We visited the big city of Chiang Mai again this week!

And the big city is busy.  We went up for meetings, but did our best to squeeze in visiting friends, shopping, doctor visits, and delicious food.

We enjoyed some wonderful food and enjoyed the shopping. We managed to find a bookshelf at half the price we’ve found in Mae Sot, as well as some handmade hooks and photo frames. We found a few English books, which I always love, and a few didn’t-make-export-quality (but we approve) clothing items.

Oh, and I stocked up on grains and seeds and spices that we don’t have in Mae Sot. Our lives are quite simple here, and I’m fairly excited to experiment with my bread, bagels, and granola bars.

The most significant & purposeful aspect of our trip were the meetings, and there were quite a few. We first met with the new teams & volunteer coordinators and officially ended our previous role at Partners and fully embraced the next stage! We’ve been balancing multiple roles for the past couple months, so we’re excited about this. Stephen also met to discuss more plans for file sharing & organization, security, and communication between all of our offices and staff; and he met to discuss his photography and media roles.

We also saw a movie in the theater, which is always a highlight. Unfortunately, I was looking forward to seeing Hunger Games for weeks. I was so excited that we’d be traveling to Chiang Mai while it was playing and I had geared Stephen up for it. But apparently Thailand decided Avengers would be a little more popular, and it was playing in six of seven theaters. The last theater shared four movies I was clearly not interested in.

This was more of a disappointment than I’d like to admit. It led to a discussion of how it’s the smallest, weirdest, silliest things that make you frustrated to live here, and this was one of mine.

We also visited a couple doctors while we were in town, including the dentist. I determined the low point was not receiving a new toothbrush at the end of the visit. I went out to purchase us some new ones today, since we earned them for going to the dentist; and I dropped Stephen’s on the bathroom floor last week, so we’ve been sharing. Stephen thought the high point was not having small talk.  It’s a little hard to chat about where you live and where you work while there are two pointed sticks and a mirror in your mouth. But when you’re operating in second and third language, silence is much more socially acceptable.

While it was fun to spend a few evenings out where restaurants are open later and movies play past midnight, we’re glad to be home. Every time I’m there, or any big city, I suddenly appreciate that most of the town of Mae Sot is closed by 8 or 9. I can appreciate the slow, quieter pace of this little place.

Yesterday was such a sweet day with the neighbor kids.

I biked to the market early–an obvious choice in this heat–and then was home cleaning, chopping vegetables to freeze, and cooking for the rest of the day. Since I was there for some time, I let the kids keep the basket of toys outside and play on the porch. They played happily through the morning, with different kids coming in spurts.

At one point, it was just little Yuh Meh Oo out there, who just loves to be near us. I played two games of cards with her, and then showed her I would leave the door open so that she could play and see me while I cleaned. I then continued to sweep the house while she so sweetly laid out all the little dolls and bears, rocked each one, whispered in their ears, and gave them a kiss goodnight.

I really love any time I have with Yuh Meh Oo. She is just such a sweetheart and is so gleeful when I give her my attention.

Later, I gave the kids some crayons and paper to color–their favorite–while I worked in the kitchen. Yuh Meh Oo, again preferring to be where I was, came around to our back door to sit on the step and color there. I opened the door for her, so that she could sit on the step and color on the floor of the kitchen.

And then fifteen more came around, and soon, they were oozing into the kitchen.

Sometimes, I know how important the boundaries are. But other times, it seems that breaking the boundaries speaks so loudly to them–they see us welcoming them into our lives, loving on them, and giving them special privileges.

…As I did this time.

I let them ooze into the kitchen and “color” while they looked around. They just sit on the floor and take it all in.

And then one little girl got brave and reached out to touch a magnet on the fridge.

It came off, and she looked surprised.

She went to put it back, clearly felt the pull of the magnet, and looked at me with wide eyes, letting out a gasp.

And before too long, I had about twelve little girls crowded around the fridge pulling our magnets on and off in awe.

It was so, so lovely. Because it really is the simple things.

One of the girls knew a little bit of English, and she asked about a photo on the fridge. It was of my friend Kim & I.  First they thought I was Kim, then they asked if it was my sister. When we finally got across that she was my friend, I pointed to the picture of Stephen’s family on the fridge. I showed them Stephen & I, then pointed out each sister, his mom, and his dad.

They LOVED it. And the loved all the babies, Laura & Leslie!  They would point to the kids and say, “Sister baby?”

And then they asked about my family, so I showed them a photo and again pointed out each sister and my parents. They loved this, too. And couldn’t believe you have four kids, Janel. We counted them three times.

Before too long I had to go meet a friend and told them it was time to go. But I loved it–I loved showing off our families, and I loved explaining a piece of our lives to them.

One girl said very clearly as she walked out the door, “I am happy. Thank you, teacher.”

My thoughts exactly.

I realize we’re ridiciulous.

We didn’t win the last big giveaway from Sweetwater, and we didn’t win the vacation giveaway from Centara. And many of you are still receiving wasted magazines and advertisements from aforementioned entries.

But we haven’t lost hope.

{I suppose living amidst and working with the victims of a 60-year war creates a strong sense of resilience.}

Sweetwater has a giveaway each month, May is microphones again. I’m told this one is even better than the last; it actually has microphones in it that Stephen was looking at for some future recording projects of traditional Karen music.

Anyway, we’re entering again. We won’t beg you this time.

But we’ll invite you to enter and increase our odds…

Visit Sweetwater.com to enter the Mic Locker Giveaway. Please note that there is only one entry per household, and the question, “What mics are you currently using?” is not required 🙂

And thanks for being ridiculous with us.

This is our Narnia, and I’m more convinced of this every day. You can describe it, and it can be believed; but it can’t be grasped without experiencing it, or at least a little something of it.

And instead of endless winter without Christmas, we have endless summer without summer vacation.

Or summer without tank tops and sun dresses!

I’m amazed how much seasons are engrained in us. And when they don’t come as we expect, it’s as if time doesn’t go by. It’s as if we’ve been here for one long summer.

Then suddenly, I see my niece on Skype and wonder how she grew up so much over one summer! I watch You’ve Got Mail and hear, “Don’t you just love New York in the fall? It makes me want to by school supplies.”  I find myself aching for a breeze, a scarf, golden yellow leaves, pumpkin patches, and bouquets of newly sharpened pencils.

We live in one of the sunniest places on earth, I’m sure. Even during rainy season, which lasts about six or seven months of the year, the sun is out for at least part of the day, and often shining through the rain.  It seems this would be beautiful, right? Sunny skies every day?

There are positives: a bike ride is possible every day of the year. A garden can grow at any point, and the swimming pool is always open. Some kind of fresh fruit is always in season, and you’re never too cold for ice cream. You don’t need seasonal clothing or a winter coat closet.

But I still find myself hoping for some dreary clouds and drab cold winds.

Refugee camps can be kind of depressing places, I think.

There is a stagnancy about them; a day-in-and-day-out monotony where you can come so close to feeling like its simply a village, but you can never fully remove the awareness that its not.

One afternoon, we we walked through the camp in search of tomatoes for dinner. Earlier that day, two twelve year olds had drowned while swimming in the river, and we watched a child’s body carried quickly past us.

For some reason, I thought of their mothers. I imagined a woman weeping over her son’s wet body.  The camp community would know of the deaths, and few others. The numbers would change on the camp counts, as they always do. But I felt that he deserved more mourning; that he not be overlooked.

I began to imagine the many people weeping around the world at that moment, in that day–this woman for her child, others for deaths of friends or family, hurtful words, fear, wars coming close to home, or loneliness.

But there were joys happening in that same moment, on that same day, in many of the same places–babies born, people celebrating success in their work or a feeling of purpose, a sincere conversation between friends, delicious food, or beautiful music.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”
Romans 12:15

The significance of this verse began to resonate. What if we truly mourn and rejoice with others?

Allowing ourselves to mourn with the suffering around us–in our own cities as well as globally–makes us unable to ignore it. We are required to carry a portion of the weight and to be reminded.

But at the same time, we can cherish others successes and celebrations.

We begin to cross cultures and income gaps. It becomes less about our joys or our sorrows and more about others; the global community that both aches and hopes simultaneously. We suddenly have many people crying with us and rejoicing with us at the same time we join with others.

It’s much easier and much more pleasant for us to forget pain and ignore suffering, or perhaps simply to control when we think about it. It’s easier to hope for personal joy and success rather than collective benefit.

As I thought about this little boy and his weeping mother, I caught a glimpse of the community that is created in this verse. Not only among our immediate community as we learn to rejoice and mourn with each other, but also on a global perspective. It pushes us to selflessness. If individuals choose to engage in mourning and celebrating worldwide, we connect ourselves. We become a part of the whole of creation that aches and hopes for eternity. Our focus is shifted from self to community.

…is a dangerous word.

I’m thinking of eliminating it from my vocabulary.

Chances are, whatever you are about to say isn’t obvious to the whole world.
It’s probably not even obvious to the people around you.

I’m currently reading Comparing Political Regimes by Alan Siaroff for my research. I quite like his writing, and as far as political books go, it’s easy to read.

But he’s overusing “obviously.” I find myself wanting to scream, “Maybe it’s not so obvious to some of us! Maybe we’re just trying make sense of politics, we’re way in over our heads, and it’s not that obvious to us!”

Perspective changes everything.

A few weeks ago, we stopped in Tak on the way from from Mae Sot to Chiang Mai. There is a Tescos and a Big C there–both comparable to Walmart– and a few chain restaurants–Dairy Queen, KFC, and Pizza Company.  We stopped to get personal pizzas at Pizza Company for dinner, but got distracted by the Tescos. We ended up walking through the store for over an hour, taking in the variety: countless shirts, types of oil, and kinds of tape.

It’s a big step up from Mae Sot.

As we continued driving and ate our pizza, we commented on how good it was and how fun it was to look through all the things at Tescos. At one point, I said it might worth a Saturday trip–we could come up to have a fun meal and shop a little.

Then I caught myself, because I simply can’t let a few hours in Tescos and greasy food from a chain restaurant be considered a day out; I just couldn’t bring myself to that. It doesn’t really matter if it reminds me of the West, because it’s the no-so-wonderful parts of the West. And, no matter why, I just can’t do it: I won’t judge you if you will, but I can’t.

Fast forward about six days, and we were returning from Chiang Mai after a week of really wonderful Western food, staying in a hotel, and even shopping amidst many people and lots of traffic. We stopped again in Tak for dinner as we drove through. And this time, the conversation was more along the lines of how this pizza wasn’t as good as we remembered and how there wasn’t anything special we wanted to look for in Tescos.

We returned to Mae Sot, and I was struck by how small it felt. As we rode the motorbike through town that evening, I commented on how it feels like a small town, and it was refreshing to be back.

Yesterday, we returned from nine days in two refugee camps along the border. They are small and remote, taking two or three hours of 4WD to get there.

I was driving as we pulled back into Mae Sot and said, “Look at all these cars! This place is crazy!”

It’s interesting how our perspective changes everything.