on the art of improvisation; or, the confessions of a kindergarten phonics teacher

I get paid to sing. 

When I told this to a friend who is a professional singer earlier this week, he responded wide-eyed with, “You…do…??”    

Yes, indeed!  I just started teaching kindergarten phonics at an international curriculum school to 95 kindy 1's and 99 kindy 2's.  It's definitely hard getting up super early in the morning, but I love being crazy with the kids and singing all of the songs I remember from when I was their age.  And I love it when I see the kids smiling and having fun.  Definitely a contrast from what would have been year 3 of law school for me this fall.  (And it makes me happy to know that two semesters of Voice 150 were good for something!)

I told my kindergarteners on Monday, the first day of school with the kids, that I myself was in kindergarten 19 years ago (!).  I also started taking piano lessons at that age and continued to play until I graduated from high school.   In spite of my years of experience, however, I admit that I’ve always been weak at music theory and that I’m a kid who likes to play inside the lines – musical staff lines, that is… I’ve grown up on jazz (and realized in college that it’s a great umbrella term of a word) but was never brave enough to improvise by myself at home and only sometimes in the context of a church youth group setting – with chord charts of course. 

After years of willingly spreading myself thin on three musical instruments, I recognized that I could not be a musical prodigy and also pursue the lofty career aspirations where I thought I could make my mark on the world.  So, upon entering university (as they say here, rather than “college,”) I opted out of the world of musical performance and but ironically into a world where I still got my worth out of performance – in what I studied, how well I performed grades-wise each semester, and how I looked on the outside.  I also associated music with painful things that I wanted to forget, which also made it easier to cut music out of my life. 

It’s ironic to see that the role that music has played in my life very much parallels who I have been and the kind of character I have developed over the years.  For example, I didn’t like playing notes that weren’t from a template or from my lesson books because I knew they’d sound ugly and because I didn’t like failure and didn’t want to create things that sounded horrible.  It was easy to associate failure with shame, and I wanted to avoid that at all costs. 

The other day, I was asked by two of the kindy teachers if I could play the piano.  My hesistant response was, “Ehhh…not well.  But I can…” which prompted an immediate list of songs that I wasn’t exactly familiar with and then when I asked for sheet music or at least a chord chart, I got the hesitant response, “Okay, I’ll try…” and in the end, found myself plunking away on a piano by ear – something I was always afraid to do by myself, but doing somehow in front of almost complete strangers. 

It’s interesting to see the redemption of an art I used to loathe, especially when I had to sit at the piano and practice for 30 straight minutes as a kid!  I realized when I came here that it was my way of timidly expressing myself – through well-memorized notes and well thought out dynamics and tempo changes. 

I actually started out playing the music in the kindy chapel, which we call “Character Building,” on Tuesday and then got replaced mid-song by one of the teachers who has been here for years and knows the songs.  I won’t pretend and say it wasn’t embarrassing – it was hard to enthusiastically sing and do actions after stepping away from the keyboard, which I was afraid of touching in the first place.  After a few minutes, I realized the irony of being at a space in time called “character building,” and a chance to be presented afresh with humility and also patience – especially in these first few days of school!  I read once at P Seth’s blog (sethskim.com), “it is hard to go back to the place where you failed.”  I was told yesterday that the K1’s and K2’s are splitting up for chapel starting next week, because it was a bit much for the K1’s to handle – and would I mind playing the piano for the K1’s?  At least the younger ones will be more accommodating…? 

I definitely feel stretched – especially after my first day with the K1’s on Tuesday.  My kindergarten principal told me this week that my k1’s have an attention span of 4 minutes but I could have concluded it on my own! They get really wiggly when they know it's almost time to go home, too! I realized quickly as I tried to talk over the crying ones who were still getting used to their new environment that I had underplanned and started pulling out games and songs from when I was wee kindergartener myself.  As you, the reader, can see - there are lots of chances to engage in the art of improvisation and I'm not professing to be good at it, but I know that this year, especially with all of the transitions and still getting used to our new work schedule and also other responsibilities, it's going to be a great chance to grow in it.  

seasons of love; or, on transition

In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?  How about love?  How about love? Measure in love
Seasons of love, seasons of love

Feeling the creative writing twitch as I’m in between the last few waking hours of life as I know it before starting school on Monday. It’s been an interesting past few weeks as we welcomed the new team from Ann Arbor (Pastor Andrew, Nickey, Emanuel, Tina, Jane, Angela, and Eric) in mid-June and have slowly been transitioning responsibilities from the team members who have newly arrived in the States (P Seth & family, Rachel, Joe, Ruth, Sam) to those of us who are still here.

It will have been one year in Indonesia on July 11. As I’m writing, I’m trying to process the excitement of things starting to pick up again (with our first church-wide prayer gathering on Saturday and school starting on Monday – professional development for the teachers, anyway…) and also processing the “bereavement” I feel in the absence of the team members who left for the States on Tuesday and have arrived by now.

Tuesday at the airport was actually really hard. When we first arrived in Jakarta, as we were loading up the cars with our luggage to drive to what would be our new home, I was already thinking about how I might feel to find myself at the same place a year later. I imagined I’d be all packed up and ready to say some “see-you-when-I-see-you’s” – and here I find myself writing in the middle of the night in my living room just west of Jakarta, staying for at least another year.

I have heard over the past few days that it’s only natural to feel some of the emotions that I have been feeling – and I do require prayer because I don’t want to process in a way that becomes self-focused or that makes me forget why I stayed here. I do feel thankful, however, when I think about “the fullness of Him who fills everything in everyway…” (Ephesians 1:23) and when I think of that verse, I think of all of the cracks and crevices in my heart that God wants to fill with Himself.

That said, Tuesday was hard because I felt really loved – through the affirmation of a spiritual father, through the encouraging words of a younger brother, through the care of life group members, and even through letters from home sent by my parents that I finally had time to read later that evening.

“But seriously – when God works in your life, He works in all of the areas of your life,” I heard her say as she finished sharing about the things that God was doing in her life. This was back in August, in the living room of a city that I claimed as my new home. As I was listening to her, I couldn’t have imagined the ways that God wanted to prove His love and redemptive nature to me in my own life throughout this year.

“The entire law is summed up in one command: love your neighbor as yourself.” (Galatians 5:14) It’s been easy to see this as a one way street – but so encouraging to grasp anew besides the fact that we love God by loving people, that God loves us through people who choose to love their neighbors (us) too.

People ask me when they realize that I have been here for a while if I like Indonesia. While there are myriad things that happen that I still don’t understand and are definitely helping to cultivate patience in me (or at least reveal the lack thereof!), I have to smile as I answer and tell them that I love this place because I know that it is exactly where God wants me to be for this time in my life. It is a place where I have learned how to articulate things that I never quite knew how to express until I came here. A few examples that come to mind: I’ve always wanted my father to be active and present in my life; to have meaningful conversations and share transparently with my mother; to have an older sister; to have a little brother; to know what it feels like to belong…

It’s crazy to think that had my seemingly wonderful plans worked out – would have been third year of law school this year, the possibility of an impending engagement and subsequent marriage built on a faulty foundation (emphasis on possibility) – I could have missed out on experiencing the brokenness and restoration of the relationship with my biological father and gain a spiritual father; to work through the intricacies of the disconnect between parents and children and love lost in translation between the parties – and working through confession of trespasses between my mother and me, and the meaning of forgiveness towards each other; to be mentored by an older sister (Rachel) and encouraged by a younger brother (Sam); and shepherded by everyone else in between…

I haven’t had the chance to jalan-jalan (travel) all around Indonesia and see places like Lake Toba in Sumatra or Komodo Island or Lombok – and I’m not criticizing those who have, but what I do mean to say is that this place has become like a precious home to me even though I’m faraway from those that I love, because here I have been exposed for what I really am, and shown that I am still loved in spite of it – through people who have seen me day in and day out and have loved me as Jesus Christ loved us, by laying down His life for us when He died on the cross for our sins and then rose again.

It’s supposed to be dry season here – and from what I’ve heard, dry season was supposed to have started back in January. Insofar, it rained torrentially at least 3-4 times today. It's a stretch but I mentioned the rain because it just doesn’t make sense that it keeps on raining when really it should be...not raining. Kind of like how in the face of loss, it would be only natural to feel only bereaved;  but I'm still so joyful and thankful when I think about the past year – and feel the same as I think about the year to come.

If any of my teammates who are away from this place end up reading this, I miss you incredibly. For those who are here in GMT + 7:00 and reading this, thanks for your love and I’m looking forward to going deeper in our relationships and knowing each other and God more together. And to others who don’t fall into either of those groups, to quote something I read recently, “I hope that you can know how loved you are…by God.”

And as always, thanks for reading.