A Rodent's Reaction to Espresso

In an effort to record those “stories we didn’t tell in church”, I am trying to give a weekly recap of memorable moments that never made the prayer letter. 

In 1990, Neil and I returned to our home in Dusin. We opened the door and were horrified to see more rat droppings than I have ever seen at any time in my life.  We’ve seen a lot of rats. We dispatched a lot of rats to the place that rats go when they are dispatched.  We just never quite saw the distribution of rat droppings that littered our house.  The Dusin house was entirely bamboo and had but one closed cupboard.  Our pots and pans were covered.  The bookshelves were littered.  As we made our way into the house, stepping gingerly, we had no choice but to put the boxes of supplies down on top of the mess.  Then we began to notice other things besides the droppings.  We had a really nice short wave radio on which we got all our outside news.  The antenna had been gnawed through.  The curtain cord was in shreds. Books were gnawed and toilet paper…a rather precious commodity, was no longer useable. (I am now a self-confessed "tp hoarder".)

I peeked into our extremely small bathroom and the plastic medications had holes in them.  The tips of everything from antibiotic ointment, to other medical tubes were totally gone and had to be tossed out.  We couldn’t figure out the cause for the devastation but began to clean, wash and boil.  (The Dusin house had only cold water so we had to heat the water if we wanted to shower or do dishes).

The loft was almost as bad as the downstairs, but we were grateful, after shaking off the droppings from our bed, that the Codan radio with which we communicated with the outside world was graciously untouched but for droppings on top of it. That could all be swept up.

I heard Neil call me and went to see what he’d found.  We’d been cleaning before we unpacked so things would be sanitary enough for the next several months.  The last place we looked was in the place where we stored our food because, well, there was never a lot of food left.  Neil dangle before me a desecrated bag of espresso coffee.  Suddenly the lights went on in our minds.  Yes,  “il ratto” had gotten into the espresso and “ZINGO” that had lit up its little body and thus began the carnage. We were looking at a rodent's reaction to espresso.

We cleaned that area really well too, though it was not nearly as bad as the rest of the place. I guess he started there, got his high and move on to more chewable things.  I had been counting on that coffee to get me through the next few months and was annoyed, albeit also amused, that the rat had taken as much as he had.  I actually debated throwing all the coffee out since I didn’t want the rat to win but I think I came up with what looked like a healthy compromise. We’re both still here, so as the saying goes, “If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger”. I don’t know if that is true about most things, but it can be said about the remaining espresso.

If you are looking for a moral to the story here it is: keep your coffee in a metal can.

Giving by Receiving

Every Wednesday I meet a friend for a time of ministry in Boston. As we talk together,  I find that I often remember some story from Papua New Guinea that I had completely forgotten. It is good to record these stories, for while some of them are very funny and some less so, those stories speak of God’s amazing faithfulness. This story speaks of sacrificial love.

 Over the years I have had a number of surgeries for my spinal cord injury, as well as several additional surgeries for various things that seem to show up where they shouldn’t be, or for things inside that decided they wanted to check out before I do. I joke that “we shall meet the Lord in the air” because so much of me is buried on different continents that I will have to be reassembled mid-resurrection.

At one point I had terrible pain with gallstone. A decision was made to medevac me and Tony so I could be checked out and sure enough, my gall bladder and I had “irreconcilable differences”, necessitating that we part company quickly. By this time, I’d already had surgery in PNG without enough anesthesia and I found I cope best if I sleep when some part of me is removed, so I knew Australia was the place to go. Neil was still in the village and I conveyed the message to him on short wave so he prepared to hike out and meet me so he could care for Tony, freeing me to go to Australia for surgery.

 Neil knew from experience that the night before we left Samanzing was always very hectic. Everyone who had a need would come and the house was always crowded with those who wanted one thing or another. So it was no surprise to Neil that the house filled to capacity even as he hurried to fill his backpack so he could depart before dawn for his 10 hour hike to the nearest road. 

Very late at night, after things quieted down there was yet another knock on door.  The village headman arrived with a small bag.  He gave it to Neil who looked inside and realized it was full of money. Now the Mesem are desperately poor people. Inside this bag were many coins as well as “treasures” that people had held on to for years in case of an emergency. One man had placed a 20 yen note from the Japanese occupancy in the bag. Several had given silver sterlings that pre-dated independence by more than 30 years.  When Neil tried to give it back the village elder said, “You must take it, you are one of us now”.

I am always grateful we took it.  There were many lessons in that act. People need to give and we need to receive to show they have value. We needed to show that they, too, had something to offer us. Had we not taken that gift, we would have been saying that we didn’t need them, and being “one of them” was not important.  It was in the humility of receiving we were initiated into the relationship which we most desired to have with them. They showed sacrificial love and by letting them love us, we loved them in return.

It’s good to give and I like to give, but we always have a certain control when we are giving. We are in a different position, relationally, than when we take. One of the difficult things for me in becoming a missionary was living on support, because we had always been generous givers and enjoyed doing that. Being a recipient is a humbling thing.  But I have come to realize that when we receive acts of love, we are loving and affirming the love of the one who gives and that is a good thing.  

I share this story before I forget again. I share it to remind myself that in receiving God’s love, I am loving Him back.