The Monkey Man

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I was at home on a late Wednesday afternoon when I heard the familiar boom-boom sounds of a drum coming down our street. It was unmistakable and loud.

“It’s the monkey man!” I exclaimed to my wife and to my one-year-old daughter, who was not certain about the identity or merits of the monkey man.

“Are you sure?” Stephanie asked.
 
After years of living here in Indonesia we have become adept of recognizing the tell-tale sounds of the dozens of food peddlers that go up and down our street every day. The meatball soup man rhythmically strikes a hollow chunk of wood, the coconut dessert guy lets us know it’s him with the high pitch of his kettle, and the skewered chicken man loudly accents the second syllable of the word, “sate” over and over. “Tay…Tay…Tay…” It’s a veritable food court paraded in front of our house every day, at very low prices, and with a few free amoebae thrown in for good measure.
 
But there is only one man who offers door-to-door entertainment at discount prices. The boom-boom of his drum announces his 15-minute show. It was the monkey man.
 
I answered affirmative to my wife who had a plan that afternoon not involving primates and took Naomi outside to follow the monkey man. Luckily for us, he had just started a show in the courtyard of the house directly across from ours. There was a man I hadn’t met before sitting on the front porch, with his fascinated two-year-old daughter by his side. He motioned for me to occupy the vacant seat next to him, and I put Naomi down, barefoot on the front porch. 
 
Our two daughters watched with rapt attention as the large monkey went through his routine, punctuated by the continual beating of the drum and the traditional Javanese song chanted by the monkey’s owner, an older man missing most of his teeth. The monkey rode a wooden decorated horse used in traditional ceremonies here, put on a lion mask used in Balinese dances, pedaled a toy motorcycle that had a real siren, flipped, jumped and rolled. He got the tight chain around his neck yanked if he veered from the show’s routine. By the beady look in his eyes and the way he bared his fanged teeth, it seemed to me that what he really wanted to do was eat the two little girls in his audience. It was quite a show and for only a little over a dollar.
 
The friendly neighbor insisted on paying the full price of the monkey man, but I felt I should offer something as I enjoyed 90% of the show too. He refused, saying I was his guest, and paid the monkey man the full price. I lamely gave a small tip to the old entertainer as a token of appreciation and he seemed genuinely thankful. He then commanded the large monkey to squeeze back into the small cage, hooked all the props around the sides, hoisted his drum up on his shoulder and went off in search for more paying customers. I’m sure later that night Naomi dreamed of large monkeys on motor scooters.
 
That was more than a year ago, and I haven’t thought much about the monkey man until last night. My son Jordan brought him up while we were working on his homework together. “Dad, remember the monkey man?”
 
“Yeah, whatever happened to him? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
 
And it dawned on me afterwards: when was the last time I took a little time out to share one of life’s unique pleasures with one of my kids? Sure, there is homework to work on and soccer practice to get to and my own to-do list to check off and bills to pay and appointments to make and meetings to attend and plans to implement ….but the little special experiences of life, what about those?
 
It doesn’t cost much if anything to enjoy one of life’s simple pleasures and our kids will probably remember those shared moments more than all of our hours of homework helping and soccer practice ferrying. There may not be a monkey man down your street, but I bet there is a place to get ice cream, a neighborhood to stroll in together, or a sunset to enjoy.
 
The next time that familiar boom-boom comes down my street, I’m going to try to drop everything, grab one of my kids and share a memory with the monkey man.

Books That Have Shaped Us (Part Two)

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The premise of the blockbuster movie “Inception” is that a thought planted deep enough in someone’s subconscious will completely change the way he or she lives. What ideas from books have been planted deep enough into your soul to influence the way you live your life? In this part two conversation of a special podcast, Paul Richardson and Mike O’Quin talk some books that have shaped their lives and thinking.

Specifically they touch on some key concepts and stirring stories from books such as “Peace Child” by Don Richardson, “How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci” by Michael Gelb, “The New Brain” by Richard Restak, “Outliers” by Malcolm Gladwell, “Chasing the Dragon” by Jackie Pullinger, “Bruchko” by Bruce Olson, “Run Baby Run” by Nicky Cruz, “Through the Gates of Splendor” by Elizabeth Elliot, “The Hiding Place” by Corrie ten Boom, and “The Cost of Discipleship” by Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

What books, old or new, are shaping your paradigms and stirring your hearts? We’d love to hear about them in the comment section below. 

Also, you can subscribe to this audio podcast by searching for “Faith Activators” in the iTunes store.

Thanks, and we’d love to hear back from you.  Click here and enjoy:
 
 

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Rope’s End

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It was 1 AM on Tuesday, June 6th at the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, Baggage Carousel Number Eight, when we came to our rope’s end.

Our family of six had just been traveling over a gruelling, 36-hour cross-Pacific Ocean trip from Malang, Indonesia to New Orleans, Louisiana (via Surabaya, via Hong Kong, via Los Angeles, via Dallas Ft. Worth) and our exhausted, jet-lagging bodies were looking forward to a refreshing night’s sleep a hotel near the airport. The next morning my parents were going to pick us up in their car, and I would rent an extra car to get us and all our baggage to their house in Mississippi two hours away.
 
That was Plan A.
 
Plan B started when we got to the airport and learned that my parents could not pick us up the next day because my dad was ill. My aunt, who lives in Louisiana, would be picking us up instead. I felt bad for my inconvenienced Aunt, my sick dad and the delayed reunion with my parents, but more worrisome for me was that my mom would not be able to bring us our new bank cards. Our old ones, I learned en route, no longer worked as our bank had changed over and we didn't receive the notice. So I was holding in my wallet worthless cards and a depleted supply of U.S. cash.
 
No problem. The hotel had free shuttle service so hopefully they would let me check in without a credit card, since they already had my number on file, and my aunt would pick us up the next day. We would borrow some money from her to pay for our stay, use her credit card for the rental car, and then pay her back once we got to Mississippi and were reunited with my folks and our new cards.
 
That was Plan B.
 
Plan C started when we got to Baggage Carousel Number Eight, and while waiting for our suitcases to wind there way to us, I learned on a courtesy phone that the hotel we had booked doesn't offer shuttle service past midnight. It was now 12:30 AM (yes, that would have been helpful information to know ahead of time).  We set up camp at some benches in front of the carousel with our ten large suitcases and six carry-ons and four spent children while mom and dad made a plan. My wife suggested I go back to the courtesy phones and look for another hotel that offered 24 hour shuttle service. Surely there would be one.
 
That was Plan C.
 
Plan D started when I could find no room in the inn, at least an inn with 24-hour-shuttle service. I made my way slowly back to base camp, dreading the response of my near-delirium family. The reality was slowly seeping into my mind that we were going to have to settle down for the night right here in this metallic baggage claim area.  While I shuffled back to them I kicked myself for not exchanging more Indonesian rupiah into U.S. dollars in Hong Kong. In one last desperate attempt at transportation before I delivered the bad news, I swung by a row of waiting taxis.
 
“Can you give my family a lift to the Comfort Suites hotel?” I asked a bored taxi driver.
 
“Sure thing.”
 
“Well, here’s the problem. I have a new credit card and the number, but I just don’t have it on me. But it’s really me.”   Even as the words were leaving my mouth I knew how absurd and seedy that sounded. “I have the little CSC number too and can prove my address.”
 
The taxi driver looked at me like a man who has just been offered a Rolex watch from shady man in a trench coat. He waved me off.
 
By the time I got back to base camp, the two younger kids were trying in vain to sleep on the benches and the two older kids were walking up and down the deserted corridor.  I'm not sure what they were doing—maybe checking for leftover coins in pay phone change slots.   Ana looked at me sweetly and joked, “Dad, we will beg for money.”
 
“No,” I answered and quoted from Psalms. “I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread…and I'm not going to start now!”
 
This was the testing moment. I could see it in both Caleb and Ana’s eyes. Even though they are good sports and we were all sort of joking, they were watching my response to this stressful situation.  How is dad going to respond to us being broke and abandoned at the New Orleans airport? And I had to answer those eyes. Am I going to have an emotional temper tantrum, maybe get into a fight with my wife while deflecting the blame? Or will I put my trust in God?
 
I decided right then and there that I was clutching on to Jesus. “Guys, you’ve heard me say this before, but God always makes a way where there is no way. We’ve seen him do it a thousand times. Jesus is not going to abandon us at the airport.”   I wasn’t entirely sure if I believed it in this case but the conviction at least came through in my voice.
 
I got back to Stephanie and she was taking it like a seasoned trooper. She made another suggestion to get on-line to see if we could find more hotels that offer free shuttle service. We could put our new credit card number in their system and maybe that would be enough to get over the second hurdle of checking in without the actual card.
 
That was Plan D.

Plan E started when our laptop could find no Wi-Fi signal at the airport (come on, this is supposed to be high-tech America??!!). At 1 AM I marched back to the courtesy phones and decided to call every single hotel in the provided phone list, even the ones that didn't advertise shuttle service. One lonely night auditor named Dave answered the phone at the Quality Inn. I explained my situation, praying under my breath the whole time.
 
He answered slowly. “Well, I’m the only one on duty and I’m really not supposed to leave the property…” More desperate prayers through bated breath. “…but I guess I could lock up the lobby and pick you guys up in the van.”
 
Exhale breath. Take one more deeper one.
 
“Thanks so much, Dave. But there’s just one more thing. Can we check in with a credit card number and then tomorrow pay with a different card. We just traveled form overseas and we don’t have our new card yet.”
 
“Yeah, that would be fine.”
 
Exhale again, this time with joy. “You are a life saver Dave.”
 
I delivered the glad tidings to the clan and we set up a new base camp at the waiting bay for hotel shuttles. The airport was almost completely empty by then. The only sound was our our giddy family celebrating the success of Plan E by putting our last remaining American dollars into the vending machines to purchase cokes and Doritos.
 
Dave the Life Saver picked us up in the hotel van and we checked in at the Quality Inn at 1:30 AM without a credit card. We slept like only people with caffeine and Doritos and joy and jet lag in their systems can—very well.
 
God once again made a way for us O’s where there was no way.
 
 



Books That Have Shaped Us (Part One)

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In this audio podcast Paul Richardson and Mike O'Quin talk about some books that have shaped their thinking, shifted their paradigms and stirred their hearts.  In this first of two recorded conversations, they talk about the importance of finding good books and absorbing them to develop as leaders.  Specifically they discuss key concepts from the books of Bill Johnson ("Dreaming with God"), Steven Covey ("The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People"), Jim Collins ("Good to Great", "Built to Last" and "Good to Great and the Social Sector"), Malcolm Gladwell ("The Tipping Point"), David McCullough ("John Adams"), David Keirsey and Marilyn Bates ("Please Understand Me"), John Eldredge ("Wild at Heart"), and Paul's own book "A Certain Risk."  Click here to listen or you can find us on iTunes by searching for the podcast, "Faith Activators":

Books That Have Shaped Us (Part One)

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Alzheimer’s Caregivers and Comforters

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“Okay dad, just turn around and you can sit down right here,” I say as I pat an office chair in my dad’s bedroom.

He is standing and looking at the chair confused. Either he doesn’t want to submit to my directive or he can’t figure out that you need to turn around first before sitting down in a chair.

He’s been a little testy this morning since I woke up him up at 11:30 AM to take his medicine. I tried to rouse him as gently as I could and we have had a tug-of-war of wills through the morning steps of getting him dressed and ready for the day.

He is finally seated and now comes the most critical part, getting him to take about a dozen pills that my mom left for him in a plastic pill box. They are for high blood pressure, seizures, and who knows what else to help jog his memory or stem his anxiety. I’m happy to help her take care of him this morning so she can do some errands. He asks about her whereabouts repeatedly, usually not remembering her name.
 
I keep reassuring him that she went to the post office and will be right back. I hand him him a blue pill and go over each step slowly: pill first, next drink, don’t swish your water, just tilt your head back and swallow.
 
The noonday sun is streaming through the windows and I’m waiting for him to finish off pill one and go onto the next one. I’m waiting and wondering. Wondering how Alzheimer’s could have robbed so much from my father, a man who as long as I can remember was always up by 6 AM and ready to tackle a day full of challenges. Last month he turned 69 but he moves like he is a decade plus past that. He is losing basic reason, fine motor skills and the remembrance of the people who love him the most.
 
He has been in a good mood mostly since we have been staying at his home a few weeks this summer, with a house full of grandkids and some fun memories together. Well, I guess not really memories for him but for us they have been treasures of time.  This morning, however, is the most agitated that I’ve seen him.
 
We are on the last pill and I hear the garage door open. Though I’m glad I could give my mom some small support this morning, I’m relieved she has returned because he seems so nervous with me.  When she walks into the bedroom he looks even more relieved, like a kid getting picked up from daycare. He tries to ask her a question but has trouble with the words. He motions with his hands and she seems to understand just with his gestures alone.

I exit the room while mom takes over. As I walk down the hall it dawns on me: that was just a half hour of my life and it was emotionally taxing. But this is her life 365 days a year, 24 hours a day. And there are a lot of wee early hours in that day when he wakes her up in the middle of the night to tell her something or ask a question.

A few minutes later she comes back out and asks me to come back in.  She says that dad has been crying because he didn’t know who I was and now he feels embarrassed that he didn’t know me and was even rude to me.

Mom and I go back into the bedroom together, and dad is lying back on the bed, crying.

“Dad, it’s okay you didn’t remember me. It’s really okay.”

He looks up at me and whispers a “sorry” through his tears.

“I should have told you I was your son.  My fault dad. I know that seizure medication you’re on affects your memory and I just forgot to tell you. That would be scary for me, too, to have someone in my room that I didn’t know.”

My mom massages his back while reassuring him. “Yes, honey this is your son and he loves you. You were a good dad to him, you coached his baseball team and you did lots of fun things together. You know him.”

Dad tries to pull it together and stop crying but he is having trouble. Mom keeps comforting him.

And she keeps on comforting him, everyday. She walks him through the routine steps of the day and assists him when he is having trouble, which is often. She reassures him.  She reminds him that he is loved in tender words and deeds.

My loud applause and deep appreciation to my incredibly caring mother and hats off to all Alzheimer’s Caregivers and Comforters.
.
 — Mike O’Quin, author of Java Wake and Growing Desperate

Finding Release through Relinquishment

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Paul and Mike have an honest discussion about how lugging around the big rocks of our reputations, bitterness and just plain old pettiness deadens our hearts and steals our joy.  There is a more joyful way to live life!  Click this link to hear that discussion, based out of a chapter of Paul's book, "A Certain Risk":
 

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Take A Walk

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On the south coast of Java this past weekend, I played on a beach that is accessible only by four-wheel-drive vehicles or motorcycles that dare.  I guess the other way would be if you happened to be born in one of the nearby fishing villages and could walk there.

 

The beach is of course secluded.  Very beautiful and very secluded.  No stores, no beach hawkers selling trinkets, hardly any people there except a few lone fishermen and another jeep full of Indonesians who made their way through the dirt roads to the pristine location.  My son and his friends and I had the beach almost all to ourselves and we had a blast celebrating his 16th birthday together.

 

Impossible rock formations jutted out of the sea’s horizon.  Gigantic waves crashed against the coral and formed tide pools on the beaches, hiding millions of treasures of tiny seashells.  An overcast day protected us from the brutal tropical sun.  Waves to play in, sand to sculpt, a cave to explore, a fresh water lagoon to refresh ourselves…a perfect day.  I kept thinking, this is so much beauty for just two eyes to take in within the space of just one day.

 

The next day I found myself, almost automatically, in a better mood.  There was just an extra bounce of joy in my step.  I think some of the stresses of my life got washed away in that rumbling surf and crystal clear lagoon.

 

There’s something about God’s creation that makes our souls come alive.

 

I’ve heard it said that the writer C.S. Lewis didn’t feel his day was complete without a walk in the English countryside.  Maybe this was the inspirational source of his creative genius?  I tried in vain to find his exact quote, but I did discover that he would often walk on a picturesque path in Oxford along the River Cherwell called “Addison’s Walk,” named after a famous scholar.

 

Lewis would frequently stroll on that footpath with fellow writers like Hugo Dyson and J.R. Tolkien who created the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  In September of 1931, he recorded one such walk in a letter to a friend:

 

“He [Hugo Dyson] stayed the night with me in College… Tolkien came too, and did not leave till 3 in the morning… We began (in Addison's Walk just after dinner) on metaphor and myth—interrupted by a rush of wind which came so suddenly on the still warm evening and sent so many leaves pattering down that we thought it was raining….We continued on Christianity: a good long satisfying talk in which I learned a lot….”[i]

 

Can you place yourself there on that green footpath, in the company of two creative geniuses, one who imagined Middle Earth and other Narnia, walking along a gentle English river together and talking about art, religion and philosophy until late in the night?  I think the setting must have been important for their creative friendship.  I can’t imagine their creative juices flowing that sweetly at a freeway McDonald’s over a rushed breakfast.

 

The connection between Creativity and Creation and Creator can easily be missed in our high-tech, fast-paced, as deep as a Facebook status update society.

 

A curtain opens in Revelation chapter four and gives us a glimpse into heaven.  Before the Lamb who was slain is revealed, the majestic living creatures and honored 24 elders are worshiping the Creator day and night.  What are they worshiping Him for?  His Creation.  From eternity past the elders cast down their crowns and cry out: “Worthy are You, our Lord and our God, to receive glory and honor and power; for You created all things, and because of Your will they existed, and were created.”[ii]

 

There is a rhythm in heaven that can be heard faintly when we are up close to God’s creation.  We can almost feel the pulse of the elders’ praises when we find ourselves exploring this big green and blue world.  We all long for our breath to be taken away by something beautiful.

 

How long has it been since your breath was taken away?  Go outside and take a walk today.  Your television screen, computer monitor or wireless gadget won’t do the trick.  You’ve got to crunch some some green grass under your feet, feel a soft breeze in your face, or maybe glimpse a sunset to get to that place of breath-taking awakening.

 

Lord, we want to gaze on the beauty of Your creation.  Help us make space for this.  Awaken our souls today with all that You have created.  Worthy are You, our Lord and our God.

 


[i] From “They Stand Together: The Letters of C.S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves,” Walter Hooper, editor, Collins, 1979

 

[ii] Revelation 4:11, NASB

Motel 6 vs Hotel Tugu

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During past seasons when our family has done a lot of traveling in the U.S., we often have stayed in the budget motel chain, Motel 6.  With rooms starting at $39.99 and 1,100 hotels that dot the U.S. map, you can almost always find an affordable room to stay for the night.

You also know what you can expect.  The rooms are generally clean.  The shower pressure is just enough to wash your body but not enough to invigorate the senses.  The rooms, the lobby, the whole place is very utilitarian and simple. But at 60 bucks or so I’m not complaining.  You stay at a Motel 6 because you can rest your weary traveler’s body for the night and because it’s cheap.

 

Contrast the Motel 6 experience with where my wife and I stayed this past weekend for a get-away. The Hotel Tugu Malang is a wonderful, soulful hotel which overlooks a giant lotus pond and monument that commemorates Indonesian’s struggle for independence and rests in an old Dutch, tree-shaded part of town.  The hotel was built by art lovers and there are vast caverns of art and antiques to explore throughout the property.  The lobby has plenty of places to sit comfortably and read, accompanied by the sounds of a gentle fountain.  Gardens galore.  An upstairs tea room offers free Indonesian refreshments every afternoon and you can sip your tea while overlooking the lotus pond from the veranda.  The rooms are cute and quaint, accented with teak wood, and the decorators very much paid attention to detail.   The staff wears traditional Indonesian batik clothing.  The hotel is connected to a delicious Italian restaurant and to get there you can stroll through a long “tunnel of love” which is draped with colorful tapestries.

 

After 24 hours at the Hotel Tugu Malang our spirits and bodies were refreshed for another season.  Usually after a night at the Motel 6, and a strong cup of coffee, we are ready to hit the road again.

 

While we were at the Tugu, and I was enjoying some soul reflecting time, I looked around the lush gardens and comfortable lobbies and thought how much my inner life does not reflect the spaciousness of this place but more the utilitarian-ness of a Motel 6.  Instead of gazing at beauty, like which can be found so richly in my Savior’s eyes, I opt for a quick quiet time out of the door and on to my day.

 

My soul feels most of the time as spacious as a Motel 6 lobby.  I want it to more resemble the gentle gardens of the Hotel Tugu lobby, vibrant yet restful, but to get there I have to down shift my soul.  Usually my to-do list sets the pace for my day and I don’t have time for silly things like nature walks.  What about worship just for the sake of worship?  A little poetry and not just e-mails all the time?  What do I need to do to renovate my Motel 6 lobby soul into the spaciousness of the Tugu?

 

Which would you enjoy more, the Motel 6 or the Tugu?  Me too.

 

Eruptions and Disruptions

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Sukarto smiles widely with his remaining good teeth and motions for us to enter his home.  It’s a small and simple structure, hunkered down in the ash-enriched soil of Mt. Bromo.

 

His wife Sukarni also gives our team a warm welcome and quickly disappears to make refreshments for her guests.   Even as we start chatting we can hear the grumblings of Mt. Bromo, eruptions that sound like ocean waves and rumbling thunder at the same time.  The active crater is about a mile from their house and you can see it clearly from their front yard.

 

Sukarto, like many Tenggerese people in this area, farms onions, cabbages and potatoes.   To help supplement his meager income he also works as a tour guide, bringing his horse down to the “sea of sand” every day, hoisting up tourists onto his small horse and guiding them from the parking area right up to the steps of the smoking crater.

 

Normally Mt. Bromo, a popular tourist destination in East Java, shoots out a manageable amount of sulfuric steam continually.  But since late November, it has been erupting in a more dangerous way, belching out grey ash that has blanketed the community and blown all the way to Surabaya, a few hours’ drive away.

 

There are no more tourists for Sukarto to make his living.  And even worse, his garden is covered in two feet of ash.  Life is already hard for these people, and this slow-folding disaster has made it much worse.

 

The house is built short, Sukarto tells us, because of the strong winds that whip through the fields.  If it were taller, it would be easier for the wind to knock it down.  When I stand upright in the home there is about four inches of clearance between my head and the ceiling.

 

Sukarni comes out with a tray of sweet tea and fried bananas.  We gratefully partake and once again I marvel at the hospitality of Indonesians even in difficult circumstances.  Our team of seven, made up from different organizations in Malang, gather some facts about their situation and try to offer comfort.

 

The main thing that Sukarto asks for is food staples.  The government has brought water but he and his fellow villagers are getting short on food supplies . Normally in a natural disaster there would be NGO’s crawling all over the place and offering such aid, but this has been a different type of disaster, slowly building and out of the spotlight of the media.  Nothing dramatic but ash raining down and no one has died.

 

 

We ask permission to pray for him and his wife.  They seem grateful for the prayers and disappointed when we tell them we need start driving back down this mountain range to our homes in Malang, about 3.5 hours away.  Why are we such in hurry…it’s not even raining yet?  We apologize we must be going and take our leave.

 

They walk us to their front yard, all covered by this eerie grey snow storm, and heartily wave us goodbye.

 

————————————

 

Dear Faith Activating Friends,

 

What an experience our survey team had this last Tuesday in the Bromo region of East Java.  The reason we came is to see what resources our “Disaster Response Team” of Malang could bring to bear on this unfolding disaster.  Our feel afterwards was that the main need is food and maybe some man power to help clean out houses.   If you would like to help with giving toward this village, and one other that we visited, see the info at the bottom of this report.

 

To see pictures of this trip, please click here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=273248&id=707338821&l=ec10a463e3

 

 

 

 

The first village we came to, called Weringin Anom, is much further down the mountain than Sukarto’s.  It lies along a river and was inundated by a flood caused by the eruptions.  Bromo’s thick ash, combined with mud slides, has chocked the rivers with hundreds of thousands of rocks and newly formed dams from all the debris.  Those dams break when the pressure builds and the rivers overflow their banks.

 

Where the river normally bends it just kept going and filled half of the 77 houses of there with about three feet of muddy water.  Through they were warned by friends upstream through cell phone calls, they didn’t have enough time to salvage their belongings.  Our host told us that about half the people have decided to stay and rebuild and the other half are looking for other places.  For the ones who stay there is fear it could happen again as Bromo continues to erupt every day.

 

For our host we gave some money to help repair some damage to pipes in his village.  He was grateful and is awaiting our next response.

 

If you would like to be part of that response, email me at mikeo@gomail.asia and I can send you the information on how to give, either online or by check.

 

Thanks for your prayers and support for the people affected by the Mt. Bromo eruptions.

 

 

 

 

 

Good Interview with Paul

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Hey Faith Activating Friends! Follow this link to read a great interview with my good buddy and co-blogger Paul Richardson, on his work, ministry and challenges in Southeast Asia: http://www.onenewsnow.com/Journal/editorial.aspx?id=1281348 Enjoy! — Mike O