I had bible study, so dinner was prepared and in the oven by 6pm. That’s a record for our household as it currently stands.

I was working on some chickpea snacks and needed a few limes, so Stephen and I took Kayak for a little walk down the street to the shop that has a few vegetables.

For just those few blocks, we waved at neighbors the whole way. Two kids bicycled past; Jor Lay run up as soon as he saw Kayak. Six older kids were around the corner and waved in the coolest way they knew how; one bailed on the cool idea, shouted out, “Bunny!” and made bunny ears above his head.

We passed Mo Bya & Saw Eh Say, who had just come back from purchasing a drink and chips at the shop.  I asked in Karen if Saw Eh Say had lost his shoes last night since we had discovered a small little pair of flip flops in the back of the car after the concert outing last night; we thought they might be his. He wasn’t wearing shoes currently, but Mo Bya said he didn’t know.

The shop owners oohed and ahhed over Kayak, and we bought our three little limes for five baht. We walked home, again meeting a few kids on the way. Jor Lay–soaking wet from who knows what–ran up to Stephen. Yuh Meh Oo held onto my arm and pet Kayak as we walked home.

We played outside for a few minutes; Stephen wrestled with two boys and we watched a pre-Songkran water fight break out.

And in just five minutes, it was clear: all is well. And all will be.

It has been a season of questioning: where we should be, where we are headed; what is wearing us out, what is giving us life; what is God in the midst of and what is He telling us to turn from. It has been a season of long days and longer weeks.

But in just five minutes, He can make clear where He is working, where we should be, what is giving us life; that all is well.

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.

Today was graduation day at Hsa Thoo Lei, where the neighbor kids go to school.

There was only one student graduating from our community–Jorgee finished the kindergarten equivalent–but the whole community came! All the girls put on their best dresses and shoes.

I wish I could capture the entirety of the ensembles.

These shoes were paired with a dress: it was red on top with some Asian characterization on it, a white tutu on the bottom, and white wings on the back. Yes, actual wings coming out of her shirt. And these pink, sparkly, flowery boots. It was adorable.

These shoes were paired with a pink, polka-dot dress–with a bejeweled belt and ruffles. She had red striped shorts underneath for modesty, so much modesty that they were longer than the dress. And of course, oversized, Caucasian-toned panty hose and sparkly high heels.

I continued to wonder through the day why on earth she was still wearing those panty hose in 100 degree weather.

Though the school is less than a kilometer away, we went in the Zuk to transport a huge pot of curry that Jorgee’s mother was contributing to the potluck-style meal. And once you have the Zuk going, you might as well pile in kids, right?

The first trip had seven of us and a big pot of curry, but this left some kids behind. We returned for another load, this time with eleven of us! Not bad for a little car that supposedly holds four.

And then we sat together for three hours or so, enjoying odd snacks and chatting. We moved our chairs further back and further back to stay in the shade while the sun rose.

And then the moment finally came for Jorgee to graduate!

It does’t look like he was too thrilled for us to be there, until you see the photo with his mom. They just don’t smile for pictures, and we just can’t help it!

Despite the outrageous heat of hot season that is now melting us, it was a fun day with the community and celebrating Jorgee’s faithful studies in Karen, English, Burmese, and math!

You just can’t make these things up. These kids are just adorable and make me smile at every turn.

This is Nah Lay Ton, a little friend who recently has taken more of a liking to us. We first met him two Christmases ago, when he was just a little babe with an infection on his backside. He came into the Christmas party with a leaf covering a very red patch of skin, and he was soon taken to the clinic and had a small little surgery.

He hasn’t liked us for a little while, probably in part from our unpleasant first experience, but also just that the little ones really aren’t too keen of white people unless they have seen us since the beginning.

Now he’s a little toddler in the care of his six-year-old brother who thinks its funny to give him glasses & a mustache.

As I unpacked some newly-purchased pharmacy items into the community space today, I saw him roll by the window.

Thankfully, he has a personality like Stephen’s, and he was in no hurry. I had time to get the camera, change the settings, and he was still just sitting there enjoying the view from under his hat.

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Today, Lay Tah Oo came to the door asking for a balloon.

The kids had gotten some at school today, but a few had popped. We replaced them and sent them on their way–about three hours earlier. Lay Tah Oo was asking for another replacement.

Stephen was in the middle of a Burmese lesson and told him not right now.

Lay Tah Oo turned around and shouted something in Burmese, to which Stephen’s teacher laughed. “He told all his friends, ‘I didn’t get it, guys!'”

A few weeks ago, two volunteers connected with Partners about water purification projects. They have a pretty amazing system they can put in to purify local water sources, and they are hoping to do a training here so that Partners can take the idea into other locations. As part of the training, they tested a variety of water sources, which included government-regulated tap water at the office, the purified water we purchase, our neighbors’ well, water from the Partners’ farm, and standing water on the side of the road.

The cleanest went to tap water. Which I suppose is good, but also important to note that the office is in a gated neighborhood and generally receives the best utilities available. Slightly disturbing that it wasn’t the purified water that we drink, due to ridiculously high chlorination levels. Lovely.

The worst water, though, went to our neighbors’ well. It had extremely high levels of E.coli in it, among other things, which might explain the high levels of sickness we encounter.

Either way, the two volunteers suggested they do a training in our neighborhood, where they could teach our neighbors and Partners’ staff alike, and ultimately provide them with a clean water system for drinking water.

Pretty amazing, right?

But we have to sort out if they want it, if they are willing to learn, and when the best time is.

Meanwhile, we are trying to sort out our plans for the future, and attempting to see what additional ways we could help the community. We’d like to invest further, but weren’t sure what they’d be interested in.

Add all of these things to this weeks’ current struggle of finding kids gambling outside our door, despite being told not to: we decided to have a community meeting.

I had told Mong Ey on Monday, and asked her to tell the adults.

We scheduled Stephen’s Burmese teacher to come translate, to ensure we were communicating accurately. My Karen is acceptable, but it is sometimes difficult to know if we communicated effectively. Our primary translator from Karen to Burmese is also very…opinionated. We were concerned she might do less translating and more convincing of everyone else. Thus, a translator was requested.

That brings me somewhere around 5:45pm on Wednesday. Stephen had run to the store to purchase cookies, which may or may not be used as a form of bribery; he should return any minute. Our translator, scheduled to arrive at 5:30pm, hadn’t arrived. I reminded Mong Ey just twenty minutes earlier; but the community looked entirely unfazed.

I wasn’t really sure if she hadn’t told anyone, or perhaps if they simply didn’t care?

As I looked out the window, I realized our goal of compiling a group of 20 to 50 adults across more than three languages with the time scale of “after dinner” was ambitious. I realized all the details that have to fall in place, the translations, the coordination. Even just the sheer desire to participate, to build relationships, and to see where this goes: it was a stretch.

We had been praying over this for weeks: for participation, for the translator, for wisdom in what to do next. We have been praying for when to start new projects and when to just be friends.

And I sat there in front of the window, I was just so nervous. Nervous that no one would come; that these relationships are one-sided and they simply want their kids out of their hair. Nervous that I care and they don’t.

But God is good. And more than that, I really believe he has been in this from the beginning. By 6:00pm, our community space was filled with twenty or thirty adults and few young children mixed in. I gave out some cookies outside to keep the kids and their loud voices in the street, and we had a little community meeting.

Stephen coordinated our discussion, talking about the water purification system first: Did they want it? Would they use it? What were their concerns? Would the help build it and maintain it?

Everyone was more than happy to have it and more than willing to help. Their main concern was having enough water in the well, as during dry season (which we are in the middle of) there sometimes is enough water for everyone to bathe, wash clothes, and cook with. The community is divided into two areas and each has their own well. In the end, I think we will start by building a water purification system at one well, where we can all be trained, learn, and build it together–though I’m fairly certain it won’t be as picturesque as I just made that sound, add some miscommunications, the sun, and rivers of sweat–and then re-create it at the second well in the other area of the community.

Everyone seemed to think this was a great idea, and we’re hopeful to have the first system up and running next week!

We also discussed our new car and told them how our friends, family, and church had purchased it for us! We told them we were more than happy to use it for medical needs and other things as well. We suggested a few ideas we had: if they needed to purchase bamboo or wood to repair their homes (sometimes we see them with huge bamboo poles on their bicycles, usually with a kid precariously perched somewhere); or perhaps we could take one person into the market with a list, where they could purchase vegetables at cheaper prices or in bulk. They loved the ideas, and we suggested they mention it to us the day or week before so times could be arranged.

We discussed gambling–that they are free to gamble in the street or at their own homes, but not here; we didn’t want it on our property–for legal purposes as well as our own preferences.

We also suggested an idea we’ve had for sometime: starting a rabbit farm. It seemed like a relatively easy, inexpensive way to provide meat to the neighbors as a community project. Among friends who have started them, they are always very successful, and the only challenge has been when communities have trouble eating the cute little guys. That said, we thought we should ask if they’d be interested, if we were able to start one in the coming year. They said it was a great idea, and one woman stood up to tell us she had some great recipes!

{Side note: This rabbit farm is unrelated to Kayak, which we recently purchased at a market for our own fun. He will be our pet for a little while, and perhaps he, too, will be eaten by our friends later, but he is not the start of the rabbit farm.}

Another project we have contemplated for years was providing English classes to the neighbors. It seemed like a way to upskill them for local work as well as when they return to Burma, where English is taught in schools and used commonly. However, I’ve been nervous for awhile. In some ways I just didn’t want to start something I couldn’t maintain amidst travels and chaos, but I was also nervous about their response.

However, we brought this up in the meeting, and asked first if any of the adults would be interested in learning English. A resounding roar rose up: men, women, young, & old. Everyone was keen–extremely keen! They asked if we’d teach the children, as well.  We’re hoping to sort out the details in the next month and begin providing a couple classes a week, most likely to three levels: adults, where will focus on conversation and ignore writing, as most of them aren’t literate in any language; older children, focusing on vocabulary, sentences and comprehension; and younger children, learning letters, numbers, colors, and shapes.

This was the highlight of the meeting for me. They were so excited about it, and its a very easy way for us to engage with everyone on a regular basis. It brings them into our lives and us into theirs. I’m really hopeful to get some sort of a plan together and get started!

By the end of the evening, we’d had a great little meeting. Everyone seemed hopeful, and Stephen & I were elated. It seems we are constantly asking if we are on the right path: is this working? Are the Band-Aids and puzzles and Mama noodles and cup after cup of water adding up to anything? Are the hours of language getting us anywhere? How many times will we clean writing off the outside of our wall or tell them we aren’t going to go to the Buddhist celebration because we are Christians?

It seems we are always praying for the Kingdom to come here; for our home to be a peaceful refuge, for our responses to be gracious, for our smiles to be full of hope. We are praying for the Band-Aids to communicate love, for the puzzles to give a future and a hope, and for all those little cups of water to be full of life.

We have big prayers for our little, tired lives.

But God is good, and we are truly thankful for the community, for the meeting I was so nervous about, and for the steps ahead of us as long as God blesses us to be here!

Today in home church we sang “God of this City,” a song written by BlueTree in a bar while they were in Pattaya, Thailand.

You’re the God of this city
You’re the King of these people
You’re the Lord of this nation
You are

You’re the Light in this darkness
You’re the Hope to the hopeless
You’re the Peace to the restless
You are

There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God

For greater things have yet to come 
And greater things are still to be done in this city 
For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here

As we sang today, I was thinking of our little community and our little plans for English classes and rabbit farms and trips to the market. Little plans, little community, little meetings; but a big God that is the King of these people, the Light in all of our darkness, and the Hope on the most hopeless of days. And greater things are still be done here!

Look what we purchased at the market last night!

His name is Kayak, and it’s adorable when his little feet slip on the tile!

He already has made friends with the neighbors, although he prefers Yuh Meh Oo to Lay Tah Oo quite obviously. The ideas of petting him softly and allowing him to breathe are fairly new, so I don’t blame him.

In university I discovered Voice of Witness, an organization that uses interviews and oral accounts to document human rights issues. They compiled one of my favorite books on Burma, titled Nowhere to Be Home: Narratives from Survivors of Burma’s Military Regime. For Christmas Stephen bought me High Rise Stories: Voices from Chicago Public Housing, and I just read through it last week.

I spend quite a bit of time reading about human rights issues and development issues around the world. Due to our lives and work, Burma tends to be the focus, as well as issues very close to us: refugees and refugee resettlement, treatment of illegals, border towns, revolutions and revolutionaries; but I also enjoy any aspect of social justice.

Sometimes, though, these topics can be somewhat depressing, hearing the stories of war and poverty and suffering. That is why I love Voice of Witness, which is told by the narratives of people involved in the situation. I think by our innate need as humans, we write hope into our own stories. We may not live by it or believe it in every way, but at some level–hope keeps us going. This means that in every narrative, they don’t believe their story is hopeless, as a distant intellectual sorting through statistics may be inclined to believe.

I asked Stephen for High Rise Stories because it seemed distant from our lives; I have been looking for some fresh reads. How could life in the projects apply to our lives here?

It was a wonderful read, and fresh in many ways; but not distant from our lives at all.

Every interview talked about the community they felt in the projects. They spoke about everyone feeling like family, how everyone looked out for each other and everyone watched each others kids. They shared about cooking for one another, leaving their doors open in the evenings, gathering together outside.

Every interview also had similar stories of suffering–substance abuse, poverty, physical abuse. Struggles for education, work, and stability.

“He said, ‘Aren’t you afraid of living in Cabrini with all this shooting and stuff?’ I said, ‘No. I even leave out at night and go to the store,’ which I did. I said, ‘Only time I’m afraid is when I’m outside of the community. In Cabrini, I’m just not afraid.'” (p.38)

That’s our lives; that’s our community. Those are stories are resounding from the streets of Chicago to Samarksubpakan Road in Mae Sot. Those are things that make up the community we’ve experienced.

Suddenly, I don’t like the phrase “the projects.”

One of my bigger fears recently is how we will live somewhere else someday. Whether we moved within Asia or back to the States or only-God-knows-where, how would we live? I would want to live as we live now–sometimes I can’t imagine any other way. I love having children arguing over a toy, grandmothers calling for their grandkids, food being cooked within smelling distance. Listening to laughter and running water and arguments; the pounding of laundry; screeching bicycle brakes.

But how do you find community like this? How do you create it?

We only happened upon this by the grace of God, leading of the Holy Spirit, and miracle after miracle. Day after day, tear after tear, medical emergency after medical emergency.

Somehow, this book rejuvenated this hope that God might provide this again; that it exists elsewhere, and even everywhere. And whether he does provide it again or not, a reminder that this is an incredible gift. It is an incredible gift to live where I am pushed each day and yet feel safe each night; where we feel completely foreign to the culture and yet a part of the family.