We had just gotten back from our weekend trek and showered. I plopped on the bed in the air conditioning.

It was very refreshing.

Then I hear, “Kelli! Kelli! Water!” through the window.

This is not uncommon. Most times we are home, and probably even when we are not, there are always little shouts of “Kelli! Stephen!” at our windows. And water is a very popular request.

I can’t blame them.  Today was hot, and I enjoyed a cold glass of water, too.

Unfortunately, water is a very difficult item to set boundaries for. (Hmm? See the previous post and see how “white” I am in saying just that.)

When a child is outside asking for dolls or cars or coloring, it is easier to set limits. They don’t need these things. They will find other means of entertainment.

But water is a necessity. And while they do have it, it is not necessarily clean water and it is not refreshingly cold.

I wanted to simply sit, rest, and enjoy the cool air, so I asked Stephen, “Do you think it’s okay if I wait and give them water later?”

It was a cop out.

I don’t even know what he replied, because I knew right away that I was being lazy. I rolled off the bed and shuffled to the kitchen for water.

I opened the door to see two little girls I don’t see very often.  The older girl is about five, and she cares for her little sister who is about fifteen months.

They drank thirstily.

Just a couple hours later, I was leaving the house to run to the market. I opened the door to find the same two girls, now half-naked, sleeping on our porch.

And a little while after that, I noticed the leftover sticky rice and pork we had picked up on our bike ride earlier in the day. I brought it outside and offered it to them, to which the little girl gave a quick thank you and opened it. She sweetly enjoyed it and shared with her little sister.

They had some more water, too, because sticky rice & pork makes you thirsty.

_________________________

Somehow, those two little girls were Christ to me yesterday. I knew it right when I obligingly opened the door to share water.

Though I might be mistaken, they seemed sent by the Holy Spirit. A reminder that I should love well because Christ is surrounding me.

I have continually come back to Matthew 25:34-40, “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.'”

Not only should I be willing to love well and leave my own momentary air conditioned comfort behind, but I need to seek to make the most of each situation. Different children will come, and they each need a glass of water handed to them with a smile. They each need a hug, or a chance to play with magnets and dolls. Or they each need someone to put a bandaid on their knee.

Sometimes even when the wound has been scabbed over for days.

_________________________

I’ve had a hard time recently.

There have been some stressors in our work, whether it be unknowns or frustrations. Many times we just feel disconnected and we ache to feel like we are part of a team.

I’ve had a hard time being so far from family. My sister is having her third child in the next week or two, and this is the third child I’ve been in Thailand for their birth. We just met Stephen’s newest little nephew last week on Skype, and got to talk to his now two-year-old brother who wanted us to catch the ball he kept throwing at the screen.

There are little things, as well. Stephen’s parents just put his childhood home on the market, and his grandmother, after the death of his grandfather in February, just moved out of the house he has always known his grandparents to live in.  Some of these small things–just buildings really–provide more security than you realize. It seems to be a reminder that we will be coming back to a different place and different people than we left.

I find myself expecting that if we are going to miss out on so much and leave things and people and familiarity behind, that our work should be worth it.

And sometimes–maybe even most times–I question if it is.

Or I expect that the blessings will outweigh the mounting sorrows, and I question if they will.

But these are simply my expectations, my hopes, and my standards. My definitions of what work is worth it and what blessings look like. My perspectives of who is worthy and what I’m offering and what the eternal outcomes are.

So really, it comes down to a very confused heart.

And that heart really just needed these two kids to show up at my door yesterday, to be Christ to me.  And maybe–what if they were Christ to me and I could be Christ to them? What if the Holy Spirit showed up simply for an open door and little glass of water to change both of our days?

I’ve been meaning to post this, but it always seems to come to me when I’m not around a computer.

A couple of weeks ago I made a trip to Umphang & Noh Poe camp with Yim, who recently started working with me in Social Development. When we were on the way back, having already driven about eight hours of very curvaceous roads and staring at another two or three hours ahead of us, Yim asked if I needed her to drive. She said I looked tired–which I was. And then she said something along the lines of:

“White people, they have limits. But Karen, we are unlimited.”

Hmm.

Initially I was a little offended; as if I wanted to prove that I could handle something significant. Which, is untrue and unworthy of argument.

But the more I thought about it, I think my culture, “white people” if you’ll take it, teaches you find your limits. To create margin. To set boundaries.

Do you notice that those are all book titles?

We are taught to identify these lines to prevent ourselves from insanity, harm, sorrow, or pain.

I don’t see that in Karen culture. I see that they are willing to just keep going; or perhaps they have to. There are people to feed, lives to save, a country to secure. And honestly, there always have been, for at least what the recent generations have known.

So perhaps she was right. And her culture allows her to say it honestly!

Oh little town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark street shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight

For Christ is born of Mary
And gathered all above
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love
O morning stars together
Proclaim the holy birth
And praises sing to God the King
And peace to men on earth

How silent, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born to us today
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell
O come to us, abide with us
Our Lord Emmanuel

I walked down the aisle to this song at our wedding, so today–it’s our third anniversary!–I’m thinking of it again. And really, praying it again. That all the hopes and fears currently surrounding us would be met in Him; that he would come to us and abide with us.

I suppose marrying Stephen seemed like the culmination of so many hopes and dreams, but I am also so fearful, and so untrusting. That phrase seems to resonate with me constantly: that God is meeting all of my hopes and all of my fears, simultaneously; in some way that they are not even opposing one another, as I often see them.

And I think God has met and is meeting many of those hopes and fears through Stephen specifically.

One of my favorite moments was at our wedding rehearsal, as my mom was told to stand when the music started to lead the crowd. The music started and she just sat there. Everyone looked around and then paused; the pastor said again, “So when the song starts, you stand so that the crowd knows to stand, too…”

To which she replied, “Oh, is that what you’re walking down the aisle to? I thought they were just messing around!” 

I can’t really describe her facial expression, but it was very much my mom, and that moment in time will be captured forever.

We just skyped family.

And they were so cute. They were so sweet. They were so missed.

Sometimes I just want to go home.

I reassure myself: you’ll be there soon. For two months! You’ll get to see them and hold the little ones and see all the changes, countless changes, that have happened in the past couple years.

But I don’t want to be there for a few months. I want to stay.

We were both a little sad as we said goodbyes, mostly because it was a reminder of how much things are changing. How different things will be when we return. I asked Stephen what it was that made him sad.

“I don’t want to regret not being there.”

It reminds me of a podcast by Erwin McManus. As he opens with prayer, he prays, “Father, my wife and my kids are back home, and I just pray, God, that I’m not on the wrong side of the country for this moment; that you have something you want to do tonight that requires all of us to be together.”

My prayer is very much the same, except I’m praying for these few years, or however many years are ahead of us. If this is it, and if this is what God has, then I pray God would do whatever it is that requires us to be here, to be in this neighborhood, and to be in the middle of these struggles.  Let the kingdom come, and it will be all worth it.

But if this isn’t it, can we just go back home? Can I just go give those kids a hug and be there for that soccer game and this funeral and that Sunday lunch?

I finished a two-month training course on Thursday.

About an hour before we ended, the sewage truck pulled up. He comes more regularly than I would choose–maybe weekly?–and to be honest I’m not certain what they do.

I am certain it involves sewage.

The truck pulls up out front and drags a hose around the back, creating the loud truck rumbling from the front door of our classroom and the sucking sound of the hose at the back door. For the sounds and smells, the doors and windows are closed pretty quickly.

However, the doors and windows are our air-flow in a very hot, stuffy building. So the fan is pulled out to keep the air moving, including the created smells. And yes, the fan is only pulled out for this, not for the average 90 degree days.

In addition to giving air flow, the doors and windows give light to the building. Only one of the lights in the room works. Once the door is closed, my notes are nearly unreadable in the dark, since I am not under the working light.

I am now standing in the dark, suddenly hotter than I was even minutes ago, shouting over the sounds of a truck sucking sewage through a hose.

And then the smell starts to seep in. It’s not a pleasant smell, but to be honest it’s not as bad as you’d think. It’s a heavy sulfur smell; not something I’d spray on as perfume, but not gag-worthy in my opinion.

Not so to my students and translator.  They somehow managed to cook and eat fish paste at lunch without flinching, but the sulfur smell is too much. Within minutes everyone has books or shirts or jackets pulled over their noses, and I am shouting at a room of eyes. In the dark, with a truck barreling behind us.

My translator begins to translate in front of the fan, where apparently the smell is minimal. This requires me to shout louder for him to hear, and then leaves his voice broken into strokes of the fan.

As I am mid-sentence of “teaching”, his phone rings. He answers it, still in front of the fan, shouting over the aforementioned noises, and no longer translating.

And I just laughed. I just sat down and rolled laughing.

I love my job.

I love the chaos: the multiple translators, the variety of interruptions, the constant chewing of betel nut.

I love that these students are the future of Burma: if there is change, they will be bringing it. They are the educated and the passionate.

And they exemplify to me those God is using for “such a time as this,” where the temporary things–government, politicians, and policy–are used for his eternal purposes, his people and his Kingdom (Esther 3:14).

For some reason, this was a reminder that God is bringing his Kingdom, and really in the way he always has: with talking donkeys, misfits, chaos, those in the desert eating locusts and wild honey; where you least expect it.

“Jesus began to speak to the crowds concerning John [the Baptist]: ‘What did you go out in the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? A man dressed in soft clothing? Behold, those who wear soft clothing are in kings’ houses. …From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force.'”
(Matthew 11: 7-8, 12)

There have been many curves in the past couple weeks.

We were so excited for my parents to arrive, and it seemed like we we were running in circles trying to get things together before they came. Dad had a rash the first couple of days they were here, we helped the neighbors with a funeral and made some trips to the hospital. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for them, but we had three weeks, right?

And then they left, in a sudden mess of calls, a quick trip up to Chiang Mai and a quick trip back. We were suddenly still in the middle of plans we made for them: I had a training to finish, and we had a trip planned to Noh Poe refugee camp. All still had to be done, just visitor-less.

We then got a call from my parents, amidst the funeral and tears, that someone had offered to pay their way back. They are planning to come back our way in just a few months!

And then Stephen got sick, leaving me to make the trek to Noh Poe myself yesterday. There were a few other ups and downs in there that don’t seem worth mentioning. We were just tired, physically & emotionally. I felt–and feel–like there was no time to actually think through what each step meant, good or bad or easy or hard. There was always just another one in front of it.

And then I left yesterday morning for Noh Poe.

There are 1,219 curves in the first 100 kilometers of the trip. And at least that many potholes in the last 100 kilometers.

The road is a maze of curves and hills, where you spend most of your time in second gear and celebrate to reach third. I couldn’t help but think how  this is like our lives. So many ups and downs and surprises.

At one point I told my friend & translator Yim, “After you turn this many times, logic tells you it is just a circle. In my head, there is just no way we are going anywhere.”

Just a few minutes later, she replied, “Slow down; look there. Do you see the flat land? That is just behind my farm [where we left about an hour ago]. So, I think you are right. We just go in many circles.”

The trip was scheduled to include my parents, Stephen & I, and a translator. We were staying over night, had activities planned for the kids, and Stephen was doing an interview and video of one of our favorite caregivers.

Due to aforementioned events, all of this was cancelled. We decided to just go for the afternoon for a few deliveries, not spend the night, and then return later for the interview and photos. However, due to inconsistent communication access, they didn’t know any of this.

The kids were waiting outside and clapped for us when we pulled into the children’s home. We received stares of confusion when just two of us climbed out, exhausted from driving, with no snacks or games or excitement. They had prepared everything: beds were laid out with mosquito nets in place; they had organic bananas and coffee waiting for us.

He asked about my parents and where they were; he asked about Stephen and when he could do the interview again. He showed me which angles of his huge organic gardens would best for the video and photos.

I felt like a very big disappointment.

And then we drove back. All 1,219 curves and many circles.

That seems to sum up most of my life currently.