A UNIQUE HOLIDAY

A holiday is coming up here in Tonga.  June 4^th is Emancipation Day.  This marks two important milestones in this country’s history, and most Tongans regard it with the same kind of attitude that Americans have for Independence Day.

Okay, to give you a feeling for the reason it’s called “Emancipation Day” I need to give you something of a history lesson.  This little tiny country is the ONLY country in the South Pacific never to have been colonized by any European power, although there was a treaty of protection between Tonga and Great Britain that was valid from 1900 through 1970.  Today, Tonga operates independently, but in partnership with other nations.  For example, there are Tongan soldiers serving in U.S. and British units in Afghanistan.  There are agreements in place with Australia and New Zealand for Tongans to pursue higher education there.  And so on…

Tonga's first King, who took the Christian name
of George, after King George III of England

The first modern king of Tonga, King George Tupou I (the current king is George Tupou VI) came to power after civil wars had split the islands in the 1780s.  He was crowned king of one island group, then fought wars to unite all the island groups, and reigned as  king of all Tonga from 1845 until his death in 1893 (reportedly at age 100!).  He did some remarkable things, and is still revered in this country.

King George Tupou I also had this modest
palace built. It is still used today.

Before he was king of a United Tonga, this warrior king abolished the system of serfdom that had defined Tonga for hundreds, possibly thousands, of years.  He emancipated the lowest echelons of Tongans from obliged servitude to those born into positions of nobility or royalty. It took until 1862 for this law to be in force in all 176 islands, but every Tongan “commoner” was emancipated.  Then he took the unprecedented step of writing into law the allowance for every Tongan male to have land to work.  Every Tongan male, at age 16, is entitled to rent-for-life a plot of bush land (away from the village, similar to the 18^th century practice in the U.S.) for a nominal fee, in order to provide food for his family.  Each male Tongan was also given the right to a smaller plot of land for a village home.  Today, the land is limited, and plots of land are not as big as they used to be, but many families still work the land rented to them by the King:

A more mature King
 George Tupou I

George took this step because he had been baptized a Christian in 1831. And this Christian perspective caused him to take one more step that no other reigning king in recent history has done: he consecrated his land and people to God.  His words, translated into English, are “God, our Father, I give you my land and my people, and all generations of people who follow after me.”  He went on to beg the protection of God for his people, the waters, and the creatures of Tonga and its waters.  Is it any wonder that Tonga has received special protection?  Is it any wonder that this country is one of the few left on earth where all businesses are closed on Sunday, in honor of the Sabbath?  Is it any wonder that Tonga’s people love the Lord?  Their king consecrated them to God’s keeping, to God’s service. 

Tonga's Queen and Queen Mother

The reigning king of Tonga

The kings (and one queen) since George Tupou the first have used a royal seal, upon which is printed, “God and Tonga are my inheritance.”  Not “my God-given right”, not “my kingdom”, but “my inheritance.”  They are keenly aware that their position is a stewardship.  The current king and queen are working to bring a higher standard of living to Tonga through improved health and educational resources.  This tiny country, consecrated to God for more than a century and a half, has more than a few things to teach the rest of us. Call it Emancipation Day, call it Consecration Day, call it Tonga’s national day – I call it a lesson for the rest of us. 

CROSSING THE RIVER

In the last two weeks, six people whom I love have died.  I write this not for sympathy, but just for perspective.  I know that at my age I should begin to expect death to visit my circle, but the cumulative effect of six deaths in so short a time has made me much more distracted from my duties than I wanted to be.

Let me say here that I do not despair for those who died.  I have a strong conviction that we are eternal beings, that death is the crossing of a river into a new life in a better place.  And I am convinced that one day I will see these friends again, and we will experience a joy that I cannot yet express.  But that doesn’t mean it’s easy when you’re the one left behind, and my heart breaks for the families of my dead friends.  

Three of these recent deaths were not totally unexpected; these friends had been battling diseases, one for years, the others for only a short time, but in those cases death was acceptable, since it was seen as a relief from the pain that a terminal illness brings, and release from suffering.  In fact, one friend’s last few months were absolutely inspirational:  he purchased for a smaller home for his wife, one she could keep up without him, he got her a new puppy, since they were both dog lovers, he spent Christmas with all of his children and grandchildren, spending time with each one individually, and he expended what energy he had in service to others – helping a friend paint his shutters, or doing some home repairs for another friend.   He truly set his house in order before he left.

The other three deaths have been shocking, mostly because those who died were relatively young – anywhere from 27 to 53.  Two of these deaths have been here in Tonga – a young father collapsed in his front yard, and died en route to the hospital, and the brother of one of our teachers lost his battle with an infection at the hospital.  I attended both funerals, and found comfort in the feelings communicated there, both in word and music.  And as the days go by, I try to find little moments to succor the family members, when they will allow me to do so.  These Tongans are saints in every sense of the word – they bear tragedy with such dignity and faith that I feel selfish expressing my next point.

The hardest part about being so far away from my other friends is that I can’t be there to throw my arms around them.  I am sad because at this distance, I am really of no help.  I can’t be there to walk into a kitchen and just do the dishes.  I can’t be there to take the kids for an afternoon.  I can’t be there to bring them a warm loaf of bread and a shoulder to cry on.  I can’t be there to spend time telling “remember when” stories.  I can’t be there to share a moment with them, to lend them what strength I may have, to offer my love through my actions.  When I came to serve this mission, I thought I knew what sacrifices I would be making.  Surprise.  Now the sacrifice comes in not being able to serve those I’d want to serve in their time of need.

But since I am here serving, I will ask the Lord to give my blessings to those I can’t reach right now.  So Mele, Ana Tema, Sally, Mel, Jody, Robert, please know that you will get the blessings you need to help you adjust to the holes in your hearts.  The holes will not heal in this life, but I am familiar enough with death to say that you get used to the holes being there.  

I know from my own experience that prayer – heartfelt, fervent prayer – is effective.  So I assure you that you are all in my prayers.   I am absolutely sure that we will met Tevita, Simi, Harold, Jim, Richard and Kathleen again; I know with every fiber of my being that we continue on after this life, that our Father in Heaven will bring us home again.  My prayers will be that all of us who lose loved ones will have the patience, the endurance, the acceptance, and the determination to live the rest of our lives so that we are worthy to greet our family members when we finally cross that grand river.

THE HELPERS

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” To this day, especially in times of “disaster,” I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.” - Mister Fred Rogers

In the US, this week was marked by the third school shooting of the year, but this one was different because the student victims were all under 10 years of age.  I have shared my heartbreak with friends both here and in other countries, but I am convinced it is my duty to BE one of the helpers that Fred Rogers spoke about.  I am limited in my choices of how to help; I am assigned to be here in Tonga, so I am not able to physically go to Connecticut. But there are still ways to offer my help, and I will find a way.

In considering this tragedy, I have reflected on my own life.  Being a helper has brought me wonderful blessings.  I have a different perspective on life because of the opportunities I have had to help others.  Whether helping in dramatic circumstances or quiet ones, helping has made me a better person.  And I am grateful to have had the opportunity to serve.  

During the early 1990s, I lived with my family in South Korea.  My husband was a high school principal, and I taught second grade to children whose parents were serving in the military.  One of those years, North Korea started threatening to invade South Korea.  After seeing soldiers practice drills and rehearse for war, watching Patriot missiles be positioned on the base, and feeling the tension in their parent’s attitudes, my little second graders became quite concerned.  One day I finally opened the issue for discussion in our class.

“What will happen to us if there’s a war, Mrs. Szoka?” 
“Yeah, if my mom and my dad both have to be gone, who’s going to take care of me?”
“What if the North Koreans try to take over the base?”

More and more questions like that rang out.  I pondered the questions, and knew I could not simply dismiss their feelings.  These children were genuinely worried.  It was up to me to show them that the military was prepared to keep them safe, too.  I smiled calmly at my students.

“Somewhere under this base is a very big underground bunker. It is large enough to hold every man, woman and child who live on this base, plus all the Americans who work here but live off the base.  If the North Koreans head for our base, we will hear sirens that will tell all the grownups to get their families together and go to the bunker.  If the sirens go off while we’re here at school, our school buses will take us to the bunker.  Then once we’re there, we will be divided up into groups to make sure everyone is safe.  I will stay with you the whole time, until your parents can come for you.  If your parents have to stay out of the bunker and fight, I will be with you.  I will keep you safe.  I will take care of you, and things will be okay.”

My students breathed a collective sigh of relief, and though there were still war games that brought soldiers too close to the school for my own comfort, they were able to go back to concentrating on their own job – that of learning.  I was grateful that God gave me the words to help those children.  Fortunately, the North Koreans did not invade, and life returned to a more peaceful calm for us on that base.

A few years later we were living in Naples, Italy, and I was involved in a car accident.  Before I could even think about what to do, two lovely Napolitanos were at my car door making sure I was unhurt.  I spoke only a few words of Italian, they spoke no English, but they invited me into their home, served me a glass of water, and gave me their telephone to reach my husband and notify the military police of the accident.  They even took the phone and gave specific directions to the police about where the accident had happened in Italian, so the police could get there more quickly.  In a very short time, my husband arrived with the police, and the car was taken away and we were provided a ride back home.  With new eyes, I watched highway behaviors from then on, and saw that no one who ever pulled over to the side of the road was ever left alone for more than a few minutes; Napolitanos helped someone in a broken-down car on the side of the highway today because they might need that same help tomorrow.    They took turns being helpers.

I have been a helper, but one of the strongest memories I have involves the comfort others brought me in a time of tension and fear.  During September and October of 2002, the so-called “D.C. Sniper” was at large, and no one knew when or where he would strike next. I worked at two schools in Northern Virginia that fall, and one of the schools was only a few minutes away from one of the sniper’s murder scenes.  Everyone was fearful; students did not complain when they were told there would be no outdoor recess until the sniper was caught – even the youngest kindergarteners recognized the schools’ efforts to keep them safe.  

One day as I was driving home after school, I tuned the radio to a station I had listened to with my parents as I grew up, and discovered a familiar voice.  One man who had been on the radio 25 years earlier was still with the station, even though the station’s format had changed.  As I listened to this man’s voice, I was filled with comfort; it was as though this voice from my past was sending me a message of hope.  The man’s words did not matter; it was his voice that I needed at that moment.  Simply hearing his voice in my car helped me, as I tried to deal with the tension of those weeks.

Another part of that story in which I watched the helpers took place at the school that was very close to one of the places where the sniper killed a victim.  Each morning at the school, buses would pull up to take turns discharging their students one bus at a time.  When students exited the bus, they found themselves in a gauntlet of teachers, a line both to students’ right and to their left, framing their path to the school’s front door.  These teachers voluntarily placed themselves in harm’s way on behalf of their students, and the students realized that.  As a result, students’ appreciation for these teachers grew by leaps and bounds in those weeks.  The harmony at the school that year was remarkable; students knew exactly who were their helpers, and depended upon teachers for comfort and safety, as well as academic learning.  It was a remarkable event to witness.

When Jim and I came to Tonga, we came to help.  We knew we had a lot to offer, and the longer I am here, the more urgently I see the need for what help I can give.  But if there has been one “loud and clear” message from my time here, it is that the act of helping is like a see-saw.  You help someone, and that action helps you.  You receive help from someone, and that action helps them, too.  

Tongans will bend over backwards to help.  Jim was given a flash drive at the open-air market just because he was wearing his missionary badge.  “No, you’re a missionary, take it,” said the young man, refusing to take any money for the item.  “I know I will be blessed for helping a missionary,” he said.  Just the other day, I took some of my Primary children Christmas caroling around the homes here at Liahona, and just for singing a few songs, some of the families wanted to invite us in to share some food, or they gave us an entire tray of sweet rolls, or they wanted to take a picture with us – their delight at being given a free gift was wonderful, and they wanted to give us something in return.  Most Americans are happy when they get help from someone; Tongans are happiest when they can GIVE help to someone.  They know that helping someone helps them, too.

When I am helping, I know it is not just me helping someone else.  I know I am gifted with the opportunity to help, the words, the actions, the perspective.  I know the source of my strength.  And I am grateful for the strength of others, when I am in need.  I hope I can continue to look for opportunities to help, and be humble enough to accept the help of others when they offer.  

SEASON OF NEW GREEN

The green is still that new, "spring" green, even under the
trunk of a fallen tree. 

It is spring here in Tonga.  The grass is that bright shade of “new green”, and the crops are maturing at an incredible rate.  We have green mangoes – so called because they never really turn pink – and golden pineapples once again.  And I’m already salivating because the avocadoes are coming on the trees.

Outcroppings like these can be over very shallow or very deep water,
and the beach is very different at high or low tide.

We enjoyed exploring to a new place the other day, and watched a Tongan family play in the water at a beach that was only about 40 feet across, framed by coral outcroppings.  The parents and five children (ranging in age from about 16 to 3)  jumped into the water, raced the waves up and down the beach, swam through the surf, and tried (and succeeded) to catch a few sea creatures.  One boy caught a  creature of some kind – it had a shell, but I couldn’t tell exactly what it was.  He was quite excited to put it on the wet sand, watch the creature flop toward the water, then grab it again and move it back up on the shore.  He finally wrapped the creature in some aluminum foil, and took it home with him when the family left.  The crustacean will probably become part of the family’s dinner tonight.

The most fascinating moment when the youngest daughter, about 8 or 9, finally freed a crab from an abandoned net the family had dragged out of the water.  She took it over to her 16-year old brother, who talked to her about it for a few minutes. Then she handed him the crab, which surprised me, because she had not let any of her other brothers take the crab.  But she willingly handed the crab over to her oldest brother, and he in turn lobbed the crab back into the water.  Then the family began gathering together, and decided it was time to go home.  Within minutes the beach was quiet, as the last of the family waved goodbye to us.  The rest had already disappeared into the mangroves.

I was fascinated with the conversation and the actions of these two siblings, because they demonstrated to me a change in traditional family dynamics here in Tonga.  Most of the time authority rules here; fathers are feared more than loved, older siblings get their way at the cost of the tender feelings of younger siblings.  But not this time.  This older brother chose to teach his sister about this crab.  Perhaps he explained that it was not edible, or that it was too small.  In any case, her accomplishments and tender feelings were honored, and she in turn honored his greater knowledge, and allowed him to rescue the crab and return it to its saltwater home.  And both she and her brother were happy.  It was like watching a bit of “new green” in family relations here. 

We sat under a mangrove tree like this one.  

What a lesson.  It was an honor to watch this family enjoy each other’s company today, parents and siblings taking turns helping the little three-year old get used to the strong surf, younger brothers and sisters cartwheeling and flopping in the sand, and the older ones jumping into the water from the outcroppings.  Jim and I were blessed to be witnesses as this family shared a simple yet profound expression of love and joy in each other’s company.  As the season of spring continues, it is wondrous to watch the growth in the people of this tiny island.  

LEARNING IN ADVERSITY

Imagine yourself for a moment as an 18-year old boy, named Pahulu.  You have experienced debilitating pain in every step for months, yet the doctors have no idea what is causing the pain.  You have managed to get a pair of crutches, even though they are few and far between in this country.  That helps you get around the house, but you don’t have the endurance for much more than that.

Oh, and you’re not living with your own family.  Your parents have thrown you out of your family home, because you joined the Mormon Church.  You have been taken in by Lopeti and Luseane, a generous young couple who have no children of their own, but who share their home with you and six other young adult men whose circumstances are not so different from your own.  You get wonderful love and support from everyone around your, yet your heart longs for your own family.

You long for them, but your own family feels only animosity towards you.  When Lopeti informs your parents of your undiagnosed, painful condition, their reaction is to go to the family cemetery and dig your grave.  Then when you do not die in a short time, the family turns to prayer – praying that you will suffer greatly, because of your choice of religion.  Lopeti chides your parents:  “Where is your faith?  Why do you not hope for your son to be healed?”  Your parents have no answer.  But you hang on to Lopeti’s promise to your parents: “I will stand by him and support him with all my heart no matter what happens.”

This house is typical of most Tongan homes. 

Lopeti and Luseane both work long hours for meager pay, and you try to be as independent as you can, though you know you take a lot of their time.  You watch the other young men in Lopeti’s and Luseane’s home.  Joseph rises before dawn each morning to cook food to sell, so he can finance a full-time mission for the Church.  The others, David, Jeffry, Liva, Maikolo and Ensini, do what they can to bring in some money to help defray the cost of their meals.  Lopeti and Luseane do not expect rent; this home is for all nine people, as long as it is needed.  Lopeti says, “It’s hard to be a father,” and your mind completes the sentence:  “especially trying to be a father to sons who have already been raised by someone else.”  Yes, when something gets broken in the house, all of you still stiffen in expectations of being beaten, but Luseane simply says, “Let’s get a broom and clean it up.”  You hear Lopeti say frequently that “hands are for blessing, not beating,” but it’s going to take a while longer to stop being fearful when accidents happen.  Not being beaten, not being blamed when things go wrong, is still a new experience for all of you.

The Mormon chapels in Tonga are modest, but sturdy. 

Because you don’t want to be discouraged by the malice of your birth family, you have turned off your cell phone and given it to Lopeti.  Better to have no contact than negative contact, at least for now.  Perhaps their hearts will soften in time.  And Lopeti strengthens you many times a day, reminding you to seek solace in prayer, to remain faithful and strong in the face of this adversity, to forgive your family for their ill will towards you and try to feel only love for them.  You receive a priesthood blessing at the hands of a senior missionary, which provides comfort and strength, if not healing.  Now you can find peace even in pain, because you know in your heart that you are safe here, you are protected and loved, and you will be the better for this experience.  So you smile, and your face is an expression of calm assurance, your demeanor one of acceptance and endurance.

You know that Lopeti is a man of God, for he has shared with you a dream he had some years ago.  His father also opposed Lopeti’s choice to join the Mormon Church, and died a few years before Lopeti served a mission.  In the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, Lopeti dreamed he saw his father dressed in rags and in prison. His father pleaded with him to free him:  “Only you have the power and authority to free me.”  After a long conversation with the President of the missionary training center, Lopeti went to the Provo temple and did vicarious work for his deceased father, to provide him the opportunity to choose, in the next life, which path to take.  A few nights later Lopeti dreamed of his father again, but this time his father was dressed all in white, and had tears of joy in his eyes as he held his arms out to his son, saying “thank you, thank you.”  That experience helped Lopeti build his life around serving others.  Not for the first time, you close your eyes in gratitude for Lopeti and Luseane, realizing how blessed you are to be the object of their service.  You echo the words of Lopeti’s father:  “Thank you, thank you.”

Lopeti, Luseane, with Pahulu (seated) and two of the other young men in their home. 

You smile as you think of the way Lopeti and Luseane have applied one particular scripture in their lives:  “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”  (See Matthew 25:40.) And you hope you will be healed, so that you can serve in the same way that these two wonderful people do.  You hear Lopeti’s words echo in your ears: “When you see someone in need, you’ll feel the Spirit prompt you.  That may be Christ right there, waiting for you to serve Him.”  And you understand more fully how to be Christlike, because you see it around you every day.

FAREWELLS AND MIRACLES

We have had the pleasure of working with Elder and Sister Sanders, a senior missionary couple who accepted a humanitarian assignment here in Tonga.  Last March, we were a bit amazed (but not really surprised) when these two volunteered to take on a second assignment, that of inspecting, supplying and maintaining the 50+ little buildings called missionary quarters, where the young missionaries live here.  

Elder Sanders always wanted to get up-close and personal.
 Here he is inspecting a village water tank.

Sister Sanders knew better than to try to climb the
water tank ladder in a long skirt!

Well, the bad news is that Elder Sanders has developed some serious medical issues, and they have been sent home to Washington State.  There is a hole in our hearts, but we know that because of the events that have happened in the last week, the Lord has more in mind for this fine man and his wonderful wife.

Because of the limited medical care here in Tonga, the area supervisors flew Elder and Sister Sanders to New Zealand for a hospital stay and screening, to diagnose his trouble.  Our mission nurse, Sister Johnston, had been trying to get Elder Sanders to New Zealand for weeks, but he kept postponing the trip because of this project or that.  But when Elder Johnston got an abscess that would not respond to antibiotics, he was put on an urgent evacuation to New Zealand, and the mission president told Elder Sanders (and his wife) to go, too.  Tickets were purchased Friday evening for the flight to Auckland Saturday morning.

One of their few days off, at the beach.

While waiting in the airport in Tonga, the four missionaries met an LDS American couple who explained they had brought their adopted child, Tongan by birth, to meet his birth mother and experience some of the culture that was his heritage.  A pleasant conversation ensued, then everyone got on the plane and thought nothing more of the encounter.  They should have.

Arriving late in the evening, the missionaries decided to wait until morning to arrange treatment.  The next morning they found themselves at a nearby hospital emergency room, and the admitting doctor tried to explain that patients were not admitted on Sundays.  Then the supervising doctor came in to see what was going on.  The supervisor was, of course, the man the missionaries had met in the airport.  Turns out he works at three different hospitals, and “just happened” to be on duty at this particular hospital that morning.  Both men were quickly screened, and Elder Sanders was admitted as an inpatient. Miracle #1: check.

That evening, Elder Johnston found his abscess had begun draining.  This abscess, which had been in danger of going systemic and causing serious bodily harm within hours, simply began draining, once Elder Sanders was admitted. Miracle #2: check.

Elder Sanders’ prognosis is good.  The specialist in New Zealand has a brother who is exactly the kind of doctor Elder Sanders needs; and he just “happens” to practice in Elder Sanders’ hometown.  The Sanders, who started their journey home on Monday, had two appointments with doctors before they even got on the plane, and medical coverage assured from the Church.   Miracle #3: check.

The Sanders live in a rural area, and with the coming recovery period, Sister Sanders worried that because of the needs of their home, Elder Sanders would ignore doctors’ counsel to limit his activities.  Elder Sanders is a worker; he cannot sit for any length of time – he needs to be up and doing.  But Sister Sanders is very aware that in order for her husband to heal completely, he has to follow medical advice and avoid strenuous activity for three months.  Not easy for a man who has worked his own land and been a plumber for 40 years. 

Besides, before coming out on their mission, the Sanders rented out their house, and the contract is not up for another nine months.  Where would they live?

A couple of friends emailed the Sanders telling them they were going to travel to their daughter’s home, that they would be gone up to a year.  The Sanders looked at each other, smiled, and emailed a message:  do you want renters while you’re gone?  The return message began:  “The key is in the garage, the truck is ready to go, the cupboards are pretty empty – do you want our son to shop before you get here?”   And because these friends understand the power of pets during recuperation, they left their border collie behind, to stay with the Sanders.  Miracle #4: check.

Those are not all the miracles, but you get the idea.  The Lord takes care of His missionaries.  I believed that before, but now, with this experience, I have first-hand knowledge.  And Elder Sanders is not surprised.  He told us: “Why shouldn’t we expect miracles?  We’re out here doing what the Lord wants us to do.  We’re out here obeying our leaders, doing our best, and serving the people the way the Lord would serve them, if He were here.  So why should we be surprised when miracles happen?”

I am grateful for the faith and the faithfulness of those beside whom I serve.  It is hard on us to see the Sanders leave, but we trust that the Lord will continue to be mindful of this senior missionary, that his recovery may be complete, that he will be able to serve in other ways during the rest of his time here on earth.  And our friendship, our fellowship together, will continue to grow and develop.  Our paths may divide, but our hearts will remain entwined.  And we will continue to expect miracles.

The Sanders and our mission president and his wife.