The House Collective

losing & winning.

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We’ve been watching through Seinfeld in our spare evenings and have just finished the episodes where Jerry brags about his 13-year no-vomit streak. Meanwhile, we’re aiming for six months over here and just can’t seem to make it.

After treating some fifteen people in the community with the same virus, I suppose it was inevitable. I was officially down for the count last night, in the midst of the coldest front to hit northern Thailand in over a decade. It stayed between 50 and 60 degrees Fahrenheit all day yesterday, which is just unheard of. We were then met with a huge rain storm, including thunder, which we just don’t get here. I’m torn: it’s much better than sweating, and this has been the longest cool season since we arrived. And yet, I dread the ice cold shower each day, and fear for the kiddos & families trying to live in these temps they just aren’t used to.

This morning, after I tossed and turned all night, Stephen woke up and said he was going to open the gate and door for the kids and community. It was just too cold and rainy for the kids to wait outside for the bus. So while I kept my distance on the couch, he sat among kids and blankets playing Memory before the school car came.

IMG_2116Today finds me curled up on the couch in layers of clothes and blankets as every breeze of the 50-degree weather oozes into our unprotected, unheated home. This is the first time I can ever remember closing up all our windows to keep out the cold.

The girls that are often at our house for a few school lessons are bundled up in the community space, hard at work while The Verses Project and rain fill the background. Chicken noodle soup is cooking on the stove, and a friend is helping us purchase and deliver blankets to the families in bamboo homes later today.

So we’re losing on the no-vomit streak, but winning in many ways.

countdown to christmas: thursday.

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Christmas Eve was a little over-eventful. We needed to take two people to the clinic, so we planned to leave at 7:30am. It was the blind man in the community, Aung Moe, and the little five-year-old with the dog bite—he was behind on his vaccinations and needed one that is only offered on Thursdays. We made it by 8 with hopes of being home by 9 for Flour & Flower deliveries.

thurs 6These were high hopes indeed. Stephen went back with the little boy at 9 to load up the car, while I stayed with Aung Moe. Stephen arrived home to have people running up to him everywhere, and he was brought a little two-year-old girl who’d had hot oil spilled on her. She had boils covering her.

Thus Stephen came back to the clinic to pick us up and drop her off, getting us home to beginning Flour & Flower deliveries about an hour behind schedule. We still managed to get 11 pans of rolls, 17 loaves of bread, 11 bouquets of flowers, & plenty of Christmas cheer delivered around town.

We squeezed in lunch and little more present wrapping before it was time for our weekly house church. We started this many weeks ago, and just recently realized it was going to work out just perfectly with Christmas! We have gone through a selection of Old Testament stories, shared the Christmas story, and then will continue through Jesus’ life until Easter.

We gathered the kids first for a little craft Laura had put together. Kelvin & Laura had cut out a huge cardboard Christmas tree and painted it green. The kids each got ornaments to cut out, color, and paste to the tree. It was a hit, and turned out so cute!

thurs 3We also had high school students from a nearby children’s home helping us with the craft and the bible story. We had speakers set up outside so that the Christmas story translation could be loud—loud enough to cover the chatter and perhaps even make it across the street for the adults that might be too shy to come.

thurs 1The students helped us pull of an entire skit, complete with Laura & Kelvin as Mary & Joseph, a little baby from the community as Jesus, two shepherds, four sheep, two angels, and two wisemen. This, too, was such a hit and went better than we could have imagined.

thurs 4At the end, Stephen asked everyone who believed that Jesus was born and was God. So many of the kids raised their hands, and we just rejoiced. Stephen told me later he had the verse in mind from Romans—“if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved”—and wanted to give them the opportunity to confess. Really, we have no idea what God is doing here and how he is using our lives, our home, our stories. But we can love them and pray for them, we will gladly tell them the Christmas story year after year!

thurs 2After a snack of chocolate soy milk & cookies with the community, we headed back to wrapping presents, only to pop out for a takeaway pizza for dinner.

Also in the midst of the evening, I received one of the sweetest gifts yet from the community. Pyo Pyo brought me these two beautiful pairs of earrings!

thurs 5It was so sweet to see her observe what I would like and then do such a great job choosing a sweet present. They will be cherished for a long time.

Also, a Christmas miracle: for the first time since we have arrived back, we received water from the city on Christmas Eve!

o come, o come emmanuel.

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There was another stabbing in our neighborhood this week.

It was messy; messy enough that I asked Stephen, “Is he alive? Will he be alive by the time we get to the hospital? Do we try to call an ambulance?”

Because of where his house was situated, we didn’t really have that option. Instead, he was carried in a sarong-turned-stretcher, over a bamboo bridge and through a community, into the front seat of our car.

It was like a horror film in many ways. And then it got into our car.

As I squeezed in the back—literally in the fetal position because of where I ended up—with two friends of his, he leaned on Stephen and moaned as we drove to the hospital.

The words of O Come, O Come Emmanuel were in my head, so I started singing them to myself for sanity. And since our car is so ridiculously loud—or because all of the men in the car besides Stephen were inebriated—I didn’t even get an odd stare for my singing.

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appears
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

And as I listened to his moaning, this seemed such a fitting prayer. Emmanuel, come be with us.  Ransom US: captive to groaning, captive to sin, captive to brokenness. 

It was also a good reminder of the call to rejoice. While it is a prayer for Emmanuel to come, it is also a statement of truth: He IS coming. He WILL ransom us. He IS with us.  Let us rejoice until he appears!

In recent years, I have wondered often if adulthood just meant more awareness of sadness and brokenness. But really I think it just means feeling all the more. Yes, it is discovering more pain and more sorrows, but it is also discovering new depths of love. It is discovering a hope that burns beyond words. It is rejoicing while you wait for humanity’s promise to be fulfilled.

that happy ending.

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Remember this story?

It was a sad one. We were desperately waiting for a happy ending as we brought food to this family week after week.

In some ways, a happy ending is forming. The husband is no longer on crutches and can walk again. The family has received some compensation from his job, and that has helped them make ends meet while he cannot work.

And this week, an opportunity presented itself. A friend of ours here in Mae Sot was looking for someone to look after her kids for a few hours each morning while she & her husband go to Thai class. Than Dar Oo seemed a great fit–she speaks Thai, to help them practice and to teach their kiddos; she is good with kids and can bicycle to their house. Today we went over to meet the family and get her introduced, and she starts Monday.

It’s just a couple hours a day, and she’ll make about $15 a week. They received compensation of about $300 total, which is nothing in comparison to his injuries and the months of work he was forced to take. They still live in a hut, which flooded just a few weeks ago.

I can confidently say this isn’t a great season for them, and you can see the exhaustion in their smiles.

But I guess I never know when to write: what happy ending am I looking for? What are they looking for?

I think a happy ending isn’t what I should have been looking for. Instead, it was a just a breath of fresh hope.

We can hope that they have seen Jesus in the rice we’ve delivered to their door or the balloons we shared with their kiddos. We can hope that they saw Jesus in the rides we gave them all around town while he was unable to walk. We can hope they see Jesus as we try to help them find work and go to an interview with her at 8am on Saturday. We can hope that they will continue to see Jesus in the home of this family she works for.

So here’s to a breath of fresh hope on their little home.

waiting for the happy ending.

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Their life is like a movie.

A movie where the unfolding drama is surreal, you hurt for them, and just want the credits to roll with a happy ending.

But it’s a part of our story, too; and for so many of the people who make it possible for us to be here, it’s a part of your story. It’s a part of the global story of poverty and development, and hopefully a part of the story of the coming Kingdom.

They are a family of four. A father, mother, a little boy of three, and a little boy nearing 1 year. We met them when we first moved here and they lived in the huts across the street. They are connected in the community, and for those who know some of the community & of our bread delivery venture–the mother, Than Dar Oo, is Pyo Pyo’s sister and Nyein Nyein’s sister-in-law.

The father went to Bangkok to work first. When their oldest son was under a year old, Than Dar Oo followed and left their son, Doh Doh, with the grandparents. We watched him grow and laugh alongside his cousin.

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They all returned to Mae Sot early this year with the newest baby in tow.  They moved in with the grandparents–Than Dar Oo’s mother and her step-father, with Doh Doh, now 3.

First there were some abuse issues in the extended family. It was tense and we weren’t sure how to be involved. Than Dar Oo and her family moved out, down the road from us. But Doh Doh wouldn’t come. He didn’t know them and refused to stay with his parents; it was painful to watch for us, and I can’t imagine it for them.

The grandparents were quite exhausted of an ornery toddler. And to further complicate things, he liked us because he knew us. He’s been offered to us to adopt more times than I can count. It’s complicated.

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Then Than Dar Oo came down with typhoid in June. Typhoid? Really? She was admitted to be given shots daily, and we helped them make the treks back and forth from the clinic for a week, moving dad and baby and grandma back and forth.

Just weeks later, we got a call from them at the hospital. She said they were already at the hospital, but could we come? We were pretty confused, but went and started the search to find them.

Than Dar Oo had been called to the hospital because a roof had fallen on her husband at work. They had dropped off at the ER with $60. He had a large neck wound with more stitches than I could count; it looks Frankenstein-like. He also had a broken hip or femur, which required surgery and a bolt to be put in. He was in the hospital for a week and his bills were over $300. Than Dar Oo did a great job negotiating the bill with social services and was able to give the $60 his work had provided. We simply helped with rides to and from the hospital each day.

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Now he is at home, in a hut with crutches during monsoon season. He can’t work now, and we’re not sure when he will be able to. She has a one-year-old and her husband to look after.

So we started providing them with food each week. We buy about $10 worth of food, including rice, fish paste, noodles, and a few vegetables or fruit. The first they were shy, saying they didn’t need it.

The second week they took it gratefully.

The third week, we arrived as she was “making dinner” of chicken-flavored snack crackers and chopped onions.

This was about the time we learned about the bigger problem. She had gone to his work to get his pay–they owed him for nearly three months worth of work, about $600. And they said they didn’t have it and wouldn’t be paying it.

Than Dar Oo went to talk to a Burmese workers’ association here in Mae Sot, and did a great job taking the initiative. They both have papers, which is an incredibly huge blessing, so the Thai government has a responsibility to defend them. They have kept records over the three months, so they have evidence of what is owed in pay; they have the records from the hospital to prove the accident.

But they are still Burmese. And he is still on crutches, they don’t have money for living expenses now, and they aren’t sure what the future holds.

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So this Monday & Tuesday found us at the workers’ association office, putting in official complaints and files and then negotiating with the employer. The negotiations went something like this:

We’d like 150,000 baht ($4,225) in compensation, in 3,000 baht ($90) increments per month.
We’ll give you 15,000 baht ($422) over the next two weeks.

There is only so much we can do. But we can help get them back and forth in the car rather than her biking him across town, with crutches and baby. We can help make sure they have food now, until they know about tomorrow. We can help Doh Doh recognize his mom and encourage time with her. We can try to bring restoration and redemption to pain and deceit. We can pray for God to be their defender.

We can pray for a happy ending!

It’s been hard to see this family. It’s been hard to see his face cringe in pain. It’s been hard to break down the barriers of what their needs actually are and how we can help.

But I’m so thankful to be here. I’m so thankful for people who support the community fund and allow us to buy food for a family that is so desperately thankful for rice and fish. I’m so thankful for the people that pay for our rent and food and car, so we can spend days sitting alongside them, doing life with them. It’s a messy, sad, painful life for them right now, but we can do that with them, too.

the good, the bad, & the ugly.

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There are so many titles for this very long, very overdue post.

We have had a very, very full few weeks, and there is so much to share. {Consider yourself warned: it’s long. But God is good!} I initially thought to title this “Living the Dream” or something equally as hopeful, because it feels like so many dreams are coming to fruition. We are seeing relationships really take root. We are seeing a lot of dreams we had for the community unfold.

About a year ago when we left our organization-based, structured life for “community-based development”—or just loving people as we could—I was scared. I was very aware that we were either going to sink or soar, but either seemed oh-so-possible. And we just had to try it to see.

This is the first month I feel like I can say I can see the soaring. I can see it working.

So maybe I could call this living the dream.

But the dream is so messy.

While so much good surrounds us, there is some bad. And the bad is really just a symptom of the ugly. And I don’t think we can acknowledge one without the other.

So here’s to a post, starting with the beautiful, good growth we are seeing, with the bad that still exists, and a little bit of the truly ugly, as well.

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img_97593First, something we are so excited about: our little growing bread business! We are nearly a month in, and we are having a great time. Nyein Nyein & Pyo Pyo are learning so quickly, and even made the last couple batches by themselves this week while I ran to the hospital.

We have gotten a great response from the expat community here, and we sold about twenty loaves last week!

It just keeps growing, and Nyein Nyein & Pyo Pyo are so excited. I have written out the recipes in Burmese, so they can nearly do it all themselves; plus, we go over the orders and costs and profits each week, so they can learn the system. It’s been such a great learning process for all of us, as well as such fun to spend every Thursday baking together (and playing games while the bread bakes!) and Friday driving around town and chatting.img_9763

img_0361It has also helped to boost flower sales, as we have houses that would love to receive both. This is great for Daw Ma Oo, too!  We are so excited about all of this.

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It has been a season of great|interesting gifts! Just one week after we started the bread-baking, a friend—or series of generous friends—gifted us an OVEN! A great, beautiful oven that looks like a real American oven—just imagine a little mini-version, or maybe what was common in the 1960s. img_9781
This is an incredible gift in this town and a rarity—that is why our bread business is taking off! It also has four little burners on top, which is an upgrade from our two-burner stove. All around, this is an incredible gift from a series of generous people, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. God is so good to us!

And on the note of gifts, we also received a series of interesting presents recently, including, but not limited to: a 70s-style beaded door curtain, like you might see in That 70s Show or your 11-year-old girls’ room. It has pearlescent beads to cover your door frame. Not only was it gifted to us, but they also offered to help hang it up at our front door! Oh, my.

The very next day we were gift live crabs. img_0199For this one I protested a little, insisting that I wasn’t sure how to cook them. She assured me I simply had to boil them, but just to be careful because they can walk off. (!)

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Our weekly house church in our home is still going! As with everything in our lives, it never looks exactly like we’d imagine it. We have just a couple adults that come, but a large group of teenaged kids, and then a whole host of younger kids. We have had to figure out how to make it engaging for the kids but include depth for the adults and teenagers.

It has also been so fun to get to know the three students that are translating for us each week. It has been fun to see their interest in Scripture growing.

img_0340Despite the many hours of work that go into it each week, it is well worth it. This is one of the dreams we have been waiting for the perfect timing on, and it’s exciting to see it come to fruition. And we are believing that truth will not return void!

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The young couple we know so well, and the wife is the five-months-pregnant new bread-baker, came to us with a financial issue. They had taken out a small loan a few months ago from a loan shark. Despite paying back some of it each month, they did the math this month and realized they amount they are paying back doesn’t cover interest. They decided she should go back to Burma to live with her family—and to have the baby in a village, where the infant mortality rate is 1 in 5—and he’d keep working here to pay it off.

Not only would this essentially end our growing relationships with them, it would break apart a young couple just as they were welcoming their first child. They are one of the few healthy couples in the community, and we were heart broken on so many fronts.

To make a long story short & to protect them, but also to show the goodness of God: with prayer & discussion, we decided to loan them the money from our own savings. They will be paying us back over the next four months, just interest-free. We were also able to connect her with Partners, where she has begun sewing for them four days a week! They are completely understanding that she is pregnant and willing for her to work as she can over the next few months. She’ll be working there four days a week & baking bread one day a week.

To say the least, this is all a risk. We might never see that money again.

But we also might. And we have seen the way God has answered prayers—providing a job for her, providing translators, providing more ways to show God’s love. And, we pray, keeping a family together.

It seems worth the risk, and it’s a part of the dream we’re living. We want to be here for times such as this.

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Another dream that has come true: OneHouse worship night! We haven’t shared much about this yet, and there is too much to say for this already-too-long blog. But we have started hosting worship nights once-a-month for the Mae Sot community. For now, it is mostly foreigners, with a few Thai & Burmese. It is part of a larger dream to translate worship music into local languages, but we saw the first stage unfold this past month, and that is beautiful! This is a dream God put in Stephen years ago, and to see even the beginnings of it take root is just worthy of a shout-out.

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Do you see the goodness? These are dreams we’ve had for this community: worship in our home, a little house church with our neighbors, growing businesses and relationships.

But even in the incredible joys, we still live where we live.

One of our friends had a roof fall on him at work last week. As an illegal migrant worker, he wasn’t on a safe construction site or wearing proper gear. There is no insurance, workers compensation, or unions to defend him. He was dropped off at the hospital with $60.

So he & his wife called us.

He had a huge gash on his neck—he was very lucky not to be decapitated from the looks of it—that required significant stitches. He broke either his femur or his hip—when you don’t know the correct word, its difficult to point too specifically in this region! He was in the hospital for a week and had surgery to put a bolt into his leg/hip.  He will be on crutches for a minimum of six more weeks. His hospital bills came to about $300.

Despite the horrible situation, the family was beautiful. They negotiated the hospital bill with social services and asked us for nothing. We simply gave the wife & their youngest child rides to and from the hospital for the week. We are now helping them with food for this time when he cannot work; and helping them to get to follow-up appointments. She is starting work near their house, but it is just unrealistic for her to be able to provide enough for the family to eat.  And $10 a week can go a long way for rice, fish paste, and vegetables.

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Another day, we were called because a woman was bleeding excessively. I will try to protect you from the details, but she had excessive vaginal bleeding with the Western comforts of pads & tampons. She wasn’t pregnant as far as knew, but needed to get to the hospital.
Our car was currently in the shop, so she & a friend climbed onto the motorbike and I drove off. She was weak and simply fell against my back as we drove, requiring me to hold a constant push-up as we drove across town to the clinic. I was shaking by the time we arrived, and I, too, was covered in blood.

This moment, I was not living the dream.

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This weekend another woman came to our door to have her bandage changed. She had been to the clinic the day before, and a friend told her I’d be willing to change her bandage each day so she didn’t have to pay to go across town every day.

I said that was fine and pulled off her bandage.

She had been stabbed in the back by her husband.

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And even in the “bad” situations, they are just symptoms of the ugly.

It is the symptoms of living in poverty; of being an illegal migrant. Symptoms of brokenness.

During our afternoon of bread-baking last week, I talked with Nyein Nyein & Pyo Pyo about another woman in the community who has had some physical abuse. I told them—as I told her before, and this other woman—that they could always come to our house. We were happy to let them sleep here, and Stephen is more than willing to fend off a drunken husband.

And as we talked, I asked them about husbands hitting wives; I told them it wasn’t good in America. Was it okay here?

They said that a little bit was okay.

I recently finished three books on development in impoverished communities, discussing everything from human trafficking to loan-shark problems in impoverished areas, to starvation & factory jobs. I read about stories that come across our porch day after day.  There were so many things I learned and so many things I saw in the stories so much like our own lives.

One theme I saw is this: when people are living in the margin, getting by from day to day or paycheck to paycheck, one small thing can push you over the edge. One small, unexpected problem leads you to make drastic, life changing decisions.

In our own community, we saw a family a few months ago—a  great family that has some strong family values, and they are making it most days. But school registration went up this year, and they couldn’t afford to send both teenage girls to school, so the 12-year-old was sent off to work.

It was just a school fee; a one-time $30 fee they couldn’t afford, that led to a 12-year-old ending her education, being sent off to work, outside of the home, and in all honesty, putting her on the slippery slope to abused labor and human trafficking.

Or this family with the debt problem: it was just one month they came up short; one quick decision to take out a loan. And before they know it, it is pulling their family apart as they try to get out. But if everyone you know is in poverty, who do you ask for help? If you have no papers, how do you take out a loan with protection? If you have no options, how do you prevent this?

And I think, practically, this is so much of what we are here for—to keep a flooded house, a medical emergency, an accident at work, an increased school fee, or a loan, from becoming the start of broken families, prostitution, or unending debt.

Beyond that, we hope to be Jesus in these situations. As we share about the stories of the Bible each week; the stories of God caring for his people, we hope they will see God caring for them, too. We hope to be a part of the answered prayers.

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There is so much good; there is so much fruit and so many dreams coming true. There is so much bad, and so much more ugly. But really, God is in it all.

a little less messy.

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I read this post yesterday; or maybe the day before? Jet lag is still very real.

I really liked his insight and application of the woman at the well. And what I really, really appreciated was this:

I’ve always wanted to believe that after the Samaritan woman met Jesus, she was instantaneously emotionally neat and clean—she would bear none of the emotional and spiritual scars of the life she had lived up to that point. I find no evidence in psychology textbooks or the Bible to support this case. She was messy when Jesus met her, and likely only somewhat less messy as he left. When we truly engage her, we commit to unconditional love. 

Every once in a while, I come across something like this that keeps me going in what we do. Most of the people we encounter day after day, the relationships we are building day after day: the visible changes are minimal. We are holding on to the hope that we might have the impact of a piano teacher or that things might be just a little bit less messy.

Sometimes even that feels like a ridiculous thing to hope for, let alone significant spiritual, emotional, or physical change.

Either way, this ricocheted through my head last night, as I washed blood out of my neighbor’s hair.

It was another domestic dispute; well, we’re pretty sure it was. We were told to tell the doctors that a roof beam had fallen and hit her, but the room strewn with money and beer cans, the blood smeared on the wall, the husband sitting outside with his head in his hands, and her bruises tell another story.

Either way, we took her to the clinic and they put four stitches into her head while the husband drank another beer outside and spilled it on Stephen.

I don’t actually want to paint him as a villain. He looked genuinely apologetic and saddened; he looked overwhelmed. Perhaps drinking another beer was the only way he knew how to cope with the situation he now found himself in.

As we left the clinic, she still had blood all over her arm, neck, hair, and forehead. She had a patch of hair missing and clotted blood clumped in what remained. Her shirt was blood-stained.  I didn’t feel like we could let her go home like this. She just deserved more.

So we brought her inside, and with a little convincing, I got her to put on a sarong and let me help her wash. I watched as warm water and blood ran over her shoulders and down her back; I shampooed her hair and tried to explain conditioner. She was going to need something to untangle the mess that had been left behind.

As she combed, more clumps of cut hair fell out. I overheard Stephen talking to the husband, holding their 3-month-old little girl, and showing him pictures of our family.

I re-bandaged her head, gave her a clean sarong and shirt, and tried to tell her she was always, always welcome to come here with her baby if she felt threatened.

She walked out of our house in too-big clothes with a plastic bag of wet, bloody clothing in her hand.

I cleaned the blood and hair out of the bathroom and comb; washed the sarong and towels we had used.

Watching blood mix with water is moving to me. It reminds me of the cross; blood washing away sin and being made clean. I used bleach, which doesn’t really fit in to the gospel story as easily, but made me feel better.

And really, she was only a little less messy as she left.

She left with her husband and baby to return to a home with blood inside; it might never come off the walls and floor. Her story is still very, very messy.

But isn’t that true of me?

I’ve encountered Jesus, and we’re encountering him day after day. He’s challenging our norms and our expectations. He is showing himself new each day.

And yet I am only a little less messy.

love.

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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.

______________

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.

small things, great love.

by Filed Under: house calls, housewares, kelli, playhouse 2 Comments

Today, like every other Friday, I woke up and went to deliver flowers with a friend. Instead of it being with San Aye, who has been delivering flowers for the past six months, it was with her mother-in-law, Daw Ma Oo.

Because in short, life is messy. San Aye had been helping Daw Ma Oo with her flower business; Daw Ma Oo went to the market each day and San Aye sold locally and made deliveries on Fridays.  But as family dynamics shifted and life stories unfolded, we learned this wasn’t the best for everyone.

San Aye now has a little restaurant stand outside of her house. She sells a variety of pork and tofu items, and we can always swing by for a little snack and chatting with friends.

Daw Ma Oo now sells flowers each week. We load up flowers into Zuk and drive off to a number of houses around Mae Sot, allowing her to sell nearly double her regular sales in just a couple hours.

On the way to our first flower delivery, we stopped at the hospital. Because like so many other days, someone is sick and needs to see a doctor and get some medicine.

And then today, five girls sat outside of our door playing Memory and four toddlers ran in and out of the house. I gave one of the little guys a hug, because he just always wants one.

He was actually offered to us last week to adopt, by his grandmother who he lives with, because life is complicated, and families are complicated. For now, he’s not really adoptable, and it really isn’t a healthy solution. But we can encourage them, help them, give him hugs and tell him he’s special whenever we get the chance.

One of the more well-known quotes of Mother Teresa is, “Don’t look for big things, just do small things with great love…The smaller the thing, the greater must be our love.”

This is what I was thinking about as I drove this morning. I know delivering flowers is a small thing, as well as a ride to the hospital and $3 Christmas present.

How do I love well in these moments? It usually involves a smile. It usually involves a hug or a high five or a touch on the arm. It usually involves just seeing the person in front of me as a story: a family, a home, laughter and tears, with a past and a future.

You see, we are doing a lot of very little things.

We are working in a very small community in a big border town. We are working on just a few streets with some families. We are impacting these homes in very little ways.

They are still in poverty, they are still paperless, they still have big questions. There are still systemic problems that place them into widespread statistics.

Some days I’m sure this is where we are supposed to be. I can’t imagine anything different, really.  I see change coming. I am hopeful that maybe, just maybe, we are planting seeds and watering them. I am hopeful that maybe, just maybe, God is making them grow.

Other times, I wonder if what I do truly means anything. Does it matter if we deliver flowers again? Am I helping by simply driving someone to the hospital? Does it matter that we celebrate Christmas and wrap a bajillion Christmas gifts and share the Christmas story, and then someone invites us to the temple the next day?

And as we look ahead to a very near trip back to the States, I wonder if I should keep flying back and forth.  Should churches and individuals keep sacrificing and giving to us, month after month and year after year, to make this possible?

It is so many little things: a ride to the hospital, an English class, a piece of candy, a smile and greeting. Or perhaps answering the door for the umpteenth time for a little girl to give me a flower.
And then come back for a high five.
And then decide she would like a glass of water.
{This was my last thirty minutes.}

Are these little things worth it?

I’m not sure it’s mine to say. I think it is mine to do small things in great love, to plant the tiniest little mustard seeds and water them. I think it is mine to pray for big things, to pray without ceasing, to wait faithfully for when the Son of Man comes. I think it is mine to hope, hope, hope.

Sin & err
Fear & hurt
Tears, questions
Nothing left
But a kiss on the forehead
Hope for tomorrow
Peace for today
Love for the moment 

the uneventful new years eve.

by Filed Under: house calls, kelli Leave a Comment

We decided for an uneventful New Year’s Eve this year. We stayed home, worked on a few projects, and hoped to sleep long before the fireworks started.

Very little seems to go by uneventfully for us, though!

A neighbor and our most-often-used Karen translator came to the door about 10pm to say that someone had a stomachache. She said she didn’t know the person, but they needed to go to the clinic.

To be honest, I was skeptical. It was New Year’s Eve, and the clinic probably wasn’t interested in helping give out ORS for stomachaches. I would guess the hospital was ready for accidents and stomach pumping, but probably not stomachaches either.

And for me, I was really enjoying the uneventful evening, looking forward to sleep, and kind of hopeful to avoid stomach pumping as well.

I asked if I could go see first before we just headed off to the clinic, and they agreed.

What they didn’t mention is that she lived about a kilometer away, so we trudge down roads by fireworks and drunken gatherings, while I wished I had brought Stephen along and a sweater. On the way I asked if it was a child, to which she gave a shocking no!  I wasn’t sure why it would be so absurd for a child to have a stomachache, but I asked if it was a man or woman. Again, she answered very emphatically that it was a woman, and I was quite confused why she thought these questions were so silly.

I walked into the house to see a very, very pregnant woman lying on the ground. I turned to the Karen translator and said in Karen, “Oh! She’s pregnant!  How far along is she? Is she in labor?”

With a similar tone, she replied in Karen, “Yes, the baby is down and is coming. She has a stomachache.”

I’m still not sure why she kept using the term for stomachache rather than clearly saying that the woman was in labor, but whatever! I trekked back to the house as quickly as I could to grab the car, and drove back to the woman’s home.

When I opened the door for her, a whole lot of people climbed in the car. I’m not really sure why or who any of them were; we haven’t met this woman before. I would just much rather drive her to hospital in a vehicle than have her get on the back of a motorcycle taxi in labor. I tried to encourage less people, but they seemed disappointed even at the “few” who could fit. I particularly tried to discourage the drunk man, but wasn’t sure if he was the father, so he came along, too.

As I pulled away, we had about ten of us in the car, but I’m not really sure. I didn’t think anything of it until we hit the center of town and came upon an increased number of police. They had set up a checkpoint, likely to stop drunk drivers.

This is the first time I have actually been stopped by police with illegals in the car with me, but it was a pretty unfortunate situation with there being about ten of us in our four-person vehicle, the back open, the drunk man…But I trudged toward them with no way to go around & me as the only legal thing happening. I rolled down my window and said, “Baby! Baby!” before they could ask any questions. They shooed us away pretty quickly, probably not wanting to deliver a baby anymore than I did.

By God’s grace, we made it to the hospital before the baby was born, and trekked home with about half as many people and (thankfully) no additional police stops.

Maybe we’ll try again for an uneventful New Year’s next year!