love.

As I write this, we’re over the ocean and headed our way to the States for two months of time with friends and family.

This is the most unprepared I’ve been for a trip like this, I think.

The past week didn’t help us as we finished up projects and scrambled to put a few things in place for the community while we are away. We enjoyed meals with friends as we dreamed over what the future could hold in us serving together; we cherished meals with other friends as we face the sadness that they are moving back just two weeks after we return in March. We came home from one of these dinners around midnight Sunday night to find lots of blood on the street and driveway, see an exposed bone, and to then head off to the ER to get a neighbor stitched up. The following day, just thirty hours before we left, our car experienced a few more difficulties, and a friend came to the rescue and helped Stephen re-wire the car. This is the same friend who will be moving back in March; he’ll be missed for his friendship as well as his oh-so-helpful skills that have gotten us out of many a pickle.

We frantically packed on Tuesday to catch the bus at 8pm, and then had a small panic when our bus arrived 1.5 hours late to Bangkok. We managed to catch our first flight, despite the four security checkpoints, and have even now caught two of four flights and are considering that no small feat.

But for some reason, with bags packed and planes caught and friends helping in the community and even a little home procured for our little bunny while we’re away—I’m not ready.

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We went to Burmese church on Sunday with eight kids in tow. Five of these were teenagers, which we were really excited about. We arrived thirty minutes late and tried to sneak into our seats quietly when the teenage boy with us was called up on stage. Within minutes of us arriving, he was standing with a group of kids from the community—ones we hadn’t even brought—and they were reciting their bible verses from the Saturday program.

Even though the church had picked up some of the neighbor kids for this special week, they were now with us. There were little whispers and an occasional shout for Stephen & Kelli as the kids realized we were there, and it would certainly be an exciting ride home as we fit seventeen of us in the car to go home—Stephen & I, six teenagers, and nine kids. I had two ten-year-old girls on my lap.

But before that, as we sat listening to the sermon, one of the little girls peered over at me from the kid’s area and asked if she could come sit with me. I nodded yes, and she quietly padded over and climbed into my lap.

She’s ten, and she didn’t really fit. She has been one of the primary care givers for her eighteen-month-old nephew or cousin—there is a whole lot of confusion about who lives in the home—since he was an infant. Watching her cook, clean, and care for a young baby, I have wondered if she carries more responsibility than I do.

I hugged her close and put my cheek against hers as she cuddled up into my lap; she was certainly trying to be small again. Tears sprung to my eyes, and I realized two things. First, I hugged her like my mom used to hug me: so tight with her teeth clenched. Physical touch is near the bottom of my love language list, so a whole lot of me wanted to pull away. But I really knew she loved me, and she held me so tight because she loved me so tight.

Second, I knew I really, really loved this little girl.

And I guess it surprised me. Perhaps first because—and I mean this in the kindest way possible—she isn’t my favorite. I know we aren’t supposed to have favorites (although where does that come from?); perhaps I shouldn’t think that or at least not say it? But I’m human; I do. And she isn’t one of them.

But I love her. And as I looked at the kids sitting beside me…
a teenage boy who is just figuring himself out and growing in confidence, whether its in English class or Scripture memory or football

a teenage girl who limped to us this morning because her father beat her yesterday; who we really pray for and love and try to look out for; who we’ve gone out of our way for; who we’ve cried for

the girl beside her, whose wounds from her own father I’ve bandaged more times than I could count; who has stolen from us and given us a very real chance to show her grace and redemption

the young girl beside her, who has an incredibly healthy little home, but still carries the burden of helping care for the four siblings younger than her; who just loves to have a chance to have fun or get special treatment; who just delights in a bottle of hand sanitizer more than anyone I know

My mind raced to the kids that are often heavy on my heart: those in abusive homes, those who we’ve been offered to adopt on multiple occasions, those who come looking for a meal.

I realized how many of them I really, really love.

It reminds me of when I was falling in love with Stephen in university. With family, you grow up learning to love them. The love is there, and you learn to identify it. But with Stephen, it was like I was discovering it come on me. I would suddenly realize how much I loved him, and then be shocked when it continued to grow. Even now in marriage and hopefully until we die, I continue to be amazed at what that love becomes. It is still moulding. It feels more new because I know where it started—at nothing; as strangers.  And perhaps this is the significance of loving your own child to, as you discover the amount of love you can have for something that didn’t exist until recently, and before long will be walking around as an individual beyond your reach. You actually experience the love growing.

This is what i see in the community. I see the growth of love.

But then I also see that they go home each night. They are separate family identities, however broken or splintered, and that love goes with them. It’s vulnerable.

And it’s often the bloodiest events that remind me of this, or perhaps those involving arrests.

And even in us leaving, I realize the vulnerability of loving on two different continents. Or loving children that don’t really come with you.

I find myself thinking that it would be easier if this were a job; if I could leave an away message and a stack of papers on the side of my desk. It would be easier if it were a task or a project; a ministry that is separate from my life and my family.

We took a different road than that, though.

This is the first trip back to America when our whole lives have been wrapped up in these relationships. Maybe that is the difference; I’m not really sure. I’ve never been one to conclude.

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As we’ve entered in fully to the community around us, we’ve been working on establishing who we are, what we do, and why we do what we do. We’ve been praying through our vision and goals.

Some days I think this is the only way missions should be done: relationally. I try to catch myself quickly, since we serve a big God and I am not him; who am I to determine the best way? We also previously worked for an organization that was more project-oriented, if you will, and this was an area of disagreement; but I’m working to limit my swing.

Other days, I wouldn’t wish this on a single soul. I question how we got here, how it destroying us, and if we’ll make it one more day.

{If it isn’t obvious yet, I have a difficult time taking today as today and not as forever…}

On these days and all those in between, and especially on the days when Stephen reminds me that this isn’t forever; this is just in fact where we are now. I’m thankful that it is just that. I’m thankful we’re not all called to the same thing. I am also thankful that he called me to this thing right now! I am thankful that God has ordained so many things to bring us here. I am thankful that our lives—particularly in the last year—have been littered with God’s faithfulness. I am thankful that this is where he has called us today and where he’ll provide & equip us. I’m thankful that I can rest in a peace that passes all understanding.

And I’m really thankful that I can fly from one loving community into another loving community, sitting beside my favorite love, and being carried by Love.