I thought it was a normal Sunday. We had French toast for breakfast and then spent the morning swimming laps and reading by the pool. We went to home church, followed by a special baby shower for my Karen teacher, Hser Nay Gay, who is eight months pregnant with twins!
We made it home by 6:30pm, and I got started on dinner. A few kids came around to visit Kayak; we gave out ORS for the kids–most of them–currently plagued with diarrhea. As most of them trickled home, Yuh Meh Oo & Lay Tah Oo stuck around to play with Kayak and cook with us.
About 7:30pm, just as we were starting the tortillas, Mong Ey came to the door and asked if we could drive some of them to a concert. There was a Burmese concert in town, she said, and seven of them wanted to go. Would we drive them there, drop them off, and then they could call for us to pick them up?
{Read: Can you be the parents of teenagers for one night so we can go to this concert? Please! All the cool kids are going to be there!}
We agreed, since we do want to be there to help, we have the blessing of a vehicle, and the flyer looked generally above board: it wasn’t obvious gambling, cock fighting, or who knows what else. Stephen headed out to get the group into the car while I kept cooking with Yuh Meh Oo & Lay Tah Oo, who really like both tortillas and tortilla dough. I needed to keep cooking before it was gone.
Stephen rallied the group for half an hour while everyone argued over who would get to go. He had to tell them we couldn’t squeeze nine people in the trunk…the door did need to close. They settled on four in the back (with the LPG tank, designed for none), six or seven in the middle seats (designed for two), and another two up front with Stephen.
One ten-year-old came back with Stephen, when they arrived and his mom discovered he had slipped into the car and wasn’t really allowed to go. Who would’ve thought you could sneak a ten-year-old into a intended-for-four-passenger vehicle?
Stephen took one more car load, we finished up the tortillas, and finally sat down to dinner. Stephen did dishes while I sat with Yuh Meh Oo on the porch; we listened to a domestic dispute and a blaring television while I combed her hair.
We sat down to read when there was another shout from the door, this time for the hospital: a woman was in labor. I jumped in the car this time and headed out with four adults–one of them groaning in labor pains in the front seat. I hadn’t seen the couple before; I think they may have come over from Burma to stay with family here while she had the baby.
As we drove, I wondered if she had ever been in a car before. Was this her first car experience: in our bumpy ride while in labor? Poor woman.
We waited for a little while, until three of us headed back while the father stayed outside the delivery room.
I returned to the house to have a call from the first round of concert kids, ready to head back home. Stephen went out to get a car load, this time filled with four adults and two sleeping toddlers that had been dragged along. Our dear friend Mo Bya had left for the concert on his bicycle a little later, but his chain broke on the way. He now held his bicycle out the back window while they drove back.
We sat another half hour, and received a call from the father that they had a little baby girl! We then got another call around midnight that the concert was over. One more carload to be delivered home.
It wasn’t a normal Sunday, in the end; or maybe it was? We chatted over dinner about the cute little things Jor Lay is learning to do as he approaches two–getting water for himself or chasing Kayak around shouting, “Ooooo! Ooooo!” We compared the fact that I sat outside of labor & delivery for this little baby girl, but we won’t be there for even one of the four nieces and nephews coming this year. We laughed at the improving English skills and how the kids will call to Kayak when he’s under the sink or a bookshelf, “Come back, Kayak! Come back!”
We’re discovering so much of what community is: an organism of its own. We may try new ideas that fail miserably, but then find ourselves connected over a traumatic trip the hospital. Sometimes it means saying no and setting up boundaries so you can have dinner at a normal hour; sometimes it is saying yes and letting everyone feel like they are a part of the cool team that rode in the car to the concert, while you eat dinner at 9:30pm.
It’s funny how a Sunday can show you the beautiful, messy organism you are a part of.
Your Sundays are as unpredictable as mine—–I went to SS & church; Karen Seaton from Washington surprised me with an afternoon visit…My friend Alice, invited me to accompany her to a crock pot tasting contest sponsored by youth of the local Keota churches as a mission trip funding activity. They had crock pots of main dish; side dish; appetizers and desserts….they gave you little paper cups of stuff to sample; then you voted on the best; kids won money for winners… Selah is spending the day with me today; she is currently stuffing a Christmas Bear…I’d better get downstairs and supervise. Love you, Gma