as the side-affects from its treatment causes joints to ache and stiffen painfully, and today the flare-up is worse than it has ever been before.<br />
<br />
<i>Of course, on the day when I get to eat a potato… </i>Today is my 12-hour window to try the food after 9 weeks of deprivation to see how my body reacts, and I can’t stop giggling hysterically as I can’t seem to even hold the knife to cut off a glorious tasty piece. Finally, I just stab the whole thing and gnaw off a bite.<br />
<br />
<i>Heavenly! </i>And as I chew the blissful food, I stare at my computer screen, pondering how I’m going to stiff-finger type out a blog post to introduce my most recent newsletter and health update. <i>Maybe the topic of “Thanksgiving,” would be appropriate…after all, I’m trying out potato!</i><br />
Maybe, as we just celebrated the first Sunday of Advent, I should focus on Hope.<br />
<br />
Or maybe both—because for me, it is in the <b>confident presence </b>of hope that I can <i>give </i>thanks…and it’s the<b> expression of thanksgiving</b> that allows me to <i>live </i>in that hope.<br />
<br />
I have recently been reading an encouraging and challenging book called <i>Be Still My Soul: Embracing God’s Purpose and Provision in Suffering</i> edited by Nancy Guthrie. In her introduction, Nancy writes, “Holding on to hope, for us, has not been a vague, sentimental experience. It has been an ongoing choice to believe God’s Word…. I am not holding onto hope in terms of a positive perspective about the future or an innate sense of optimism, but rather holding on to the living person of Jesus Christ” (11).<br />
<br />
Six months ago I wandered back to the US from a third world country and found to my surprise, that I had not left turmoil behind. Instead, the world’s eternal ache was groaning here too, shouting and flailing for something, anything, that might allow them to stand in confidence, to look toward the future in hope.<br />
<br />
A hope that’s already here—and is more than just a platitude on a greeting card or a carved Christmas sign, but living and breathing and flowing through the moments of our lives until all we need to do is choose.<br />
<br />
And so I reach out with two weak and aching hands that can barely grasp a fork and cling to this Man, to rest in the confidence of His promises and bask in their light that makes whether or not I’ll be able to eat a potato again (<i>probably not for a while</i>) fade into the background<br />
.<br />
Because on those days that my hands stiffen like Tin Man and I can’t hold on anymore, it doesn’t matter. Because He’s hanging onto me.<br />
<br />
And so I give thanks.<br />
<br />
<br />
------<br />
<i>Check out my most recent newsletter by<a href="https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/9842081/C.%20Rivard%20November%202016%20Newsletter--online.pdf" target="_blank"> clicking on this link</a>. If you’d like to receive my newsletters by email (or read archived ones), <a href="http://www.catherinerivard.com/p/newsletters.html#.WD8-o1yYV_l" target="_blank">head over to my Newsletter page</a> and submit your email address there.</i><br />
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Guthrie, Nancy, ed. <i>Be Still, My Soul: Embracing God's Purpose and Provision in Suffering: 25 Classic and Contemporary Readings on the Problem of Pain. </i>Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2010. Print.Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-31243684832488577112016-11-18T15:51:00.001-06:002018-11-24T19:18:11.001-06:00Autumn Cathedral<i>I wrote the following blog post back in early October, when I was still processing through what it might mean to remain in the US to deal with my health issues. Unfortunately, I was too sick at the time I wrote it to actually post it on here. So here it is now :)</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>--------------------</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>“All people are like grass,<br /> and all their glory is like the flowers of the field;<br />the grass withers and the flowers fall,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i> but the word of the Lord endures forever.</i><br />
<i>1 Peter 1:24-25</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkfO0sU4fZ2fCgSmvLFarr_Sq-FRpiySrg15KPedv4SxnEUEf3vZaC4l3_xTG-zDPM0217RoRXoNQUnI6vEoG8xOOgjd-91-y-bjDAMIUukYG3n3JA_P0Gaf9K6-t-X4FmrAySs2sHHGd/s1600/fall_review.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkfO0sU4fZ2fCgSmvLFarr_Sq-FRpiySrg15KPedv4SxnEUEf3vZaC4l3_xTG-zDPM0217RoRXoNQUnI6vEoG8xOOgjd-91-y-bjDAMIUukYG3n3JA_P0Gaf9K6-t-X4FmrAySs2sHHGd/s320/fall_review.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Image courtesy of Wetcanvas</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The sun dips lower until the oak and maple trunks spiderweb like lead came across a forest of stained glass. I sit beneath this everlasting cathedral, until my hands and face are covered in golds, oranges, greens, reds, and I try to hold the moment, like a piece of chocolate on my tongue.<br />
<br />
Time passes quickly here in Minnesota. After five years in a country without definite seasons, I find spring, summer, and now autumn slipping past my skin like silk and I can barely catch my breath.<br />
<i>Hurry, hurry, hurry</i>, the breeze whispers through the wind chimes. <i>Winter is coming. This will soon be over. Hurry.</i><br />
<br />
Didn’t I just touch down on this continent—it can’t be time to leave yet, is it?<br />
<br />
Originally, I was supposed to head back to Papua New Guinea at beginning of November, but my bags remain unpacked and tickets unpurchased. As a result of my chronic Lyme disease and other co-infections, I will be remaining<i> </i>in the United States for some months until my team of medical professionals has diagnosed, treated, and is confident in my recovery.<br />
<br />
And so, I wait. And I wonder, as I watch the breeze peel off the birch leaves, the summer-green dreams dying in a blaze of orange fire—does it hurt when they fall to the earth?<br />
<br />
<i>Undefined </i>stretches out before me. After years of ferocious solo life and travel, I can no longer live independently, and I attempt, grateful, to slide back into the rhythm of living at my parents’ house. Fatigue dictates new, limited rules for driving. Old hobbies take too much energy. My job, languages, calling waits 8,000 miles across an ocean while I sit, with a tremor, in a country that I don’t quite recognize as mine. After five years, old friends have drifted and coursed new paths like a river delta. And I remember what it is to live in the United States: people tucked into their houses and scheduled out 3 weeks, rather than a 20m walk between hanging ropes of bananas to borrow a cup of sugar. The five stages of grief, of loss, ripple through me, and I take a deep breath through my nose of winter-coming death, of loam and wood rot and wet leaves.<br />
<br />
Golden bits of aspen rain to the ground like confetti, as the glint of a fox’s tail disappears into the weeds. On the equator, time passes from green to green. But here, a vibrant glory before death, and the leaves flutter through my fingers, ready to be trampled underfoot, ripped from the tree’s hands.<br />
<br />
Or…<i>released</i>?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7zQKX-e7Csp3WUA-HelYJxY9rDyMmmbBB7SLvMsUqAPb4fWEMVAQx4iVBxz9lw9T74x3jSyQOn5IQOVMx4NThI0SEYF3onBdCBFVI5vVWnwV3ikyiyIUHLzWsS8YFXWjF9GDevDU8gqM/s1600/IMG_1634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7zQKX-e7Csp3WUA-HelYJxY9rDyMmmbBB7SLvMsUqAPb4fWEMVAQx4iVBxz9lw9T74x3jSyQOn5IQOVMx4NThI0SEYF3onBdCBFVI5vVWnwV3ikyiyIUHLzWsS8YFXWjF9GDevDU8gqM/s320/IMG_1634.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>image courtesy of Wetcanvas</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is the one oak tree behind our veranda who always tries to skip autumn, tries to hang onto his leaves, until they shrivel brown, shattering at the slightest touch. And when winter bears down and the hoar frost weights the sleeping trees, the waiting trees, they bend and sigh with the knowledge of a coming and better spring…but he<br />
<br />
Cracks.<br />
<br />
And so I kneel on this gilded cathedral mosaic pooling across the ground, gold fit for a King clutched tightly in my fists and<br />
<br />
open my hands.Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-62300888614591364272016-10-15T18:31:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:18:28.610-06:00The Battle of 5 Armies (or more...)<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFzM_jRxecA3Q4cco4vyMCNRNKBKOwF4N3rERqtJlmEZ29ztE5Wpsd0yle0xmDghwX7wtvAC1IkGfcONPOIyXxHgpqN6KHT1aRLmb390_Pf9wK7x5ziGv4FQizGKkJ1aHtn5DeCNwpwKQ/s1600/IMG_4082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFzM_jRxecA3Q4cco4vyMCNRNKBKOwF4N3rERqtJlmEZ29ztE5Wpsd0yle0xmDghwX7wtvAC1IkGfcONPOIyXxHgpqN6KHT1aRLmb390_Pf9wK7x5ziGv4FQizGKkJ1aHtn5DeCNwpwKQ/s320/IMG_4082.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"How Your Body Works" by Usborne</td></tr>
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When I was a kid, we had this biology book produced by Usborne, all about the circulation system. White blood cells were dressed as valiant knights, ferociously defending the townspeople (red blood cells) from the attacking villains (bacteria and viruses and parasites…. which always looked rather like pirates).<br />
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Well, if you’ve been following any of my health journey, you know that this past summer, as I’ve been travelling around the Midwest and sharing with churches, groups, and individuals, I’ve been undergoing a battery of tests with multiple doctors to see what is going on and how to best treat it (including my chronic Lyme disease).<br />
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Chronic illness is tricky to unearth and complicated to treat. There are so many threads buried deep in the system, intertwined and interacting; there’s no one magic pill that can make it all get better. And recovery, if it happens, takes a minimum of months, if not years. After all, I’ve been sick for years. And I know that’s hard to remember—mine is what is called an “invisible illness.” When you see me, I don’t look sick, and I don’t act sick. Or, at least, that’s my goal (I don’t leave my house otherwise). But it means that (most likely) I really don’t feel any better overall than the last time you kindly asked a month ago (or even 6 months ago).<br />
According to my doctors, at first blush, I’ve got multiple giant armies of various parasites, protozoa, and fungi, running around my body, shouting battle cries and staking their flags as conquering invaders. My immune system, despite some valiant efforts a few years ago, has been utterly overrun and finally waved the white flag. And so it sits miserably by, watching the destructive occupation of foreign marauders who have thrown up giant neon welcome signs to all other pirates, neer-do-wells and villains who want an easy place to make a home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJiC5kXJPW7OdB6dd6JHNhitlCciIyzYlCtOBTx3laf_Tz44Pb2ha5H_KZXVAGar2ZE3IGs9ftZzXYOmxWvtM3DFYYrLkWpETIjjGwB3_fyn9VLxBk_knXzWk6WiD1Mis3OMukvUQLmNa/s1600/pirate7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJiC5kXJPW7OdB6dd6JHNhitlCciIyzYlCtOBTx3laf_Tz44Pb2ha5H_KZXVAGar2ZE3IGs9ftZzXYOmxWvtM3DFYYrLkWpETIjjGwB3_fyn9VLxBk_knXzWk6WiD1Mis3OMukvUQLmNa/s320/pirate7.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Argh, come me maties! <i>(image from Wetcanvas.com)</i></td></tr>
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Or, to put it another way, I’m essentially a giant ark, carefully harboring all sorts of little critters inside me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibN-pgp1jgvX8kVcvxfluKA0qHjGmUtk3YUFN5VqP9vs89PX4ovcZb4DI87kvd_iPqLAViW8t5G98myh0rjwM0Fav-KspWC99cB5jgFDiCM2vXOAmar35vxetO55gL2iymWEeTVZkcPa8e/s1600/009-noah-ark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibN-pgp1jgvX8kVcvxfluKA0qHjGmUtk3YUFN5VqP9vs89PX4ovcZb4DI87kvd_iPqLAViW8t5G98myh0rjwM0Fav-KspWC99cB5jgFDiCM2vXOAmar35vxetO55gL2iymWEeTVZkcPa8e/s320/009-noah-ark.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just replace the cute animals with...well, other things. <i>Image from freebibleimages.com</i></td></tr>
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Now that we’ve unearthed at least a few of the components, we’re going to start treatment of some of the parasites and fungi. (According to my doctor, we’re going to send in troops to encourage my immune system and try to take out the advance battalions of the invaders, but it will take more work to get at those command centers buried in the bunkers). We need to hit these before we can effectively go after the chronic Lyme disease (and, as you might expect, the destruction of war inside my body will make me feel quite a bit worse before I’m going to hopefully feel better).<br />
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At the same time, I’ve also spent the last 4 weeks on a very strict elimination diet—about a dozen vegetables, a few fruits, lamb, fish, beef, and almonds (and then at one point, even the fruits were axed…). This is to hopefully promote gut healing as well as to figure out if any of the foods are contributing to Great War inside of me. As you can imagine, it has created its own share of stressors as food prep and planning takes quite a bit more work, it's pretty tricky to accept food from anywhere except my own kitchen, and my whole system is in some very unpleasant turmoil (some of the occupying forces are <i>extremely </i>unhappy with having their food supply lines interrupted). Not to mention, there’s something about extreme deprivation that suddenly makes me hyper-aware of every billboard, restaurant, Facebook ad, TV commercial, Youtube video, and even short story which references food… which then then leads to those moments where I feel like a saber-tooth tiger suddenly released from being frozen in the ice flows AND I WILL DIE IF I DO NOT HAVE A GIANT PIECE OF CHOCOLATE CHEESECAKE.<br />
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But I digress. I get to slowly add new foods (oats! Green beans! Chicken!) back in over the next 2 months, and will hopefully be at normal dietary habits by Christmas.<br />
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In addition to all of this, I get to work with other medical professionals for both routine visits (dentists and eye doctors) and chronic issues (physical therapists and chiropractors to address chronic pain issues). This means, I’ve been averaging 2-4 medical appointments a week for the last few months.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMN7lqjkFkfUQiY7VHKGi-9XjpiXrzSaAs7tpIBSpBEfd-pN0Ub9guTWDrw6ejwRoIbSBijx57AGk5QH1I4ngmJn00JC65zRWpCe8dEL80vsL-U2IFXpgbuJHjBZ-iGWCUHRXdTTK_LUMQ/s1600/20_Aug_2011_Battle_of_Bosworth_Agfa_-_137_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMN7lqjkFkfUQiY7VHKGi-9XjpiXrzSaAs7tpIBSpBEfd-pN0Ub9guTWDrw6ejwRoIbSBijx57AGk5QH1I4ngmJn00JC65zRWpCe8dEL80vsL-U2IFXpgbuJHjBZ-iGWCUHRXdTTK_LUMQ/s320/20_Aug_2011_Battle_of_Bosworth_Agfa_-_137_.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We'll defeat them together! <i>(Image from Wetcanvas.com)</i></td></tr>
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As you may have realized by now, I’m not actually returning to Papua New Guinea in two weeks, like I originally had planned. I need to stick around Minnesota with my team of medical professionals for a few months as we lay siege against these armies and hopefully take back some ground and throw up new fortifications. I’ll be sharing more about what this means, how I’ve been processing through it, and how it may affect all of you as we go forward. Right now, I just want to say thank you once again for all your prayers and encouragement through this challenging time. You are the support network that lets me still stay active with Wcyliffe and in Bible translation during this time (such as this month when I’ve had awesome opportunities sharing with college students about what God’s doing in Bible translation! I look forward to visiting more after the holidays!). Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-86918409833848944882016-08-18T13:43:00.002-05:002016-08-18T13:43:22.983-05:00August NewsletterIt's a beautiful Minnesota summer, and I'm enjoying spending time with family and sharing with many churches and groups the work God is doing in Bible translation in Papua New Guinea. Check out my latest newsletter for an update on the health situation and my plans for the rest of this home assignment!<br />
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You can <a href="https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/9842081/C.%20Rivard%20August%202016%20Newsletter--online%20version.pdf" target="_blank">read the newsletter here </a>or go <a href="http://www.catherinerivard.com/p/newsletters.html#.V7YBrTXQ_IV" target="_blank">straight to my newsletter page</a>.<br />
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I look forward to getting back to blogging soon as my speaking schedule slows down! But, I have a few more opportunities to share, so keep <a href="http://www.catherinerivard.com/p/want-to-hear-more-about-work-of-bible.html#.V7YBqDXQ_IV" target="_blank">checking back on my speaking schedule page</a> in order to figure out which one works for your schedule.Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-30897788295548461902016-07-26T08:59:00.003-05:002016-08-06T14:17:24.908-05:00Speaking Schedule in the US!I haven't been able to write much on here because, instead, I've been seeing many of you in person! Right now, I'm in the middle of the craziness of travels and speaking for home assignment, and thus for a person with limited spoons like me (<a href="http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/" target="_blank">"spoon theory"</a> is a lovely explanation of how life works when you have a chronic illness), certain things have to get dropped off...and right now, blogging has been taking a back seat.<br />
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I know I don't look sick (makeup, hair products, and decent clothes are miracle workers!), but in fact, right now my life is rather carefully sculpted between speaking engagements and doctor appointments to ensure survival. Hopefully when things slow down, then I can get back to writing more for all of you!<br />
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This calendar is also saved as a link on the left side bar, so you can always access it with updated information! If you need directions, more information, or you can't make one of these but still want to get together, <a href="mailto:catherine_rivard@wycliffe.org" target="_blank">send me an email</a>!<br />
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<tr> <th>Date and Time</th> <th>Host</th> <th>Location</th> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday, June 12, 9 am</td> <td>Nordland Lutheran Church </td> <td>Paynesville, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday, June 26, 9/10:30 am</td> <td>Oakwood Community Church </td> <td>Waconia, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday, July 10, 8 am/9:20 am</td> <td>Berean Baptist Church </td> <td>Glencoe, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday evening, July 17, 6:30-8 pm</td> <td>Centennial Evangelical Free Church </td> <td>Forest Lake, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday, July 24, 9 am</td> <td>Word of Life Lutheran Church </td> <td>Le Sueur, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Wednesday eve (dessert night), Aug 3, 6-8 pm</td> <td>home </td> <td>Cologne, MN </td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Friday evening, Aug 5, 8:00 pm (7:30 meal)</td> <td><a href="http://salemefc.com/" target="_blank">New Salem Church </a></td> <td>Minneapolis, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday, Aug 7, 10:30 am</td> <td><a href="http://salemefc.com/" target="_blank">New Salem Church</a></td> <td>Minneapolis, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday, Aug 15, 9 am</td> <td><a href="http://gcfmn.org/" target="_blank"><br />
</a> <a href="http://gcfmn.org/" target="_blank">Glory of Christ Fellowship </a>(followed by a picnic)</td> <td>Elk River, MN (at the high school: <span class="_Xbe">900 School St NW, Elk River, MN 55330</span>)</td> </tr>
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</style> <![endif]-->Moeller Park, Apple Valley, MN </td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday, Sept 18</td> <td>Bethany Lutheran Church</td> <td>West Union, IA</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sunday, Sept 25</td> <td><a href="http://ssefc.org/" target="_blank">South Suburban Evangelical Free Church</a></td> <td>Apple Valley, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sep-Oct (TBD)</td> <td><a href="https://www.unwsp.edu/" target="_blank">University of Northwestern-St. Paul</a></td> <td>Arden Hills, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>Sep-Oct (TBD)</td> <td><a href="http://www.crown.edu/" target="_blank">Crown College</a></td> <td>St. Bonifacius, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td>October (TBD)</td> <td><a href="http://www.livingrockchurch.com/" target="_blank">Living Rock Church</a></td> <td>Norwood-Young America, MN</td> </tr>
<tr> <td> November (TBD)</td> <td><a href="http://www.rosehillcma.org/" target="_blank">Rosehill Alliance Church</a></td> <td>Roseville, MN</td> </tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-67547371865250091322016-06-16T14:16:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:19:13.693-06:00Holidaying with Hobbits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-szG-wdnbN2d1EgnJAJYCp0Nk1wEkNVODxP6U45z13Vz20rAr5HRBeOgGToXx3A5asDvBqnqIX_6g_rfvCrlIbttDPVxG1ubkpkyzEe1VuTlYauShhaXTIoQXefaCOcQ-EdBcxPEPhANw/s1600/IMG_3407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-szG-wdnbN2d1EgnJAJYCp0Nk1wEkNVODxP6U45z13Vz20rAr5HRBeOgGToXx3A5asDvBqnqIX_6g_rfvCrlIbttDPVxG1ubkpkyzEe1VuTlYauShhaXTIoQXefaCOcQ-EdBcxPEPhANw/s320/IMG_3407.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
What happens when three friends from Papua New Guinea actually manage to align their schedules so that when one person is flying back from the US and the other two are flying to the US and Canada, they cross paths?<br />
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Why, they stop in New Zealand for 10 days together, of course!<br />
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You may remember discussion about the challenges of going on holidays in Papua New Guinea back in 2015 (<a href="http://www.catherinerivard.com/2015/08/choose-your-own-adventure-part-1.html#.V2L4HTWW3IU" target="_blank">Choose Your Own Adventure Part 1 </a>and <a href="http://www.catherinerivard.com/2015/08/choose-your-own-adventure-part-2-going.html#.V2L4IDWW3IU" target="_blank">Part 2</a>). So when Jessica, Rebekah and I realized we could actually have a <i>real </i>holiday together, we jumped at the chance!<br />
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It was an <i>amazing </i>10 days--it felt like my first true holiday in years, and I was blessed that not only did my energy hold up better than I anticipated, but that I could share life with two such amazing friends. (And I got to see penguins...life is always better when you get to see penguins!)<br />
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Enjoy some photos of the adventures we shared during our whirlwind visit to this gorgeous country.<br />
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What's a trip to New Zealand without visiting Hobbiton?<br />
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It really is an idyllic place.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_rpWREd6xUKbsEBTzxZTzwwozKL3WGEAVklo-4xtf9mLh1O8pp8KnGzXpV5w9WqwlQkx9f1D7IDYbDwfWEo7lc6vPfQX0ejbXfX_K3VmYoB9WUEHg62b6im9YN2ixynjuB_yd_-OSDUeJ/s1600/IMG_3497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_rpWREd6xUKbsEBTzxZTzwwozKL3WGEAVklo-4xtf9mLh1O8pp8KnGzXpV5w9WqwlQkx9f1D7IDYbDwfWEo7lc6vPfQX0ejbXfX_K3VmYoB9WUEHg62b6im9YN2ixynjuB_yd_-OSDUeJ/s320/IMG_3497.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Look, I'm a wizard!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmGtV9luWaca1ufnuXhfInO55w0dstFrnMt3p6xe4Zy8GnJudEoRLkKZdVlU24w6RvIjq_PcrDCQvrC4E22Z7jwpoenD_kqZHe0XnmWHX-0NmPSuI94SNWAzztW0L9JrZRsguqDthJq9F/s1600/IMG_3512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmGtV9luWaca1ufnuXhfInO55w0dstFrnMt3p6xe4Zy8GnJudEoRLkKZdVlU24w6RvIjq_PcrDCQvrC4E22Z7jwpoenD_kqZHe0XnmWHX-0NmPSuI94SNWAzztW0L9JrZRsguqDthJq9F/s320/IMG_3512.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo by Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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Look, I'm a hobbit! (The hobbit holes were built to different scales for various filming needs. Most were only the facades--this was one of the few that you could enter (and it was only a few feet deep!).)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV87Y_aboRcXY3Os9SX61bH1Hbjqg8J2ZwYBBxTHBFQCpUVcaSI3IHsDBPxY5x8eMXZzTzoemWpujJysMOrwQ887L-MUKUs9KWfTNj-TQsud9M3K24wZ5obbgOcMWdJhVefIuyMPdCiEx/s1600/IMG_5352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV87Y_aboRcXY3Os9SX61bH1Hbjqg8J2ZwYBBxTHBFQCpUVcaSI3IHsDBPxY5x8eMXZzTzoemWpujJysMOrwQ887L-MUKUs9KWfTNj-TQsud9M3K24wZ5obbgOcMWdJhVefIuyMPdCiEx/s320/IMG_5352.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've always wanted to see the glowworms of New Zealand ever since I watched some geographic show for kids when I was little. It looked like the caves were covered in stars! Alas, we couldn't take photos inside the caves, but here is the cave exit and the boat that we took through the system.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqdfLRwIqISh40Dqyi-NWxRDfmWm7v577t2GnxrFG2JRE_jeaaWVEgYU2oQiUKfL1gcBGdztos4fpWCYsotQNzgqThJ1_FEnDDkuezP0IzL_8LFUTZCOLudrbCvPKYTK3Hh_7UV3GnIpp/s1600/IMG_3563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqdfLRwIqISh40Dqyi-NWxRDfmWm7v577t2GnxrFG2JRE_jeaaWVEgYU2oQiUKfL1gcBGdztos4fpWCYsotQNzgqThJ1_FEnDDkuezP0IzL_8LFUTZCOLudrbCvPKYTK3Hh_7UV3GnIpp/s320/IMG_3563.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Being linguists, we were thrilled to learn more about Maori culture and language. So, in Rotorua, we visited Te Puia where we watched an amazing cultural show, learned about various Maori traditions, and saw a really cool geyser and bubbling mud pools. (There is so much thermal activity in Rotorua, that we even saw steam coming out of sewer grates on city roads!)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB88sEMVDvgmkZeSnoSR3am-jauqKxkDDf_RVQIyV8WKBteSU7mzDYXYNoO86PllN7rg1LO1OqEhFGcHEfcBhyh1qEnrhFPEV2jIcvwUZMYSAV5yPdq6dP5g8MziBljGHU1JNxm56X6O8N/s320/IMG_5426.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo courtesy of Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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We also went ziplining in Rotorua and learned about the subtropical rainforests of New Zealand. "Hey Catherine, just fall back," they said. "We'll take a picture!" they said.</div>
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Okay.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAb45o4dKrcbPHOQQB5SJayp1gJqwNeD_-Gzhk_R2saENiSMvKl6AnwwJu-ayEVzxBisi7oWtF-5hy76PCkXjLMg0N-rOY_DijoUPGDmdojAxobryMu_Ucai3gm65K3gl1MoKLqQVfD2GO/s320/sm_P1120971.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo courtesy of Rotorua Canopy Tours</i></td></tr>
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"Hey Catherine! Try flipping upside down," they said. "We'll take a picture!" they said.</div>
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Okay. (Apparently I'm very trusting of zipline ropes.)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQu8Hcmi3dpetipMtjqSxyTywoShFBK3opbZAiJvHK6XO2q00QRnuGEQw7Go8DqL9UeNsEmwsWJ6MDcZbk7631jNzF4-8Y9YENeo0KKySoYXps8yJ-uiYgFKwNmKS1gSs9Z7z8cKPXQie/s1600/IMG_5486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQu8Hcmi3dpetipMtjqSxyTywoShFBK3opbZAiJvHK6XO2q00QRnuGEQw7Go8DqL9UeNsEmwsWJ6MDcZbk7631jNzF4-8Y9YENeo0KKySoYXps8yJ-uiYgFKwNmKS1gSs9Z7z8cKPXQie/s320/IMG_5486.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo courtesy of Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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Yay for sheep! New Zealand is famous for it's sheep-farming (and it's merino wool--amazing stuff), so our trip wouldn't have been complete without learning the many different kinds of sheep, the art of shearing, and the many dogs used on sheep stations (including the one that is bred to Never. Stop. Barking. Ever.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04IcgiwZ4u0hmGoFx7KwdSUzWYnFR1UXfhwPUyXyZ4xfQwVC-sJaY27awzMHMnzr6tluHoricDGtwO9P5Xomw24q79dpXaiHd4RKs3qO2r9TPU4KtR0imVD4vz8TVMG3rlBF3k0jH4eQw/s1600/IMG_3635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04IcgiwZ4u0hmGoFx7KwdSUzWYnFR1UXfhwPUyXyZ4xfQwVC-sJaY27awzMHMnzr6tluHoricDGtwO9P5Xomw24q79dpXaiHd4RKs3qO2r9TPU4KtR0imVD4vz8TVMG3rlBF3k0jH4eQw/s320/IMG_3635.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div>
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In the middle of the sheep show, I was called up to milk a cow. Not sure where that came from.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTc2Ny-uuUlvPZqDdnbgDmkKIJJ3n2yBHLuMWmvsU3vNYGKEJIcKxVYm7QxMnwbMbKyyrCgc2qxtpJfGwETViNm9aN-i3Wyz4kHXpEnfOuppQgDseN6hmXhyfsyY5mZnwU6yXNU8iYtJX/s1600/IMG_5530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTc2Ny-uuUlvPZqDdnbgDmkKIJJ3n2yBHLuMWmvsU3vNYGKEJIcKxVYm7QxMnwbMbKyyrCgc2qxtpJfGwETViNm9aN-i3Wyz4kHXpEnfOuppQgDseN6hmXhyfsyY5mZnwU6yXNU8iYtJX/s320/IMG_5530.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo courtesy of Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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After sheep, we were blessed to meet up with a Papua New Guinean colleague now living in the Auckland area. Then we flew down to the South Island where it is, in a word, <i>gorgeous.</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPw5DbpA6eMS6-lOkI7Q13Q2d1hwN9neQ6RzV4JP8Dw68rrUn-lTkz1knCeiiSE7K7UdZcYA13DGfB5HahblqVh_8Zw7CS5XwxXEFm9UzJO4Nin9wB89CkWHFkEmZCMyo5dqFGAeD9omi/s1600/IMG_5702.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPw5DbpA6eMS6-lOkI7Q13Q2d1hwN9neQ6RzV4JP8Dw68rrUn-lTkz1knCeiiSE7K7UdZcYA13DGfB5HahblqVh_8Zw7CS5XwxXEFm9UzJO4Nin9wB89CkWHFkEmZCMyo5dqFGAeD9omi/s320/IMG_5702.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo courtesy of Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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And, for some strange reason, we decided to go white water rafting in frigid glacial water. </div>
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<i>Wave at the camera everyone! </i>(Except me. Because I was too petrified to let go after the long safety briefing about what would happen if I fell out. But Rebekah waved, brave woman.)</div>
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But, the highlight of my trip was definitely the two-day horse trek through the Queenstown area of the South Island (Lord of the Rings fans...this means we saw or rode through the forest where Boromir was killed, the Misty mountains, the mountains of Morder, and Isengard. It's pretty much all as spectacular as you think it would be.)</div>
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I rode Spike, a hardy Appaloosa who had definite opinions about everything.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeKpF6WOMeWSXiJ0wOgWj9KIueHXDaTy3QGevp1HgwBTSykRgmwuaHndVN_ysCAtYWSDjA2QHQPdT9SDVcj2C5BEUiGrDLHaYlJHHP8VMvcfkMiIX4oD1wePITZ7hEtn-c3uuUrG3vUpuZ/s1600/IMG_5606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeKpF6WOMeWSXiJ0wOgWj9KIueHXDaTy3QGevp1HgwBTSykRgmwuaHndVN_ysCAtYWSDjA2QHQPdT9SDVcj2C5BEUiGrDLHaYlJHHP8VMvcfkMiIX4oD1wePITZ7hEtn-c3uuUrG3vUpuZ/s320/IMG_5606.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo courtesy of Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjqIU0CLS6gPPRYJzRB4iZSMb8_996niCgXLgThEtf6Szru1r0YILiM5Ku7eL0ZpSnkqw9opWeH3cMmZBZRGioKgcikEnneh7hSoL-Q1nZBGkYkRUMkWbhzqm7_3PU0_9kiWg7ECwMjl-/s1600/IMG_5686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjqIU0CLS6gPPRYJzRB4iZSMb8_996niCgXLgThEtf6Szru1r0YILiM5Ku7eL0ZpSnkqw9opWeH3cMmZBZRGioKgcikEnneh7hSoL-Q1nZBGkYkRUMkWbhzqm7_3PU0_9kiWg7ECwMjl-/s320/IMG_5686.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo courtesy of Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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See the rainbow! It was actually deathly windy up there and poor Spike was none too pleased about being asked to pose for a photo.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo courtesy of Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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The holiday was exactly what I needed--a chance to leave Papua New Guinea well, take some time to enter the first world (and all its strangeness) with fellow global workers who understood my shock when cars stopped for pedestrians, and have some fun before all the work of home assignment descended upon me. (Sometimes, it's a a great relief to be an average person or a tourist, instead of being the Main Speaker and the Primary Attraction, which is often a missionary's experience as they travel around their home country.) Yay for holidays!<br />
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And now, on to the next adventure! After all, "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbB8sUkY1krKRDfxGHOnHRQSt43tZ5gzgDp9ocycYP8Na8jCSusUOKaSQ5r5cB5NhdqYCqxySgqkUwrYZGDDe_EbFehyphenhyphenQALMr3imZVG7TRigquuyM4vOkEjGDanDl6Z4mJSVNPWXayFIm/s320/IMG_5361.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo by Rebekah Drew</i></td></tr>
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<br />Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-52777503167395616272016-06-02T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:19:31.568-06:0020 MORE Super Cool and Odd Things about Life in the First World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last week I shared 20 things that have stood out to me as I’ve been transitioning back to life in the US for my home assignment after living in Papua New Guinea the last couple of years. But, when I got going, I found I couldn’t stop at 20! So here’s another 20 awesome and bizarre things I’ve noticed about life in the US.<br />
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<li>Cross-walks really work! Cars actually stop! (It took us a while to figure this out in New Zealand…we kept waiting for the car to go and it was sitting there at the crosswalk, waiting for us…)</li>
<li>Birds sing continuously here, and they hop around on the ground (and there are squirrels! And chipmunks!) </li>
<li>I have not yet seen a pack of stray dogs or a mama pig and piglets wandering down a road.</li>
<li>Stores are open on the weekends!</li>
<li>Smartphones are glued to 90% of the left hands that I meet.</li>
<li>Because most of the people you’re trying to contact are in your time zone (or within a couple hours), you don’t have to continuously convert to whatever day it might be elsewhere and have strange notations in your planner telling you what narrow window you have to contact them (including staying up super late). <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMkrephHiAHrBXaFS1KurO8SA2YRGS9_PjrS964bqUBLzJvMOnaiHjPMrmx-iEFRUMLpP2_NEv8rj0QBa2rl2rGDBObhfuUSDYUbJjcqTSNpHCb4lxktEWxJDn4aHPVLtNObhSTLu6jozH/s1600/IMG_3805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMkrephHiAHrBXaFS1KurO8SA2YRGS9_PjrS964bqUBLzJvMOnaiHjPMrmx-iEFRUMLpP2_NEv8rj0QBa2rl2rGDBObhfuUSDYUbJjcqTSNpHCb4lxktEWxJDn4aHPVLtNObhSTLu6jozH/s320/IMG_3805.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's raining, and you can still see all the trees!</td></tr>
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</li>
<li>Towels are fuzzy and soft after being dried in a DRYER!</li>
<li>Some hotels had us swipe our room cards to make the elevators work then again to make the room lights work. I felt like I was on a spaceship. </li>
<li>Wall outlets don’t need to be turned on.</li>
<li>Mosquitoes are small, speedy and chew through your clothes compared to the slow, dumb Paleolithic-sized mosquito-birds of PNG. BUT no one cares, because they don’t carry malaria or dengue or other crazy things.</li>
<li>Windshield wipers, headlights, and brakes usually work! Cars are clean, not rusted, have all their mirrors, (usually) were made in the last 25 years, and are rarely covered in duct tape! </li>
<li>Cars follow the rules of the road. I mean, it’s pretty cool there are even rules in the first place. But they follow them! And there are no potholes! But there are these things called stoplights. And police cars. And stop signs. And sidewalks.</li>
<li>70 mph is really really fast.</li>
<li>I can watch Youtube videos, go on Pinterest, stay connected to the internet for lengths of time, and load pictures on all websites!! WaHOO!</li>
<li>911 exists here. And emergency rooms. </li>
<li>I walked at night and watched lots of other people walk at night, and we all lived! Everyone else seemed to think this was totally legit. (Similarly, we drove at night…!)</li>
<li>There are no bars on windows, people have decorations on their front porches, windows and doors are left open, items are scattered around backyards, and people even leave stuff in the backseat of an unattended car! </li>
<li>Everyone is dressed so…nice.</li>
<li>Vegetables in the supermarket are strange sizes, strange colors, and sometimes, very sadly individually wrapped in plastic. The avocados, in particular, are some of the most pathetic hard little golf balls I’ve seen…<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk2Fnr4WpKZmkZY14eq8N1v8tswi4_F8mbwRiil99o5jkZkScvsdNfcS82fsUZEA08WrZn3gGM8R2VKVx01rdN10iz29U0ZH2Jh8N33fRN1XTUblh12GGPhF00TPUXdXuSeQJefxZB4A_y/s1600/IMG_3804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk2Fnr4WpKZmkZY14eq8N1v8tswi4_F8mbwRiil99o5jkZkScvsdNfcS82fsUZEA08WrZn3gGM8R2VKVx01rdN10iz29U0ZH2Jh8N33fRN1XTUblh12GGPhF00TPUXdXuSeQJefxZB4A_y/s320/IMG_3804.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love nectarines and peaches, but how odd is it that they have little stickers on them!?!!</td></tr>
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</li>
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<li>Grapes, blueberries, watermelon, nectarines, bacon, steak, corn on the cob, and ice cream are all as good as I had imagined them to be…</li>
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Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-74296928449521052742016-05-26T15:59:00.002-05:002018-11-24T19:19:47.561-06:0020 Super Cool and Odd Things about Life in the First World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Like the frog that doesn’t notice he’s boiling in slowly heated water, it’s easy to become immune to the amazing or strange things that surround us all the time. Lucky for me, whenever I swap from one world to another, I get to enjoy observing those little forgotten things over and over again (the rather less enjoyable side is called <i>[reverse] culture stress </i>but I’ll write more about another day.) Now that I’ve been in the US for two weeks (I'm starting my home assignment, after a couple of years in Papua New Guinea), here are a few of the things that have stuck out to me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mKJ-l4XffEsUG9NS-Y4STUhJvQW_ko3P9x9NsFdR3xF0cxXcj9KRCa-IZ7r34_JZpzhChk6uKZcXxXOTaouQOw1iv0mNJSL7AmBbMfoVpkc26k5YSrTOvBsMVlWlz6ZVCEykiS_xMltD/s1600/IMG_3651+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mKJ-l4XffEsUG9NS-Y4STUhJvQW_ko3P9x9NsFdR3xF0cxXcj9KRCa-IZ7r34_JZpzhChk6uKZcXxXOTaouQOw1iv0mNJSL7AmBbMfoVpkc26k5YSrTOvBsMVlWlz6ZVCEykiS_xMltD/s320/IMG_3651+-+Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And autumn colors! Gorgeous (Queenstown, NZ)</td></tr>
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<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>People like to watch the weather on TV and read weather forecasts on the internet and listen to weather people on the radio, and then plan life accordingly. In Papua New Guinea (PNG), we just assume it’s going to rain, and voila! Forecast is done.</li>
<li>The leaves of Minnesota trees are super small. Like dollhouse leaves. How cute.</li>
<li>In PNG, the rainforests are dense, dark environments, where the light struggles through the top canopy and there is so much groundcover and ginormous ferns and other tropical plants that you can’t see much ahead of you, and you need a bush knife to clear the trail. Here, the forests are much more open and spread out, and light radiates through the trees until everything is glowing and magical.</li>
<li>Houses are anchored solidly on the ground and are so tightly sealed that outside sounds are very muted and the air feels processed. However, the house itself is incredibly noisy with dishwasher sounds and water softeners and heaters and fans and other such creative inventions.</li>
<li>Air conditioning is super cold.</li>
<li>We can do laundry in the evening!! (In PNG, it takes hours and hours to do one load of laundry, and with no dryer, you need to start early enough to catch the sun).</li>
<li>There is this household chore called vacuuming. Even the airports are fully carpeted!!</li>
<li>People walk really fast.</li>
<li>People put ice in their water, and they FILL ENTIRE COOLERS with ice when they have a party!!! Whoa!</li>
<li>No one comes to your house uninvited. No one walks by and stares in, no one stops at your gate to bring you 5 bags of lettuce and ask for help with dental fees, no one shows up to ask if they could borrow sugar, a ladder, and would you want to play croquet this afternoon? It’s…weird. </li>
<li>The sun is very weak. I could be out in it and my skin wasn’t frying instantly. Maybe that’s why the same temperature here feels much warmer in PNG.</li>
<li>Thunderstorms are rather pathetic, umbrellas actually keep you dry, and even better, because houses aren’t built with tin roofs, you can actually carry on a conversation when it rains!</li>
<li>We get junk mail! Actually, we get mail at all!!</li>
<li>There is wifi on airplanes and on roads and in cities!</li>
<li>No one stares at you when you walk down a street. They seem to think you look normal and are doing a normal thing.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfvYVMFDHauBa_FeiddZe7gl9G0d2pWXMhtbxIvFUqPOtj-8amwCpb3EGCwxOh4Q93vIvNYj5MJtjnqzgln9S9gSzp97bJKgU99wxttwixFc7VeQ_f4_Cj0BSoDhWikjRonzeSQaUiCAxn/s1600/IMG_3361+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfvYVMFDHauBa_FeiddZe7gl9G0d2pWXMhtbxIvFUqPOtj-8amwCpb3EGCwxOh4Q93vIvNYj5MJtjnqzgln9S9gSzp97bJKgU99wxttwixFc7VeQ_f4_Cj0BSoDhWikjRonzeSQaUiCAxn/s320/IMG_3361+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't attract an audience here!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</li>
<li>The sun bizarrely stays light until 9 or 10 pm…and dusk lasts for hours! (PNG is 12 hours of light—from 6am to 6 pm, and it varies about 15-20 min from “summer” to “winter”). </li>
<li>Store aisles are incredibly wide, well lit, and the floors are so clean, you could have a meal on them.</li>
<li>Spices are spicy, and cling wrap clings. I can’t tell you how exciting that is.</li>
<li>Seat belts work. There are seat belts in the first place.</li>
<li>We’re not going to talk about the incredible thing that is a grocery store. Or clothing store. We’re just going to revel in it.</li>
</ol>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAG4k1kHv3g91AjChQTvwVfk-iT9ee3VAVJMY0h-9xeB8ndA7wpeLTqk3JPA6-Vg-_hHbUWk4zWirvZFAOCpTxAGo0s_F9MibXOChXdSxkY5Dl8ElrVHXNM_Kw5tsMd-deO43GLijEESv3/s1600/IMG_3458+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAG4k1kHv3g91AjChQTvwVfk-iT9ee3VAVJMY0h-9xeB8ndA7wpeLTqk3JPA6-Vg-_hHbUWk4zWirvZFAOCpTxAGo0s_F9MibXOChXdSxkY5Dl8ElrVHXNM_Kw5tsMd-deO43GLijEESv3/s320/IMG_3458+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at the size of those buildings! And all the modern boats! (Auckland, NZ)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>When I started making the list, I found I couldn't stop at 20! So check back next week for yet another 20 bizarre and awesome qualities of first world life.</i></div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-76377316799961090082016-05-22T07:01:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:20:03.700-06:00Beans for Bible Translation!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am a tea drinker, not a coffee drinker. While I can manage to choke down a cup of java to be social (an important skill for both living in a Papua New Guinean village and for sitting down with American church missions committees), not even spending my college years rooming with a passionate <i>barista </i>convinced my tastebuds to crave this bean-water.<br />
<br />
But in mountains of the Papua New Guinea (PNG), coffee growing and production is a vital part of industry, and for the Kamano-Kafe translation team, it’s a critical pillar of support for Bible translation!<br />
<br />In 2010, the Kamano-Kafe translation team faced challenges of rising costs everywhere, including transportation, which meant some members were unable to attend team checking sessions. Rich, their team advisor, started wondering if they could save the money they spent on buying ground coffee for their daily coffee break by processing and roasting the coffee beans themselves.<br />
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Many Kamano-Kafe speakers tend small plots of coffee trees next to their other staple crops of <i>kaukau </i>and <i>taro </i>(two kinds of root vegetables). Family members hand pick the bright-red fruit of the coffee trees (called <i>cherries</i>). After the flesh has been removed and the cherries are washed, sorted, and dried on big tarps, they sell the beans (now called <i>parchment</i>) as a source of income for the family.<br />
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“Parchment beans are sorted into three different grades of quality.” Tuas, one of the Kamano-Kafe translators, explained to me, “When you are buying coffee, you take a few beans in your hand and rub off the skin—then you can tell the grade and know the price.”<br />
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<br />
Next, the parchment beans are run through a <i>huller</i>, which is a machine that removes the parchment skin from the beans, leaving <i>green beans</i>. At first, the Kamano-Kafe team members used a hand-crank huller to hull green beans during their tea breaks and lunch times. Later, Rich spent nearly a year of his Saturdays with lots of help and advice from several auto shop mechanics and electricians rigging up parts from an old washing machine, old blower fans and a junked air conditioning unit, so the huller could be motorized. Fellow Kamano-Kafe translator, James, tapped the side of the machine. “Remember when there was an electrical fire when a motor capacitor blew and there were flames and smoke?” he asked the others, “That was a day!” After that, they called it the <i>Chitty Chitty Bang Bang</i>! Eventually, the team acquired a small used huller from Australia, and <i>Chitty Chitty Bang Bang</i> was retired (“That one will go in our museum,” James joked.)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjlRjHoxGtl17RUvDHc6tlEQaSv5r9HmVjfpxztL-jERxiQ4RwriGjD-mO8EOUT4G-u0e0TXsz0vVaUUWLPKw4ZZrJ-pXicvbDxCy3U5Ic9rBpNqcXXfoa26RcE6-XmWA8SJ6xUlcYruu/s1600/IMG_2920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjlRjHoxGtl17RUvDHc6tlEQaSv5r9HmVjfpxztL-jERxiQ4RwriGjD-mO8EOUT4G-u0e0TXsz0vVaUUWLPKw4ZZrJ-pXicvbDxCy3U5Ic9rBpNqcXXfoa26RcE6-XmWA8SJ6xUlcYruu/s1600/IMG_2920.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The home-made huller!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgfL-fQR7aPMLJTJ5jwMEndlP_FqmtCfDp5q4cE9tgEao0_ZA8dpmaqpLyvzeYGcnlURR0Ll2xEdds4pUWakdL7-GAsR6y75ZysnkN6R8lHR3fy1N8oskPbaiWmQ6tOLM7-XQYyvcBlav/s1600/IMG_2921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgfL-fQR7aPMLJTJ5jwMEndlP_FqmtCfDp5q4cE9tgEao0_ZA8dpmaqpLyvzeYGcnlURR0Ll2xEdds4pUWakdL7-GAsR6y75ZysnkN6R8lHR3fy1N8oskPbaiWmQ6tOLM7-XQYyvcBlav/s320/IMG_2921.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Australian-made huller</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The green beans are then stored in loose woven bags until it’s time to be roasted.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7xntZYz6DDSdOA5S-0e7V0BObeAgFJ7ap2_HElOOzQmezrsvxLsNZHRR-Pif6caMCn1CHnIjou5ViqikDtH1wyjpJYmH-rUHj6U_0D6Zr6Tu9_TnGt2hugxtUUyP5LvVN_IOcygVUaXHm/s1600/IMG_3072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7xntZYz6DDSdOA5S-0e7V0BObeAgFJ7ap2_HElOOzQmezrsvxLsNZHRR-Pif6caMCn1CHnIjou5ViqikDtH1wyjpJYmH-rUHj6U_0D6Zr6Tu9_TnGt2hugxtUUyP5LvVN_IOcygVUaXHm/s1600/IMG_3072.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Green beans all ready to be made into delicious (so I've heard) coffee!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At first Rich tried roasting coffee on the stove using various pots and pans (and even a whirly popper, which filled the house with smoke!). The team started selling a few small bags of coffee here and there, hoping they could cover their costs and perhaps help with a few team expenses. But God blessed their efforts and the demand for coffee increased. Rich realized the stove-method wouldn’t cut it, and after lots of internet research and the collaboration of several machinists, he designed from scratch a 3kg coffee roaster.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitt-RXKzOHfXkXEr2e5Ip4g0LsnmkbKCVJcemEpHJ51-wA3vYDCilMUlO2tW8_GOGNJpYA09Uvd9IDChdRJaghVeRw7XDjfsTtUT-wzuiK2suust7KwYQrXlWnha5KhHTrKG5cYkjQ5tPf/s1600/IMG_2645.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitt-RXKzOHfXkXEr2e5Ip4g0LsnmkbKCVJcemEpHJ51-wA3vYDCilMUlO2tW8_GOGNJpYA09Uvd9IDChdRJaghVeRw7XDjfsTtUT-wzuiK2suust7KwYQrXlWnha5KhHTrKG5cYkjQ5tPf/s1600/IMG_2645.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 3kg coffee roaster!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the beginning of learning to roast, there were a few mishaps. Nathan, a translation team member and now an expert in bean roasts, recalled over-roasting a batch of beans, which then caught on fire. “It lit up like kerosene!” he remembered. “The flames suddenly shot toward the roof and smoke filled the building.” In a panic, Nathan threw the flaming batch in the cooling tray outside and watched it crumble into charcoal.<br />
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“Without mistakes, we couldn’t improve!” laughed James. James and Nathan, the chief roasters, continue to refine their dark, espresso, light, and medium roasts and experiment with improving flavor. Currently, the sale of two 250g bags of coffee pays for all the stages of translating one verse of the Old Testament into the Kamano-Kafe language. In addition, the coffee beans are purchased from Kamano-Kafe speakers who are facing need and hardship, such as widows and the sick, in order to help their community.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenTzJEYN_zq2kNKSTfw6N7PG8SH2PPp8hrQ2YsLY7BgbIXIRCFPSiU6YMiOEXJyMFEbE8gYOd-mYwegVjiv7UI9fxJv0PTmfBz6xAScFPOtNyXF0js089Mmal_VP81k9lbo3Aft3xopMR/s1600/IMG_2923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenTzJEYN_zq2kNKSTfw6N7PG8SH2PPp8hrQ2YsLY7BgbIXIRCFPSiU6YMiOEXJyMFEbE8gYOd-mYwegVjiv7UI9fxJv0PTmfBz6xAScFPOtNyXF0js089Mmal_VP81k9lbo3Aft3xopMR/s1600/IMG_2923.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come to market--buy some freshly roasted beans, and have them ground as you wait!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
God continues to bless the sales of coffee to support the Bible Translation project (sold to only local coffee aficionados...so you need to come to PNG for some awesome coffee!), and recently the team purchased a used 5.4 kg roaster, which will allow them to meet the ever growing demand.<br />
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I think it’s time for even this tea drinker to sip a cup of coffee! <br />
<br /></div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-82076294576971092502016-05-12T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:20:57.594-06:00A Day at the Table--Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>There is no such thing as a normal day of translation! But, here’s an example (including all real events), of what a day might look like! Don’t forget to read Part 1, posted last week!</i><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEgIP5IRQx3ZGA7zl5AQyllAnhbf2gukIRjs8Q7FexeC9YaP3fCCtn0ryPlaDHjr7ZOJpZiiPcSUzmTfJALPzzajSblhPBJ1gtOETrQ1YU1jGzWAubDLP-CvtDDyavg-oY47Uwlzbyhuj/s1600/IMG_1391.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEgIP5IRQx3ZGA7zl5AQyllAnhbf2gukIRjs8Q7FexeC9YaP3fCCtn0ryPlaDHjr7ZOJpZiiPcSUzmTfJALPzzajSblhPBJ1gtOETrQ1YU1jGzWAubDLP-CvtDDyavg-oY47Uwlzbyhuj/s320/IMG_1391.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phrase by phrase (photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The morning tea break flies by, and now it’s back to work! We plow through a few more verses in Deuteronomy; these are harder—dealing with topics of lending and interest and material items that aren’t present in Kamano-Kafe culture. My back has a crick in it, and I start getting distracted as the team chatters on and on in a language where I only catch a few words, often with loud yelling and waving hands. But I catch just enough—“Actually, he’s talking to all of Israel here,” I cut into the conversation, “so we need to make everything plural.”<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_M93hvNgmKK9sKywIWEz_HmaKx4InYR5pwb3cWO0WXe2PO9eS-nZlZ72Tj6PrkzxVGn2hM5Pjp432EWYp88UHS7bMkkfKjQiElogQWMNb95KxSQeAmSyvkH6c6xnRitKV4CvN7XoiB6Y/s1600/IMG_1368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_M93hvNgmKK9sKywIWEz_HmaKx4InYR5pwb3cWO0WXe2PO9eS-nZlZ72Tj6PrkzxVGn2hM5Pjp432EWYp88UHS7bMkkfKjQiElogQWMNb95KxSQeAmSyvkH6c6xnRitKV4CvN7XoiB6Y/s320/IMG_1368.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kosseck studying (photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
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The table goes silent, then Nathan bursts out with a grin. “Ooo, Brother, she knows what you’re saying! She’s holding your tail now! Watch out!” We all double over in laughter. <br />
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The horn blares again, signaling an hour lunch break. As the team fixes their rice and tin meat, I head back to my house for a quick meal and as much horizontal rest as I can between phone calls and people stopping by.<br />
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Back to translation! The metal roof has no insulation, and under the intense tropical sun, the little building heats up like an oven. The power flicks on and off, so computers and lights suddenly go black, but the team doesn’t miss a beat. We shift some sentences around (in Kamano-Kafe, the verb comes at the end of the sentence) and adjust a letter or two (Kamano-Kafe uses lots of suffixes to communicate meaning, which means words can be quite long and a single letter can change the entire thing from past to future or from intentional to accidental). <br />
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WHACK! “Air strike!” we shout, and Tuas, brandishing the flyswatter like a sword, adds his kill to his tally (The team have a contest to see who can kill the most flies during a year. Computers and people are considered “holy ground” and are off limits...but everything else goes!)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQLz3XwC67n74XozfePOhYvQ7Ba4P9HTSsTvEZHFVI9MiOABPWnvzSUgKM8-iYVuXX-hX0e-fG_oVGUa0ypqMdtRGthahPhSZR7mX2d4yQJ-7udUqQ2w_YMWecqa9uKA3rmkqdGV4L8qC/s1600/IMG_1394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQLz3XwC67n74XozfePOhYvQ7Ba4P9HTSsTvEZHFVI9MiOABPWnvzSUgKM8-iYVuXX-hX0e-fG_oVGUa0ypqMdtRGthahPhSZR7mX2d4yQJ-7udUqQ2w_YMWecqa9uKA3rmkqdGV4L8qC/s320/IMG_1394.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of cultural discussions! (photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
“Ah yes, that’s a lot like our culture” Kosseck comments, and all the guys begin to chime in on the taboos surrounding women’s menstruation and childbirth. But soon we’re back to discussing how to keep an army camp clean when you’ve got thousands of men in one place, and my chronic fatigue is making it hard to focus. <br />
<br />
Another horn—afternoon tea break! I pray to close the session and my brain mixes all three languages together until I spit out something only mildly coherent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3qcoTFCc27GNKU7-uL0QnM2wVGMMsVloIa1jKEaQvzg7ap-jsd-ZpkYFx_NfS5c-Foh-F0HzNNhMSRKaE2fqTCCt0NNPgzTbY32Tcw1DyNlLphEwLHSQZl2CPRa73nELVpc2ysKxjbz6/s1600/IMG_1371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3qcoTFCc27GNKU7-uL0QnM2wVGMMsVloIa1jKEaQvzg7ap-jsd-ZpkYFx_NfS5c-Foh-F0HzNNhMSRKaE2fqTCCt0NNPgzTbY32Tcw1DyNlLphEwLHSQZl2CPRa73nELVpc2ysKxjbz6/s320/IMG_1371.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoke filling my brain! (photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
“Smoke is filling my brain,” moans Nathan. I think my head is going to catch fire!” <br />
<br />
“I should dump some water on your head,” teases James. <br />
<br />
“No, then he’ll just be full of steam” retorts Tuas. <br />
<br />
We all laugh, and head to the communal office where we flip through ancient National Geographic magazines and tackle some financial paperwork while we sip more coffee. Franky peers over Kosseck’s shoulder at the giant boa constrictor strewn across the photos. “Did I
ever tell you the story about the snake...?” and suddenly, he launches
into story after story about giant snakes and bats wrestling in the
treetops or when eagles dropped a snake carcass on a truck-load of
people. <br />
<br />
Back to translation, and we open in prayer just as the dark storm clouds break above us and rain pounds the uninsulated metal roof. We can barely hear each other over the deluge, but we shout translation at each other anyway (<i>it’s a good test of language comprehension</i>, I muse to myself). One verse doesn’t need any changes—“Hooray, free verse! Free verse!” we shout!<br />
<br />
4:30 pm now, and it’s time to wrap up. We pull down the curtains, close the computers, put up the Bibles. The guys grab their backpacks and head towards home—some walk, some will catch buses. <i>“Lukim yu tumora!</i> (see you tomorrow!)”<br />
<br />
“Yes,” James hollers back, “If I don’t see you in heaven first!”<br />
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Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-38399349741703721882016-05-05T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:21:10.428-06:00A Day at the Table--Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>There is no such thing as a normal day of translation! But, here’s an example (including all real events), of what a day might look like! Check back for Part 2 next week!</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>--------------------- </i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4VwzfbfPVcYpQo1p7c9RlEy5qnhr8pnEP6gGfwHtCkxJZOpn7crFaownq5ePgho4XW_p0RsHPaWEz4mYA7V2NhSK5SEW8M4W2jjNXRq9iE_dypwP3Io55akeawkP4v7WUsKd-CvJyIpL/s1600/IMG_1365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4VwzfbfPVcYpQo1p7c9RlEy5qnhr8pnEP6gGfwHtCkxJZOpn7crFaownq5ePgho4XW_p0RsHPaWEz4mYA7V2NhSK5SEW8M4W2jjNXRq9iE_dypwP3Io55akeawkP4v7WUsKd-CvJyIpL/s320/IMG_1365.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Franky settles into his "office" (photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
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<i>Nanterane! Good morning! </i>It’s 8:30 am, and I step into the canteen, a little brown building that triples as trade store, coffee roaster, and translation office. James and Tuas, two of my Kamano-Kafe colleagues are already there, but I hear “Heeeey, we come!” and the rest of the team, Nathan, Kosseck, Korry and Franky spill in after me, everyone shaking hands and slapping backs. Pastors, elders, fathers, youth leaders—they represent five different denominations coming together. James begins hooking up computers, and Tuas distributes Bibles. Franky, a mother-tongue consultant, settles into the side room to work on adding his comments to an already team-checked translation.<br />
<br />
We slide into our folding chairs. “Any news or prayer requests?” Tuas just dropped his oldest child off at university in another city. Franky’s wife has been in and out of the hospital for potential breast cancer. Two men died in Kosseck’s village. Nathan has been attending some major denominational meetings. They ask me about world news. “Let’s pray.” <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OS25R2qsMdIc-XhYQODUy4c1D6KLEuxE7I0oAGwAAcMdwI7eauNGxmUCKNKwRKc7Hlda-ENfdIHxF3AM9ycJVyLg2tYHW5iTA8G9k9rPRdIfK58kc1qsJtTGf_q4gkS9mF3Hd39Q83RL/s1600/IMG_1376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OS25R2qsMdIc-XhYQODUy4c1D6KLEuxE7I0oAGwAAcMdwI7eauNGxmUCKNKwRKc7Hlda-ENfdIHxF3AM9ycJVyLg2tYHW5iTA8G9k9rPRdIfK58kc1qsJtTGf_q4gkS9mF3Hd39Q83RL/s320/IMG_1376.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James opens up Paratext (photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
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On to translation! James, our typest and “driver,” clicks open Paratext, the language software that holds all the translated material, and the passage where we left off last week appears on the external screen for all to see. This year we’ve been working our way through Leviticus and now we’re in Deuteronomy. “We used to do this all on paper!” he grins. “This screen makes it so much easier!<br />
<br />
By the time the passage reaches the team check, it has already gone through two drafts. Now Kosseck reads aloud in Kamano-Kafe while Tuas immediately translates into Tok Pisin, the trade language of Papua New Guinea, so that I can understand. I follow along in my Bible—four parallel versions, while glancing at various commentaries on my computer, as well as the Hebrew text and 7 other Bible versions on the main screen. A good translation is <i>clear </i>(communicates everything without any confusion), <i>accurate </i>(contains all the meaning of the original), and <i>natural </i>(sounds like a native speaker). My job is to listen closely and ask questions to confirm we’re sticking to these principles.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-N_382c_s04qZUvJbsMjZRyO9rtdSc1_yPoNNxlM9qaAZZhYB2SlPhadUe0FTlhG1ydjX7Sd2InsQjshIDqvBLy0ryyr5Mmjy24unGYCQ5dgowgdXpj-KhAw2K62Jl6-46Nw6oKTWIVmL/s1600/IMG_1364.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-N_382c_s04qZUvJbsMjZRyO9rtdSc1_yPoNNxlM9qaAZZhYB2SlPhadUe0FTlhG1ydjX7Sd2InsQjshIDqvBLy0ryyr5Mmjy24unGYCQ5dgowgdXpj-KhAw2K62Jl6-46Nw6oKTWIVmL/s320/IMG_1364.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deep in discussion! (photo by Amy Evers)</td></tr>
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<i>Hagi 4ti'a kafufi ka'ma kokampina tamavere'na e'noanagi, kukena tamimo'ene anomo'enena tamagia tagatora huno zonipase oramine.</i> ("For forty years I have led you in the wilderness, clothes of yours haven’t worn out, sandals of yours haven’t worn out on your foot.”)<br />
<br />
“Who is speaking?” I ask. “Moses!” the guys chorus back. I glance through my notes and re-read the passage. “Actually, the context indicates this is actually God talking.” We discuss it some more, then add in an extra phrase: <i>Ra Anumzamo'a huno.</i> The Big Lord said.<br />
<br />
We continue through the rest of the passage, word by word, verse by verse. Sometimes everything flows smoothly, and sometimes we spend upwards of 15 minutes on one verse, poking at it over and over, restructuring, arguing, linking it to previous verses and trying to bridge three different dialects. We discuss spelling issues, I explain difficult English words, and we reword English passives (e.g. "the law <i>was passed</i>") to a more natural active construction in Kamano-Kafe ("<i>the Israelites passed</i> the law"). <br />
<br />
“Wait, let’s check,” says Kosseck in Tok Pisin, “What does <i>worn out</i> mean? Does it mean <i>just torn</i> or <i>completely torn off and falling off the body</i>? Does it mean you <i>force and tear it </i>or does it <i>happen naturally</i>?” We change a few more words around and re-read the verse a few more times in Kamano-Kafe. <i>Okay, one more time to rekreo</i> (translate it into Tok Pisin again so I’m able to confirm the changes).<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIpr2B3BRWxvGYN7jYQG2gpEA09Wzaa8WqMjM5IAmpsCGmQIQy78H5MMDsbJUn0CaxA7_HOtnrSkwtcpQ0uS6L_-kVALuQT6knWOPiu3ybhaRoUJ0TWxhAMgVAAMOJ1e1l-obZ418om_K/s1600/IMG_2892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIpr2B3BRWxvGYN7jYQG2gpEA09Wzaa8WqMjM5IAmpsCGmQIQy78H5MMDsbJUn0CaxA7_HOtnrSkwtcpQ0uS6L_-kVALuQT6knWOPiu3ybhaRoUJ0TWxhAMgVAAMOJ1e1l-obZ418om_K/s320/IMG_2892.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We open and close every session with prayer.</td></tr>
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Suddenly it’s 10 am, and the Ukarumpa linguistic centre horn blares. We pray to close the session, then stretch, shift in our hard metal chairs. It’s tea break! The men head off to the Highlands office to drink coffee and chat with another language team who are recording word lists. I take advantage of our 15 minutes to run to the other side of centre and tackle various errands for the team, including the post office, finance office, and our computer repair services for Franky’s computer. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<i><br />
We’ve only reached 10am (and I didn’t tell you about everything that happened before I made it to the office, including an 80 year old man with only four teeth who needed to see the dentist showing up spontaneously at my house! Check back next week for the rest of the day!</i></div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-86043349911758398552016-04-28T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:21:25.006-06:00Adventures Await!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWOYvHPrBfEjnd-53ygAjfp2ud1-xy7vmjk9GOaQBsIHxLiON-CHXe3H56LvtK-zLmenyhNAGFf65zplKr-bf6Vl9McMGvSTWebzZvIHJ7GVkwHxfzoKePu0yT7W2zRa_GIFp8jN_WmVR/s1600/IMG_1695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWOYvHPrBfEjnd-53ygAjfp2ud1-xy7vmjk9GOaQBsIHxLiON-CHXe3H56LvtK-zLmenyhNAGFf65zplKr-bf6Vl9McMGvSTWebzZvIHJ7GVkwHxfzoKePu0yT7W2zRa_GIFp8jN_WmVR/s320/IMG_1695.JPG" width="320" /></a>The other night, I dreamed that I was on an airplane over the Pacific and I couldn't figure out what time it was in my destination time zone. Horror of horrors—I couldn’t figure out how to properly adjust my sleep cycle!<br />
<br />
I leave Papua New Guinea (PNG) for my home assignment in the US in just a few short days. The departure seems both surreal (<i>can I REALLY trust that there are doctors and ambulances and 24-hour pharmacies available, and I don’t have to bring all my medicines?</i>) and amazingly concrete (<i>all the boxes and bags scattered around my room might have something to do with that.</i>)<br />
<br />
It’s exciting when it dawns on me that I don’t have to double-pack everything into ziplocs and dry bags (no dinghy rides for us!), or when I discover that my family’s cell phone numbers are the same as they were a few years ago (ours seem to change every few months or year here in PNG). I’ve gathered up my currencies for four countries and voiced my disgust at the inhospitable US money... (Why we can’t be like enlightened countries that use different color, logical size progression (corresponding to monetary value), distinguishable coins, clear artistic designs, large numbers, and waterproof materials, I have no idea.)<br />
Then there’s the great <i>weight versus volume</i> challenge as I creatively pack my bags so that I not only meet weight restrictions, but also so the many different Customs agents can examine what they need to without ripping the whole thing to shreds AND so that I still have my clothes and necessities if my checked bags are lost over the Pacific (all the while trying to figure out the least number of clothes to bring that are appropriate for four countries, five cultures, seven flights, eight climates, and ten days of travel!).<br />
<br />
Sometimes I think the packing and preparation for departure is just as adventurous as the travel itself! While part of me would like to share something deep and profound about the transition, my mind is rather filled with printing itineraries, rechecking lodging, taking care of horses and assisting in last-minute equine surgery, dealing with work permits and visas, doing bucket-loads of laundry, and a whole mountain of last minute tasks. So instead, I’ll just say, see you on the other side!</div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-79542900714072611462016-04-21T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:21:39.892-06:005 Stages of Home(less) Assignment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Deb Berruti, a global worker in Niger writes about the <a href="http://dberruti.blogspot.sg/2016/02/the-five-stages-of-homeless-assignment.html" target="_blank">5 Stages of Home(less) Assignmen</a>t, an entertaining look at what it's like to return to our home countries and the emotions that follow us. She suggests we start with <b>denial</b>, then <b>anger</b>, followed by <b>bargaining</b>, <b>depression </b>and finally <b>acceptance</b>.<br />
<br />
When I first read this article, I laughed aloud and thought "no way! I haven't gone through all of that..." and then reality set in. Hehehe. Actually, it's far more true than I want to admit! In fact, I remember all too clearly from my last home assignment both the hilarious (such as the euphoria when I flew back the first time and was handed grapes as part of my in-flight meal and the soft seats and the air conditioning and the clean bathrooms!!) and the shameful (striking cruelly against others' choices of technology use, muttering judgmental thoughts while sitting in church, plowing through periods of depression and burnout).<br />
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In fact, I would argue that the 5 stages aren't necessarily a linear progression. They are probably more like this:<br />
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As I've been getting ready to return to the US for the second time, I've been trying to reflect on the ups and downs of last time...and maybe, attempt not to make the same mistakes as I did before (so I can make new ones this time...or if I do decide to repeat history, then maybe I can do a slightly better job of dealing with them!).<br />
<br />
So I've been asking myself, what are the topics that push my buttons? What am I particularly sensitized to due to the life and sin patterns of the culture that I live in currently compared to the challenges of the culture to which I'm heading? How is it that I can live displaying the fruit of the Spirit in the midst of these various stages of transition? (Obviously I can only do it by the grace of God!) How can I accept these emotions and processing as "normal" but do it in a healthy way that doesn't cause me to damage those friends and family who are walking with me through this?<br />
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There are plenty of resources, but no easy answers! I'm grateful for the mercy and grace extended to me as a fellow human sinner, and for the support of many who have gone before! Thank you for walking with me through all these different stages!</div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-82415607806394688992016-04-14T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:21:55.377-06:00Pausing in Grey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image from http://www.androidcentral.com/raindrops-glass</td></tr>
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I hear the rain first. The curtain falls over the mountain, a distant roar, and our German Shepherd clatters underneath the house in panic. I have seconds to slam the window louvers shut before the wave reaches shore, crashing over the house, surf pounding on the metal roof until I can’t see the trees in the yard or hear my own voice.<br />
<br />
And suddenly, I’m underwater, deaf and blind, my house an island, just me and my dog, castaways.<br />
<br />
It’s only a matter of weeks before I leave Papua New Guinea. Flights have been purchased, schedules are being set, my jobs are being handed off, and I’m in the middle of that peculiar process where I sort through every single one of my belongings, getting rid of quite a few and recording what’s left (<i>Buy more deodorant. Check...don’t buy hair ties. Check...</i>) while still maintaining translation and relationships here. My worlds are divided by Excel spreadsheets and suitcases and languages, and I leap back and forth frantically, like some global hopscotch.<br />
But for a moment, the rain shades the world in grays, like an old faded photograph, and I find myself thrust into the blurriness. <i>Please, don’t make me choose! Let me stay in gray</i>—where I can live in paradox, holding onto both leaving and arriving, staying and going, goodbyes and hellos, grief and joy swirled together. Let me stay in this moment where there is no choosing—where I can merely pause in the middle of the <i>ache </i>that is stitched into the seams of this life I’ve chosen. I stare out the window into the blank wall of rain that obscures all details of the valley; I could be anywhere and everywhere. The tumble out of the wardrobe and back into the<i> other life</i> is not for the faint of heart.<br />
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In German, they have the word <b><i>sehnsucht</i></b>—that indescribable feeling of <i>longing for a home.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYGBS6gVxL-NwWqNeYn32cNDNu7N-khODt-LOnxlNcsNnoIOKS8Qx0WZ54QIskzqkk0TNNGvlLxmLpKieQzraX6zl2_-YUMKA7dCRDQUEo8wVg-gIRaw4Ey2sBaMeMyl5mGQlP7iHc5jd/s1600/sehnsucht-definition.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYGBS6gVxL-NwWqNeYn32cNDNu7N-khODt-LOnxlNcsNnoIOKS8Qx0WZ54QIskzqkk0TNNGvlLxmLpKieQzraX6zl2_-YUMKA7dCRDQUEo8wVg-gIRaw4Ey2sBaMeMyl5mGQlP7iHc5jd/s400/sehnsucht-definition.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from http://www.vagabondish.com/travel-quo<span id="goog_626242423"></span><span id="goog_626242424"></span>te-sehnsucht-longing-human-heart/</td></tr>
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I long for the home that is an eternity of belonging—when those joyous aches are finally able to consume me in their bitter gloriousness, until I’m born out of them, renewed. When the golden light of evening and the swell of an orchestra and the needles of the fir tree inked against the infinity of sky, all meet together like flavors that trickle down your throat and become <i>you</i>. I long for the day when physicality will become finally whole, and then, somehow, it won’t matter at all. Because I won’t have to choose between <i>here </i>and <i>there</i>; when we walk through walls like they don’t exist, we’ll still lick the last of fish off our fingers, burned on Galilean sands.<br />
<br />
The rain stops as suddenly as it starts, and I am tossed back into a world where <i>here </i>and <i>there </i>require 15 hour flights and crackly skype calls and visa applications—where there are chronic diseases and terrible disasters and perverted justice and the need for Bible translation in the first place.<br />
<br />
The sun fractures golden across a thousand droplets. I feel <i>sehnsucht</i>.<br />
<br />
And He whispers, “Yes, for I have gone ahead to prepare a place for you.”<br />
<br /></div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-66882168588041528262016-04-07T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:22:44.801-06:00The Gospel According to Leviticus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some days I like to imagine, what if the books of the Bible got together for a good old fashioned barbecue? Acts would be running around, fetching all the firewood (<i>or is charcoal better?</i> Judges wants to consider all the options) while Romans is shouting directions that only 1 and 2 Timothy are actually paying attention to. Joshua and Mark have got 3-foot flames coming out the grill, while Ezekiel and Ruth are finishing up preparing the barley salad and other sides. Manic-depressive Psalms can’t decide if he wants a hot dog or a burger, while Ezra makes sure Corinthians are staying on track with the drinks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6PL_J7LqlXf1SW0IiAlALbnJ6jD0o8vWy8wCjE0xbBvhIlNPyn64UgakMNqRyJeh8h1JDfmzDwj2A-LvPCEf6rpTxRZrj7bOHanSx0ycYrU_403BRYq6_fDS1SvDVUxiAKh2Agmv-4_FV/s1600/read-instructions-caution-sign-s-2655.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6PL_J7LqlXf1SW0IiAlALbnJ6jD0o8vWy8wCjE0xbBvhIlNPyn64UgakMNqRyJeh8h1JDfmzDwj2A-LvPCEf6rpTxRZrj7bOHanSx0ycYrU_403BRYq6_fDS1SvDVUxiAKh2Agmv-4_FV/s200/read-instructions-caution-sign-s-2655.gif" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: http://erikvanslyke.com/2011/05/17/read-the-instructions/</td></tr>
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But Leviticus? Well, I’ve always imagined him over there, still reading the instructions on how to properly use the hamburger flipper while everyone else is happily chowing down.<br />
<br />
Leviticus isn’t exactly the evangelical church’s go-to book. How many pastors do you know announce their next 12-week series will be hiking its way through the Levitical law? Or how many men’s Bible studies decide that their focus this quarter will be on the various rules surrounding removing mold from clothing and identifying infectious skin diseases?<br />
But, after spending six months with the Kamano-Kafe translation team dissecting the book verse by verse and phrase by phrase and spending more time than I thought possible discussing the lobe of the liver (<a href="http://catherinepng.blogspot.sg/2015/09/the-fingers-of-male-cow-pig.html" target="_blank">or the legs of a man cow-pig...don’t forget to read that story!</a>), I’ve come to see that Leviticus is much like these pictures of sand...although important, rather blah from a distance…<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnYN0beH8B_KGuJHu712JeMjp_MccYoPehl-VJpUGltu44tdPKml_ht4zWuX_kZPjIaKd47Bl6lIhXlGEjCdbTmWYF6KxmhfKRXcNUom8pv71sRHQIVlYo1oGBU5CnR2mKM-n-4C1soTD/s1600/IMG_0326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnYN0beH8B_KGuJHu712JeMjp_MccYoPehl-VJpUGltu44tdPKml_ht4zWuX_kZPjIaKd47Bl6lIhXlGEjCdbTmWYF6KxmhfKRXcNUom8pv71sRHQIVlYo1oGBU5CnR2mKM-n-4C1soTD/s320/IMG_0326.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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...but full of great beauty up close.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaDocelkpZ77AymICDq7k6jz_W_47I2TyMZh8UYu0uCS_hglfaTYFW0vexv2ktHrbyjJfkiHr6JWE5Q1KAw4lhtuy7ehzV8Qpu9sDO0YX43P5WR0sQ7EXasCcqg7qFG9oHsvWfeo7Y0gSk/s1600/sand-grains-under-microscope-gary-greenberg-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaDocelkpZ77AymICDq7k6jz_W_47I2TyMZh8UYu0uCS_hglfaTYFW0vexv2ktHrbyjJfkiHr6JWE5Q1KAw4lhtuy7ehzV8Qpu9sDO0YX43P5WR0sQ7EXasCcqg7qFG9oHsvWfeo7Y0gSk/s320/sand-grains-under-microscope-gary-greenberg-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: http://www.boredpanda.com/magnified-sand-grains-microscope-photography-dr-gary-greenberg/ </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqrxBOU3qXPKVinx0Am-a4NOEPQdxfZlaBaul1Kbz6H-HAlmTKKQqhG3N9QfX0JdbYpN1NdtbswttQqKhjlAdUAddVYh9YaZb6XrTtNnIeXefJ14hpLxSoPJnUWfnRJNQTTLH_E5KOknG/s1600/sand-grains-under-microscope-gary-greenberg-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqrxBOU3qXPKVinx0Am-a4NOEPQdxfZlaBaul1Kbz6H-HAlmTKKQqhG3N9QfX0JdbYpN1NdtbswttQqKhjlAdUAddVYh9YaZb6XrTtNnIeXefJ14hpLxSoPJnUWfnRJNQTTLH_E5KOknG/s320/sand-grains-under-microscope-gary-greenberg-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: http://www.boredpanda.com/magnified-sand-grains-microscope-photography-dr-gary-greenberg/ </td></tr>
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Enter a holy and righteous God who loves and desperately wants a relationship with His people. But the chasm is so deep, that it’s only through blood and perfect unblemished sacrifice of His Son Jesus that His people are cleansed, redeemed from the darkness, and can walk intimately with Him in obedience and faith, to receive the abundance of His blessing that stretches beyond the future.<br />
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That’s the Gospel...and that’s Leviticus.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDIrX0fzrngqCVfy6C6pyxy301pT4LRyLm9QSC_Pvv3BFofpRT2LrW6GT7FfzaJGm6bTksca-YYPtzQ49lqHVxe0yjp7vV1PfOcQW0WDi0y7UrVHFblVfdylQUYRQcLSt6CYXK8Su37QL/s1600/IMG_2498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDIrX0fzrngqCVfy6C6pyxy301pT4LRyLm9QSC_Pvv3BFofpRT2LrW6GT7FfzaJGm6bTksca-YYPtzQ49lqHVxe0yjp7vV1PfOcQW0WDi0y7UrVHFblVfdylQUYRQcLSt6CYXK8Su37QL/s320/IMG_2498.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paratext--one of the computer programs we use while translating!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Because Papua New Guinean (PNG) culture and ancient Israelite culture share so many similarities—land-based societies filled with social taboos, animal sacrifices, blood vendettas, sorcery, loose alliances, death rituals, and more—often my Kamano-Kafe colleagues were much quicker to see the beauty and importance of the various laws than I did.<br />
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For example, while for many Westerners the laws poking into every corner of daily life seem overkill and intrusive, in ancient Israel and Papua New Guinea, there’s no separation of the spiritual and the mundane, and God’s interest in methods of cooking and hunting is completely logical. Similarly, people and land are intertwined, tied together deeper than blood. The laws of land distribution and ownership, boundary stones, and arguments between clans are everyday issues for PNG and ancient Israel (but not so much for Westerners whose great grandparents were immigrants and who happily move across a continent for jobs or spouses or weather preferences).<br />
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Or consider the roles of <i>rest </i>and <i>trust </i>when your survival is dependent on the food you produce with your labor—your daily trudge to the distant gardens. And yet, the entire book of Leviticus is punctuated by rest—of Sabbath days and festivals with commandments to stop and pause, including an entire year where garden work is prohibited (and the food will be provided by the Lord Himself). After 8 months of severe drought, <i>trust </i>has a new meaning.<br />
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And we all acknowledge that those verses about God’s care for the orphan, the widow, and the foreigner give us warm fuzzies, but have you actually considered how <i>merciful </i>a law like “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” is? In PNG, if a man destroys a garden, the victim will probably come kill his pig. Then the original man will retaliate, injuring a person...and then the second party strikes back, killing a man. The destruction bubbles upward no end in sight in ever-escalating payback. But this law arrests the cycle, crying <i>to this point and no more</i>!<br />
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Mercy. Holiness. Redemption. Sacrifice. Love.<br />
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The Gospel according to Leviticus.<br />
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Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-24136292819266363452016-03-30T23:28:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:22:58.891-06:00A Tale of Hockey, Piranhas, and Bacon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sometimes, I forget what to communicate (always distressing for a person whose livelihood revolves around enabling communication). I forget that what is <i>normal </i>for me might not even cross your mind... (and there's no reason it should, unless I tell you!). So, I’m going to try to paint a picture of what it’s like to go on home assignment (and why I might find it tricky at times to explain it all!)<br />
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It all starts when a Girl (that’s me) leaves Warm-Earth Land and somehow traverses across a great and terrible crevasse to arrive in Ice Land.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEq4O3zllbnJk8f_KkonvT1yuhd8PjrrxUhlYgIo5i-NCfLlJbrEo9WLec0y8A7Uha5mIZ1THXnBi_bs6LE2IGhCW34dcPAUMP2PS2AXFKhc3Ry-RkVUk8Kz4ovj_w3wVzkrHrVIBhShZa/s1600/lake_winter_landscape_ice_238370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEq4O3zllbnJk8f_KkonvT1yuhd8PjrrxUhlYgIo5i-NCfLlJbrEo9WLec0y8A7Uha5mIZ1THXnBi_bs6LE2IGhCW34dcPAUMP2PS2AXFKhc3Ry-RkVUk8Kz4ovj_w3wVzkrHrVIBhShZa/s320/lake_winter_landscape_ice_238370.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ice Land (image public domain)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Ice Land is a very different place from Warm-Earth Land. Ice Land is cold, there is no grass, the animals are different, people drink lots of hot tea, and everyone is engaged in a great and terrible game of hockey. But our Girl learns how to put on hockey pads and grab a stick and attempts to join in. She falls a lot, skidding on the ice, gets scraped up and whacked with sticks, but after a few years, soon, she’s found her niche. She has a team and plays a crucial role in this never-ending hockey game.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcx5hs4EgSCAF9n75L64pofE1kdoRfO47ivI5r66vHmys0FF10H81NZR4I2hat-Ie0lpP2fyuVhcbbKH_Sm3cPXvaAGCOFSLUiNPvIWCQMEMgI6evdgSIXR1hGzRvYfzokNkj1_ZedSFr/s1600/hockey_sports_players_218279.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcx5hs4EgSCAF9n75L64pofE1kdoRfO47ivI5r66vHmys0FF10H81NZR4I2hat-Ie0lpP2fyuVhcbbKH_Sm3cPXvaAGCOFSLUiNPvIWCQMEMgI6evdgSIXR1hGzRvYfzokNkj1_ZedSFr/s320/hockey_sports_players_218279.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can never let your guard down during the hockey game! (image public domain)</td></tr>
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But after a while, it’s time for her to return to Warm-Earth Land. Girl is excited! It’s been years since she was last in the warm sun and felt grass under her feet. As she gets frostbite and pneumonia in Ice Land, she dreams and dreams of the sunshine, the birds, the corn-on-the-cob, the bacon and the sidewalks of Warm-Earth Land. Warm-Earth Land is built up in her mind as Paradise, where she can finally see her family and feel at home again.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpCwPSeX0U1rH6Npn61ndEKg2q4PRhDVXwrH_JKOQQ-i6LI0hMcWhMxK_jRIhfwb1lNrno6UePiz3g17eznZ4LGKgfLbpElcaJCAm7hnvwH8c6sshNgU137gQe5i7K1otmQJr70xlXfugL/s1600/tulips_tulip_daffodils_272658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpCwPSeX0U1rH6Npn61ndEKg2q4PRhDVXwrH_JKOQQ-i6LI0hMcWhMxK_jRIhfwb1lNrno6UePiz3g17eznZ4LGKgfLbpElcaJCAm7hnvwH8c6sshNgU137gQe5i7K1otmQJr70xlXfugL/s320/tulips_tulip_daffodils_272658.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahhh, but Paradise! It's time to go! (image public domain)</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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But, in addition to her happy, fuzzy feelings, Girl is nervous. She remembers from the last time she visited Warm-Earth Land after living in Ice Land that it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. She remembers that hard ground can be muddy and have landslides and sinkholes. There can be poison-ivy hidden between the daffodils. And lots of people have never even seen a hockey stick!<br />
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But, the dream beckons, and so she presses on. But, she’s still in the middle of the hockey game! <i>THWACK! Whack!</i> She skates and parries and tries to keep up with the flinging puck and dodging body checks from the other team as she considers how she must get to Warm Earth Land...because she must cross The Crevasse of Doom.<br />
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The Crevasse is so wide and deep, there’s no bridge. Instead, it’s filled with rushing water, teeming with hordes of Piranhas and Great White Sharks.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEJXfBaznBVmr3082NoyeeRdGppwQ3DsvEByQ_YPVNOQD-X2Jr2UZp9m37bWrW84abS15k0rlagmybgDbiA7EBRBdJ4X5v9ZuBsN2WCdW7vuaK1dM0TYXrM-w2zCwbzVYAaiYVOdGniKy/s1600/red_piranha_210255.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEJXfBaznBVmr3082NoyeeRdGppwQ3DsvEByQ_YPVNOQD-X2Jr2UZp9m37bWrW84abS15k0rlagmybgDbiA7EBRBdJ4X5v9ZuBsN2WCdW7vuaK1dM0TYXrM-w2zCwbzVYAaiYVOdGniKy/s320/red_piranha_210255.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flesh-eating piranhas! (image public domain)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Flames shoot from the surface of the water hundreds of feet in the area—the only way to get across is to zip line through the flames and the snapping jaws until she reaches solid ground on the other side.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb50WDrvD6yh_IPHPI-DSR9YhtMrPXWzkgLWLBmJEOqbJm7dhljFLzF2cjL0Swe6ZQ19cRXBA6PQx32JBnkRqx8gt_vGxPkWkYfqOkVMPNGZyNXhQMS31gg3n9yCot7HOOoUwCFVl5XkQz/s1600/dancing_flames_207575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb50WDrvD6yh_IPHPI-DSR9YhtMrPXWzkgLWLBmJEOqbJm7dhljFLzF2cjL0Swe6ZQ19cRXBA6PQx32JBnkRqx8gt_vGxPkWkYfqOkVMPNGZyNXhQMS31gg3n9yCot7HOOoUwCFVl5XkQz/s320/dancing_flames_207575.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">zipline through that! (image public domain)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So as Girl skates and whirls and slides and tumbles on the ice, she tries to put on her flame-retardant suit and get together (<i>whack! hit!</i>) some piranha bait and shark-bags (<i>slam! zing! skate!</i>) while attempting to get to the side of the ice rink and send some quick texts to (<i>Whack! Flames!</i>) her friends over in Warm-Earth Land...with all it’s (<i>hit! piranhas! jaws! puck!</i>) mudslides and it’s bacon.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJFkcCxxyYPHbfr01943yCFSUIegVITTuuzpjIkHTKC9IOvAlangCwOEGvAGS5cBKz26FA9X0S8_xq6ab0VoNLWD_3JEYvmfId19eQSESBSAV_Z-PIwDuIqUYHwGbfalqPrZ12o6571BW/s1600/shark-1093273_960_720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJFkcCxxyYPHbfr01943yCFSUIegVITTuuzpjIkHTKC9IOvAlangCwOEGvAGS5cBKz26FA9X0S8_xq6ab0VoNLWD_3JEYvmfId19eQSESBSAV_Z-PIwDuIqUYHwGbfalqPrZ12o6571BW/s320/shark-1093273_960_720.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watch out! (image public domain)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Unfortunately, sometimes Girl doesn’t always communicate the whole story. Some people only hear about the current hockey game. Some people only hear about the piranhas and flames. Some people hear her excitement about finally reaching Warm-Earth Land and others hear about how much she’s scared of poison-ivy and walking on solid ground again. Some people might not hear from her at all. And Girl often forgets (<i>whack! thwak! sharks! family!</i>) who over in far off Warm-Earth Land hears what and knows what, since everyone else on her hockey team has made this journey before and understands what it’s like to leap from Ice Land (<i>goal! ouch! water! crash! chocolate! hypothermia!</i>) onto that zip line and cross the Crevasse of Doom back to Warm-Earth Land.<br />
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And that’s what it’s like, folks. In a few weeks, I’m getting ready to make the transition (or leap on the zip-line of the Crevasse of Doom) from Papua New Guinea back to the US, and I’m a rather conflicted soul. I’m thrilled and terrified and excited and happy and nervous and exhausted and sick and eager and anxious and ready, and I know I’m not sharing all those emotions equally with all of you (and I’m sorry for those get to keep hearing about the number of teeth the Great Whites have!). Please bear with me. Remember I’m playing hockey and counting piranhas and dreaming of sunshine and dreading mosquitoes all at the same time. :)<br />
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<i>Not all global workers necessarily follow this story. A big part of how you deal with transition is </i><b>when </b><i>you grieve. Are you a pre-griever or a post-griever? <a href="http://catherinepng.blogspot.sg/2014/07/until-we-meet-again-observations-on.html#.VuOW0UCzmHd" target="_blank">I wrote about that year or so ago when I was musing on transition and loss.</a></i><br />
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Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-34521183826180854492016-03-24T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:23:14.932-06:00You're pregnant!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhl06-1DoQMBXxCbtH4ZCZ6RyMlpWcLFfgLmLY7LV6Va6qFm6-bLbOZH7pjdM5l7inMFyx_86s8ET3jTSDuUTRjGunXnGW1LSSlmJxPKKnaCtyMOv5Csx0zesujXewifTqphxFE0rhFuL/s1600/IMG_6071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhl06-1DoQMBXxCbtH4ZCZ6RyMlpWcLFfgLmLY7LV6Va6qFm6-bLbOZH7pjdM5l7inMFyx_86s8ET3jTSDuUTRjGunXnGW1LSSlmJxPKKnaCtyMOv5Csx0zesujXewifTqphxFE0rhFuL/s320/IMG_6071.JPG" width="240" /></a>The little old woman stared at the white man in shock. He must be a ghost, come back from the grave--after all, he just gave her a prophesy!! She was going to become pregnant!<br />
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The white man visiting the remote village for the first time was confused at the great uproar. Hadn't he just said <i>nanterane</i> or <i>hello</i>? Alas, he actually said <i>ne antegahane </i>which essentially means, <i>you're pregnant!</i> Despite the spelling differences, the two words sound very similar when they're said quickly...he just accented the wrong syllable!<br />
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Kosseck finished the story, and the whole Kamano-Kafe translation team roared in laughter. "Catherine, you must say <i>nanterane</i>!" they admonished me, grinning. "Don't be like this man!"<br />
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Languages are poignant displays of God's amazing creativity. I continuously marvel at how languages can express the same thing in so many different ways! Check out my newsletter for more language tidbits from the Kamano-Kafe, my observations on church holidays, as well as my upcoming travel plans as I head back to the US!<br />
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<a href="https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/9842081/C.%20Rivard%20March%202016%20Newsletter--online%20version.pdf" target="_blank">March 2016 Newsletter </a><br />
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If you would like to have my newsletters sent directly to your inbox, <a href="http://catherinepng.blogspot.com/p/newsletters.html#.Vu8c-kCzmHc" target="_blank">sign up on my Newsletters Page. </a><br />
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Happy Easter!</div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-65338661302090357902016-03-17T07:00:00.000-05:002018-11-24T19:23:30.902-06:00Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig (an FAQ)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As the nursery rhyme says, soon it's time for me to jiggity-jig on homeward! As I hop around the globe, I know it can be confusing to keep track of where I'm going and what I'm doing next--and now it's time for "home assignment!" Here are a few common questions that have recently come up—please feel free to ask more in the
comment section.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z8qiN3qpgn16tTug-5quLo2MYr1bH_KAvKib6ZN12rRMxuNTIqbUebZSnPW_wJJWF20FuR5yJGisPEabz2gto0kFob6nzpd1bNfv-wYxWCPdxz85bKce2cuymkjny4YjgJ1DU_EwA2Bs/s1600/Craig_Campbell+%252810%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z8qiN3qpgn16tTug-5quLo2MYr1bH_KAvKib6ZN12rRMxuNTIqbUebZSnPW_wJJWF20FuR5yJGisPEabz2gto0kFob6nzpd1bNfv-wYxWCPdxz85bKce2cuymkjny4YjgJ1DU_EwA2Bs/s320/Craig_Campbell+%252810%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ukarumpa (my PNG home), looking down from a mountain (photo by Carl Campbell)</td></tr>
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<b>What is "home assignment?" </b><i>Home assignment </i>is the term that global workers use to refer to the time when they leave their host country ("the field") and return to their home country for a temporary period of time before going back to their host country. When we're among ourselves, we often call it "furlough" but that term can be misleading because businesses and the military use it with a very different meaning.<br />
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<b>How long will you be here? </b>I’ll be in the US for about six months; I am leaving at the beginning of May and plan on returning to Papua New Guinea (PNG) at the end of 2016.<br />
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<b>What will you be doing in the US? </b>In addition to spending time
with family, reconnecting with all of you, re-evaluating my budget, visiting doctors, attempting to rest and recover from a difficult term, and doing necessary paperwork for life overseas, I will continue serving with Wycliffe in
the work of Bible translation. This will include speaking and travelling
on Wycliffe’s behalf, meeting with as churches and groups to share what
God’s been doing, receiving further training, writing articles, and
much more! It’s my privilege and honor to continue in ministry—to the
people groups of the US!<br />
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<b>Isn’t this your vacation?</b> Actually, no. For most global workers,
“home assignment” is just as busy as our work in PNG (and for some
people, even more so!), and only a portion of that time (just like in a
“regular” job) is allotted for vacation. In fact, going from a quiet,
slow country with limited choices and minimal sensory input to a high
speed, highly populated, high choice, and high sensory input location
can be extremely stressful. In addition, in order to reconnect with all
of you, I will be travelling quite extensively, as well as
trying to accomplish all the tasks that can only happen in the US (such
as certain health services or things that require better Internet,
etc.). <br />
<b><br />
Will you come to visit my area or church?</b> I would love to! I plan on
spending most of my time in the Midwest, but I will likely be visiting a few
other states. Contact me to get your church or group on my
schedule.<br />
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<b>Do you still need our support of prayer and finances?</b> Most
definitely! The transition back to US culture is often a challenge for
overseas workers, and a common occasion of spiritual warfare; your
prayers are extremely valuable! In addition, your faithful giving
remains my primary means of financial support as I deal with the higher
expenses of life in the US (everything from doctor visits to vehicle
needs to housing expenses).<br />
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<b>How else can I help you when you're on home assignment? </b>Last time I returned to the US, I wrote a blog called <a href="http://catherinepng.blogspot.sg/2013/07/greetings-from-marsor-what-to-do-when.html#.VtOBKkCzmHc" target="_blank">"Greetings from Mars--or what to do when your missionary returns home." </a>I highly recommend you take a look! Also, occasionally I will have specific needs crop up (for example, I know I'll need to borrow a bicycle at one point), and I'd love your help--keep your eye on my blog, newsletter, and prayer updates for opportunities!<br />
<b> </b> <br />
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<b>How's your health doing? </b>My health continues to improve slowly (chronic diseases don't tend to have instant recoveries), and it's particularly challenging for me right now when my work and life responsibilities have increased drastically as I get ready to cross oceans. But, I am so grateful for those small victories! Thanks for asking!<br />
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<b>Are you excited to come back to the US? </b>Yes, and no. I'm absolutely thrilled to see family and friends and my own culture and various food and activities that we don't have here. But, home assignment can be quite a challenging time; after all, I've spent the majority of the last five years living in a third-world country living a very different life, and transitions are always hard. Keep an eye on my blog and other publications as I process through the transition--I'll do my best to try to take you with me!<br />
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What other questions do you have?</b></div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1771366518426369126.post-22255146496278963492016-03-10T06:00:00.001-06:002018-11-24T19:23:50.864-06:00There's an App for that?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cell phone towers are springing up all around PNG!</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Rebekah Drew</td></tr>
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“Here, give me the phone. I know what to do!”</div>
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My housemate Jessie reached across the table for my ringing mobile phone (or just <i>mobail </i>as we say here). She clicked it on and grinned at me, “Hello, you have reached Goroka Rubbish Removal. For a pick-up of your rubbish, please press 1. For an analysis of rubbish, please press 2, for...” She looked at me. “They hung up!”<br />
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We doubled over, laughing until we were crying. And then the phone rang again. Time to try again! “Welcome to the PNG Tax Service. To be audited, please press 1...”<br />
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In Papua New Guinea (PNG), it’s not uncommon for people to just try calling random numbers and see what happens (or a number that did actually belong to someone isn’t used enough, so it gets re-purposed by the company and sold to someone else...). Sometimes, the caller can become so persistent persistent that you’ll need to block the number, or even more drastically, change your own.<br />
That day, I’d already been called over a dozen times by someone excited to hear the voice of a <i>waitmeri </i>(a white woman), but after Jessie and I answered the phone in every language we knew (ever yell on the phone in Arabic? Alas, my vocabulary has shrunk since I last used it, but never underestimate the power of enthusiasm!), as well as pretending to be multiple distasteful government services, finally the caller gave up!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhx36Vb0PQw3H36_BBEfBUNAZmQiaZ6662p2es4tIo0G_i65JgNnEKjZa2mZw-KjWw7PXqoHSczrOI7IvSBaH2d4_UKmQdkjnnC1AicISGYoT6QQIfsjVBbVjMaUVZxWA5v-jS1sJANcn/s1600/Hanna--Djaul+%252848%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhx36Vb0PQw3H36_BBEfBUNAZmQiaZ6662p2es4tIo0G_i65JgNnEKjZa2mZw-KjWw7PXqoHSczrOI7IvSBaH2d4_UKmQdkjnnC1AicISGYoT6QQIfsjVBbVjMaUVZxWA5v-jS1sJANcn/s320/Hanna--Djaul+%252848%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Decorations at the cell phone tower dedication! (Photo by Hannah Schulz)</td></tr>
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Somewhat reliable cell service around Papua New Guinea has been erupting in the last ten years, and every month, more and more towers go up around the country, connecting even the remotest places with the outside world (although you still might need to hike up a mountain and stand on one particular rock while holding your phone above your head to get enough bars to send a text). In 2013, I even had the chance to attend the dedication of a cell phone tower (in Papua New Guinea, we dedicate everything!!) on the island of Djaul, where my housemates have since started working.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was an enthusiastic dedication! </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Rebekah Drew</td></tr>
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Smartphones have been making huge inroads in the last few years as companies try to make data plans more and more affordable, and PNG has even been developing its own language of texting! Traditionally, Papua New Guineans have used garamuts and other drums to pass messages over distances. Just imagine how important a phone is to people living on a remote island—it impacts everything from health and safety to travel, business, and now, even new methods of courtship!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pastors using smartphones to look up Scripture</td></tr>
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And translation has to keep up too. In one workshop I was in last year, at least a third of the pastors were using smartphones to look up Scripture passages. In the Kamano-Kafe translation project, we not only have the New Testament available on phone apps that can be shared across bluetooth, but we also have several translated videos, hymns and traditional songs; many other translation programs are doing the same. (<a href="http://catherinepng.blogspot.sg/2015/12/bluetooth-it-to-my-phone.html" target="_blank">Read this story about a boy who was impacted by translation this way!</a>) When people visit our translation centre at Ukarumpa, they are able to access a special network on their phones that lets them find many of the translated resources available in their language. Several savvy people have even been developing cool phone apps that allow the recording of the Scripture to be played while the text is simultaneously highlighted on the phone’s screen—a perfect tool to help with literacy and Scripture use!<br />
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Now we’re talking!</div>
Catherine Rivardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03513053390238569831noreply@blogger.com0