It’s become a trend to choose a word for the year in January. I didn’t join this trend; I just made a few old-fashioned goals.

And then I find myself in February, and it seems a word has picked us. This, my friends, is the year of conversations.

We still have a bread business; ladies are still sewing and making jewelry. The kids still come to play. Stephen is still recording and working with Pyint Soe. English classes are meeting and the new musicians are getting better.

But these are just actions; items on the calendar. Our days are built around conversations. They are difficult, real, and seemingly endless. Sometimes I’m grasping for a specific word I can’t remember the translation; others where I’m grasping for words at all.

In some conversations I know we’ve broken Burmese culture; while in others I know we’ve broken American culture. Most the time I think we’ve abandoned both, and we’re just moving into this no-mans land of a multicultural friendship in some very messy situations.

Over family dinner, we’ve discussed if you’d rather be able to fly or to make yourself invisible. We’ve also talked about the culture of how you wash your clothes, what our values are for our children, and who decides what we watch on television in our homes. We’ve talked about if we should treat everyone equal: if they ask for rice, if we serve them dinner. We’ve talked about alcohol and how we treat animals and gender roles.

Over tea and jewelry and lunch and in the car, we’ve talked about abuse. The self-defense classes we’re attending were specifically offered to some women in difficult situations, and we’ve dealt with them very personally in the past few weeks. Conversations have turned to parents that passed away, stepmothers that abused, family they don’t have. We’ve talked about husbands that beat, the pain of alcoholism, the shame from mother-in-laws, the fear of surviving. We’ve talked about fathers that don’t remember their actions the next day. We’ve talked about safety plans. I talked to one woman about her own self worth, desperately telling her how much I’d miss her if she disappeared, even as she mourned that no one would.

We’ve also talked about how couples met years ago, when certain family members went to Bangkok and when they returned. We’ve talked about one-year goals and five-year goals; dreams and what we’d do with one million baht.

This is all since January. Because this is the year of conversations.

There have been some really beautiful conversations. Moments I couldn’t have created if I tried. Our friends are trusting us in ways they never have, and we’re trusting them, too, with some our fears and challenges; the hopes we have and the things that break our hearts.

I’m thankful for the tea and rice and car rides and muffins and coffees that make these conversations happen.

I’m also overwhelmed at the teas, coffees, and rice still on the schedule for this week. Plus the unplanned ones I can’t currently see coming. Will I have the words? Will I seize the moment? How do I really love this girl right now in this moment, knowing all the pain she carries? What do we say to this man, to love him and challenge him and welcome him in, after we’ve just seen the bruises on his wife?

I’m still overwhelmed by the conversations that have already gone by, reveling in how to pray for them, how to hope for them, and what to do now. Did I say the right word? Did they even understand?  Should I have said something more? 

I don’t know most of these things. I know we’ve been building bridges for years and years, and we hope they are strong enough to continue to hold very honest|painful|hopeful conversations.

It’s only February, and I already know this is the year of conversations.

We started Family Dinner this month. Every Friday, we invite all of our “employees” and their families to join us for dinner and a class.

Family is a broad word. There are usually between fifteen and thirty of us. It could grow to forty if “everyone” comes; maybe fifty. Family is a broad word around here.

We explained the first week that we were doing this because it’s what we do as Americans, as Christians: we eat together. We talk and get to know one another better.

In Burmese culture, or at least in our neighborhood Burmese culture, it’s quite uncommon for every one to eat together or to talk much while they eat. So we bring “ice breaker” questions. Never mind that we already know the history of your family and marriage and when you hope to have your next child; let’s discuss:
– Would you rather be able to fly or be invisible?
Invisible, so I could steal things everywhere! 🤦🏼‍♀️
– If you could be any animal, what would you be?
A snake so I could kill people. 😳
A dragon. 🧐
A lion so I could get any food I want.
– Which snack are you most like, and why? (Then you get to keep the snack from the basket.)
I’m like these fish snacks because they are long and skinny.
I’m like this bag of chips because it’s fat.
I’m like this snack because my wife likes it and she likes me. 😍

And then we’re having a class together, where we learn together and try to get to know each other even more. The past weeks we’ve been talking about beliefs, core values, ethics, & morals.

We’ve talked about who feeds the kids in the house and why–what decides that? What do we want most in our kids and spouses: intelligence, beauty, wealth, independence, or kindness? Is it okay to hit animals? If we were stranded on a boat with only enough food for five people, how should we decide who lives?

Soon we’ll move on to goals, and what our plans are for this year and the next five. Later, we’ll discuss budgets and time management.

Each week, we have a teacher coming to lead the discussion and teach, so that we can participate like everyone else. She’s a Burmese Christian, so she’s helping us to connect our faith into why we do what we do: why we treat everyone equally, why we live here, why we’ve created jobs for each of them, why we spend our money the way we do, why we have the goals we have.

It’s brought some great, difficult, personal, messy conversations. But that seems to be the theme of the year, so we’re just settling in for the ride.

And even beyond the conversations, we pretty much love it.

It’s most of our closest friends, gathered around delicious food that Thida makes. It’s probably the best meal they’ll have all week, packed with meat and vegetables. I love hearing everyone laugh together, and learning more and more about some of the quieter husbands.

We have two of the teenagers provide childcare for the kids during our lesson, which gives them some spending money and keeps us all sane. I love hearing the kids laugh and call their auntie and uncle over, “When you finish, come plaaayyy!”

I love that we pray together, even if it’s the simplest prayer we can pray in Burmese. Last week, three-year-old Win Moe sat down and said, “Stephen, Kelli, let’s pray!” She said she was hungry.