Church Decorations

Howzit again. I've just lost half of this post together with the images I was trying to upload to illustrate the last entry. The internet clock is ticking, Vatu are leaking from my wallet. If you don't mind, we'll switch to quick notes.

Chief Daniel and Esther (especially Eshter) are tumas kind. (Try it with "thank you tumas" and you see). They and the airport bus arrived pretty well simultaneously. With much embarrassment and regret, we had to decline the gifts they bore - large mats that simply can't be toted around the world. That didn't stop them smiling or Esther taking firm control of me, the "orphan" as the Milner-Williams and Bennets headed for the airport.

In my experience, the Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Adventists and others need something special to get them working smoothly together. 170 years of guilt followed by reconciliation seems to work.

A full string band in the choir stalls is apt to both rock and roll a congregation as the youth choir makes musical putty of the word Allelujah.

Poor Jennifer - that ankle was broken. She, Michael and Daisy flew to NZ to get it sorted out.

The remaining "team" joined the Erromangons in singing the "i sore" John Williams hymn. It seemed the right thing to do.

His Excellency the Head of State has a faint tremble; hardly noticeable until is pinning the Vanuatu Silver Jubilee Medal on your chest. One surprise after another.

I read the New Testament lesson: John 12, 3:20-32. You know the passage, Jesus and the Greeks. Kernels of grain dying to multiply (and then dying before multiplying). In other words, as the huge, smiling Pastor who gave the sermon said: Jesus was a coconut; John Williams was a coconut and we are all coconuts. (And that means that we can't marry breadfruit - supra on kalta).

David Williams responded so very graciously from the family.

We followed HE, the First Lady, Equerry, Acting Prime Minister and Ralph, MP out of church, shook each by the hand and then ... stood by to shake at least another 250 hands, many of those who had not managed to get to Dillon's Bay (sorry, Williams Bay) murmured "sorry" through blurred eyes. It's all so emotional, so hard to put together. I wonder if I ever will make any sense of it?

All these questions buzzing in my head: How does a 54 year old man who has only left the island twice to travel locally, learn to much about Islam?
Who was studying advanced genetics?
What are posters of Lucky Dube doing all over town? (The answer is that in December there is a "Remembering Lucky Dube" reggage concert).
Why didn't I bring my laundry in to the laundromat?
Do I wait for these images to upload? (No! Not only is the wallet leaking but WAB is protesting too).

Time to go and try to book for a volcano.