We had lessons for each instrument once a week and on Saturday afternoons we were rehearsing for two hours with the Junior Youth Symphony Orchestra. My sister was amazing. I don’t remember her ever being in second violin, always first. Eventually she became the concertmaster (first chair, first violin), but turned it down in order to participate in the higher level Youth Symphony Orchestra. I just prayed my chair partner would be someone diverting and that a can of NuGrape soda would be left in the machine when my turn came at break time.

On the other days of the week we were expected to practice each instrument for at least half an hour. The piano was downstairs and our bedrooms were upstairs. While one of us practiced the piano, the other would practice the violin upstairs in their bedroom with the door shut. One of our best schemes for getting out of practice involved borrowing a Gameboy from friends at school (our parents were never open to us having our own) and taking turns keeping “watch.” The person “practicing” violin would actually play the Gameboy while the person playing the piano would keep watch. When a parent made a move to go upstairs, the piano player began banging away loudly to communicate that the Gameboy player should quickly transform into a violin player. Quite effective, really. Put two sisters together, give them a single goal, and brilliance happens.

Though I was not a natural at violin or piano, I was at tennis. Put any kind of racquet in my hand and something clicked. It felt good and right. Put a violin bow in that same hand and the only thing that felt good and right was spearing the Suzuki music book innocently staring back at me from the music stand. In the ninth grade I finally gathered up my courage to quit. Well, to ask for permission to quit. By that time I hated music with every fiber of my being. I was tired of people telling me that “some day” I would be grateful. Tired of going to symphony every dreaded Saturday. Tired of working so hard for so little result while I watched my sister skate through (or so it seemed to me). Those days it clouded my life and made me miserable. I had all my proper arguments lined up for the conversation and even some quality reasons for switching all of my attention to tennis. But I didn’t need them. I remember that pivotal conversation as being supremely anti-climactic. My parents immediately supported the idea and put as much energy and enthusiasm into helping me commit to tennis as they did music. In the end I believe their desire for me was twofold and fulfilled. They wanted to expose me to music and learn to commit. All the years spent staring at those Suzuki books gave me a certain amount of musical knowledge, something I’ve never regretted having. Those years also taught me about self discipline (despite the various wayward acts instigated totally by my sister) and choosing to do things we’ve committed to when we simply don’t feel like it.

When I think on these things I wonder what to do with my children. I want them to grow and learn and develop through music, sports, and other extracurricular activities, just like my parents did for us. But there aren’t violin teachers to hire down the road or in the next town over. There aren’t Little Leagues around the corner or sports camps during the summer or fancy dance studios. Or any kind of dance studio. So what am I going to do? I don’t actually have an answer for that question right now, aside from leaving it in God’s hands. I’m learning to trust that He has a plan for my children and He has ways of making those plans come to fruition. He also has our family here in PNG, so I can’t imagine that His plans for the growth of my children are contrary to that fact. Apparently He doesn’t need the lessons, teams, and classes to develop the gifts He’s given them. As their parents we’ll need to be sensitive to His leading in this area and diligent in taking the opportunities for them to learn as He provides, but ultimately we need to trust that He will provide those opportunities.

A dear friend treated Ray to an impromptu organ concert during our last trip to Ukarumpa. At the mission base there are many ways to expose her to music and sport, but in Madang it’s going to be more difficult.

Ray’s first two-syllable word was “gecko.” We have lots of them everywhere, so she gets to practice that word a lot. She also likes to cry wolf by randomly pointing to the walls and yelling “gko.” In the village she learned her second two-syllable word, koki. Koki is the Tok Pisin word for “parrot.” Now all birds are kokis. So on the days when I start internally bemoaning the lack of opportunity and choice for Ray and Baby Garbo, I remind myself of what they have gained. They’ll be bilingual from the start and attuned to the greater world. They’ll have a deeper appreciation for things I took for granted growing up (running water, consistent power, air conditioning, etc.). They’ll have free pets climbing the walls and windows of their bedroom. But best of all they’ll glorify God with the talents He gave them and He helped them to develop using what’s available here in their PNG home.