TO KAVA OR NOT TO KAVA

Kava trees as they grow.

   














The Tongan farmer looked at the visiting Paalangi.  “This is kava.  Kava is a royal crop, Brother.  I have more than 200 acres of it growing on my plantation.  This is how I shall provide an education for my children and for my grandchildren, from the sale of kava. We make juice from the roots.  Will you honor me by trying some?”

Squeezing the juice from kava roots.

  

The Paalangi looked long at the Tongan.  “Brother Vai, I have never seen kava before.  But I have just had a prompting from the Holy Ghost that kava is not good for the body. I shall not drink any today.  Still, I thank you for your invitation, and your good will.”

Dried kava roots

 The Paalangi left, and Brother Vai sat down to think.  Then he stood, and thought some more.  And then he walked, and thought some more.  Much, much later that night, he went to bed.

 The next morning, Brother Vai called his plantation workers together.  "We will uproot every kava tree on this plantation,” he said, stunning his workers.  “I will not grow kava any more.”

The workers would not confront their employer, but later they complained among themselves.  "He can't be serious!" said one.  "The other plantation owners will say he's gone mad," said another.  "What is he thinking?  He will have no money, and we will have no jobs!" protested a third.  Still, they obeyed their employer.  He was firm; every kava tree had to go.  

Many weeks later, the last of the kava trees was removed from the ground.  The workers watched in amazement as every tree was chopped up for firewood, and the valuable root systems burned.  Now that the job was finished, the plantation owner explained himself to his staff.

“I trust this Paalangi who came to our plantation.  I know in my heart he is a man of God. I know that he is inspired of God, and I trust his judgment based upon that inspiration.  He was the one who told me that kava is not good for the body.  I will not grow anything that is harmful to anyone’s body.  I will apply in my life the principles that I know are true; and one of those principles is to never harm another person.”

The workers now understood why Brother Vai had chosen to uproot his crops.  But how would he pay them?  How would they manage a plantation with no crops?

A banana grove.

Brother Vai started over.  He had banana trees, and bananas would always sell.  They would plant more banana trees.  Little by little, more crops were added: mangoes, melons, pineapples, root crops – and sooner than any of the workers had expected, the plantation was filled with beneficial vegetables and fruits.  And Brother Vai never let any workers go – they managed together.  The plantation thrived as never before; the weather seemed to support every planting, every harvest, and the workers came to understand the value of applying their faith in both word and deed.

This is what kava drink looks like.  It used to be used only
in ceremonies,but now is popularly used as a pastime.

I was told this story by the grandson of Brother Vai, whose entire family uses this story to teach each other the value of trusting in our leaders.  I don’t know who the Paalangi in the story was; it doesn’t matter.   What matters is that Brother Vai perceived the inspiration of a leader, and trusted enough in that inspiration to take the drastic step of destroying his own crops and then replacing them, without knowing for himself the reason.  (It is now common knowledge that kava is a mild hallucinogenic, is addictive, and can cause severe liver damage.)  Brother Vai , his children and grandchildren are strong, contributing members of the Church here in Tonga, and provide leadership in many wards and branches.  It is our pleasure to know and work with a few members of this family.  

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.

FAR AND WIDE

I have a friend I will call Ted (not his real name).  Ted has been in my prayers many times over the past few years.  Ted lost his job more than five years ago, and tried living very carefully on his savings and investments, but with the economic turndown, soon was out of money.  At age 55, he knew that getting a traditional job would be next to impossible, but he tried.  After many job interviews and not one job offer, he decided to invent his own job.  He tried running an internet business, but that didn’t work.  He wrote a book, but couldn’t get it published.  He worked with a partner to start a business, and the partner disappeared with the investment funds.  Finally Ted sold his own possessions, one by one, even the precious silver passed down to him by his grandmother, and heartbreakingly, the mahogany grand piano on which his own mother taught him to play – he was a piano prodigy, performing in public by age 5.  

Ted was informed that the bank was going to take over the house where he had lived for 15 years, since he hadn’t made payments on the house for a year.  He got a break when the bank couldn’t find the mortgage papers, so he was able to stay in his home for another year.  But finally a few months ago the papers were found.  Ted was told to move out of his house, and let the bank take it over.  He talked to lots of people – lawyers, bankers, realtors – and found that if the bank could sell the house, he might get a few dollars out of the sale, based upon the terms of his mortgage.  He retained a realtor, and the bank agreed to sell the house in what is called a “short sale.”

Based upon the information his realtor and the bankers gave him, Ted figured he would have $3000 to his name when he walked away from his home   After many weeks, a buyer was found, but closing came and went without the papers being signed – the buyer didn’t show.  Ted had already turned off the electricity to his home, since he could no longer pay the electricity bill.  He took his laptop computer to the library, where he could get on the internet and stay in touch with friends and relatives who worried about him, but who weren’t in a position to help.  He was living with cold water, candlelight, and cooking on his outdoor grill.  His few remaining belongings were packed up in boxes, and one friend stood at the ready to load those boxes into a van and drive him to his own home, to stay until Ted could find a way to support himself.  Ted had used the time available to him to choose a new enterprise: he would be a street vendor on a nearby island (a tourist favorite), and he would sell homemade fruit drinks.  He priced a three-wheeled vendor’s cycle, and a machine that would mix and chill enough drinks to make it worth staying outside for the day.  If the buyer would just come through, Ted would have enough money to buy the needed equipment and three weeks’ worth of ingredients.  But the money from the sale of the piano and silver was slipping though Ted’s fingers quickly, just being spent on groceries and gasoline for his lawnmower.  And then more bad news came.

The buyer wanted to delay the purchase one month.  One month doesn’t seem to make a lot of difference to most people, but when you are living on candles and sandwiches, a month can make a very big difference - an awful, dreadful, stressful difference.  On October 4, Ted entered his status on Facebook:  “I’ve just gotten word that closing will be November 5.  November 5?  How am I going to make it through a whole month?  I feel like hitting something.  Very hard.”  None of us blamed Ted for his feelings of frustration.  It seemed like every time he tried to do the right thing, all he got in return was a slap in the face.

I had done this before, but that Thursday night, the night of October 4,  I felt prompted to put Ted’s name on the prayer rolls in the LDS temple here in Tonga.  His was not the only name I wrote down, but I know by the next morning his name was in a package of papers being presented to humble, faith-filled, prayerful people.  And less than 24 hours after that, Ted entered his status on Facebook:  “AT CLOSING!”  The closing had been rescheduled.  Then a little while later, “I’m officially homeless!  I’m so happy!”  Ted had gotten the $3000 and was making plans to move out of his house and into his friend's home on the nearby island.  In the few days since, Ted has expressed only optimism as he moves on to this next chapter in his life.  

I bow my head in gratitude.  Thank you, Heavenly Father, for answering prayers, and for always being mindful of each one of your children.   Thank you, dedicated Tongan Saints, for your prayers and faith in behalf of my longsuffering friend.  Thank you, Ted, for your shining example of integrity, determination, persistence and problem-solving in the face of adversity.  And thanks all around for letting me learn this lesson once more: the Lord answers prayers.