By the way.  Have you figured out when I am writing...and when Eric is writing? 

I've been spending some time thinking about the religious dynamic of this little island in Malaysia.  My thoughts, of course, have run back home to my own people.

I've come to the opinion that we have a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy in the U.S..  I mean--really--we have a church on every corner, but walking through Walmart, I can't really tell who belongs to what.  Yes, yes, we have the little fishies on the cars...the bumper stickers and the t-shirts.  Yes, the Lord has given me the gift of being able to often be able to 'feel' where someone is coming from.  In actuality, though, we are all pretty homogenized in our religious appearances at home--don't you think?

It is so different here.  A Muslim woman wears a headscarf here.  Many Muslim men where a hat--called a songkok.  A Shiek wears a turban--and he doesn't cut his hair.  A Hindu often has white or red smudgings on his forhead--often, often, often.  A Chinese Christian here always wears a cross.  A Buddist Chinese does not.  These are people we see every day, all day.  The ethnicity and religion of every taxi driver is evident immediately.  He either has a Hindu god, a budha, or a Muslim prayer card hanging from his mirror. (and I'll tell you--I have a preference in the religion of taxi drivers)  Religion defines who a person becomes here.  Religion defines where a person lives here.  Religion defines how one dresses, how one eats, dare I say, how one breathes here.

This religion is not a light thing.  Eric and I have experienced very interesting spiritual things here.  Our first weekend at a small Christian church here--made up of locals, not ex-pats produced a shock.  We watched as every child and every child worker was called up to the front.  They were CHARGED in great seriousness with being the next generation--they were expected to grow and strive after the things of God.  They were commanded to do it.  They were then prayed for...and most of them fell out under the power of the Holy Spirit.  My daughters stood in the midst of them--tall, fair headed towers, amongst this next generation of Malaysian Christians.  I prayed, then, that this experience would change my daughters forever...but also that these young sons and daughters of Malaysia would be able to make a difference in this land.   These humble Christians can not afford to lose even one generation here--or they've lost everything.  I suspect that we, at home, cannot afford it either. 

 I remember in the states when we were searching for a new church.  Church, after church, we watched children pushed into the back rooms and the filthy basements.  They were the after thought.  They were the residual left overs of the church body.  They were a problem that had to be dealt with.  They were NOT the next generation.  They were not the future pastors and teachers and deciples.  They were the left overs.  What a sad commentary.  (and yes, we finally did find a church home that considered children more than after-thoughts)  I am so passionate about this generation.  I am so energized to make a difference in it.  I find myself continually having to refocus, and remind myself that if I lose the two 'next generations' in my own home, I've lost everything.  I want to change the world, and I have to remind myself that MY world starts behind my front door.  In some ways, this truth is harder to accept than if the Lord told me to go save the world.

At the opposite end of the spectrum...we went to a market the other day to buy presents for family and friends.  At this market is a temple.  Again--we don't go in to these...but I am comfortable with looking from afar.  We decided to climb a huge amount of steps to see what the temple was at the top.  Right before we started, I felt that we should pray. (I'm slow--Eric told me later that he had already been praying.  *sigh*)  So we prayed quickly as a family, and began to climb the stairs.  All of a sudden, Eric and I saw a terrible dog.  It hadn't any face--or the face was torn off.  It was something else though.  Without a doubt, it was a spiritual being.  We (Eric and I) could feel it--strongly.  I can only assume the dog was enveloped in demons.  We quickly shot off to the side--the girls confused, because they did not see what we had seen.(thankfully--they would have been terrified!)

  When we realized we were at a dead end, Eric went back to see if it was gone.  The being had already disspeared.  We decided to not pursue walking up the hill any farther. 

All things spiritual are so heightened here.  I myself am fatigued by it.  Eric and I have been Christians long enough to not be concerned about 'losing the faith'.  But I personally have had to fight a great fatigue in my relationship with the Lord.  I have had to work hard at surrounding myself with things that help pull me towards the presence of the Lord. 

I feel so mixed up about leaving here.  I see so many needs and so many things to lay my hands to.  But I know that I am not called to this place.  I feel as sad to leave as I am happy to be going home.  I can't wait to see all of you. 

Love ya,

Kore