…And an otter.

This Friday was Mother’s Day in Thailand, and our church had a special Mother’s Day service this week. Pranee had told friends in our community, so we had extra mothers join us and very literally filled half of the seats in the room.

At one point, they honored the mothers and asked all the mothers to stand. I remained seated–for obvious reasons, I thought. The pastor and a few others then insisted I stand, because “I will be a mother someday…” (No pressure.)

And before long we’re all being pulled to the front, y’know, all the mothers and I.

They begin giving out new sarongs–a beautiful gift, and I’m sure our neighbors are all on top of the world–and the man gives the first one to the woman, also a church staff member, next to me. She is in the middle of the back row, and urges him to start on the side or to the other mothers first. He replies that “these are the fat ones” and proceeds to give one to her. Then, the coordinators begin verbally establishing who the fat ones are and you hear, “She’s fat,” and “This one’s is fat,” and, “Oh, don’t forget this one.” 😂

I got a fat one.

Despite the cultural notes I can know and accept, I’m not sure I’ll ever truly adjust to them. I had been honored as a mother and labeled as fat in less than ten minutes.

After the fatties got their sarongs and the skinnies theirs; we photoed. I was shaking with laughter.

We sat down to begin the sermon, which started with two video clips. They were of animal mothers protecting their young. One clip of an otter–or at least I think it was an otter!–holding it’s baby on his belly, the pastor turned around and said, “Kelli! You!” as he pointed to the screen.

I started shaking with laughter again. As I was holding one of the community babies during dinner, he referenced it again, so I think he was saying because I hold the babies often?

It was a pretty hilarious evening, and I’m certainly glad I have a few photos to remember it forever.

Shortly after we started attending our church, we offered to provide the communion bread once a month. Having a small bread business, it seemed a simple way to support them and even connect the women in our community to the church.

They have LOVED the bread.

I don’t know what you believe about communion elements; I don’t know what your church does with the extras. We live in an impoverished area, and we don’t attend an extremely wealthy church, so the idea of wasting it is unheard of. As soon as the service is over, there is a crowd around the remaining bread.

Knowing they loved it so much, I made some for fun this week. I made three batches of their favorite and brought little rolls for everyone to add into our meal of pork fat & rice. {I know, be jealous. And know that I focus on the cucumbers.}

This is my favorite picture of Pranee & Ah Tee yet. They have such big hearts and great facial expressions 🙂

The bread was such a hit! And since we brought sixteen people (of forty) and provided more than a few distractions during the service, it was a nice peace offering to a church that is so loving and kind to us!

She comes every Saturday to teach the kids at 5pm.  She knows them by name and takes roll, asking where those missing are.

She was thrilled last week when she found out we had a copier in our printer, and at our house, nonetheless.

This week, she made her own flannel graph with a blanket hung over two chairs. She kept the kids locked on her, somehow intrigued by the same story we’ve told them before. She doesn’t have to shout over the chatter like we did; she’s got them enthralled.

I’m telling you, she’s a professional.

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Yesterday we pulled into church with another car full. Suddenly, everyone is excited to be going to church, and they are asking us to go. It feels unreal, and I find I’m skeptical as 6 o’clock rolls around and it’s raining, that they won’t really go. I find I’m skeptical that they’ll go once and then not return.

But they are going. They are returning.

And admittedly, this week didn’t go as smoothly as last. There was three-year-old breaking down in the middle, an eight-year-old standing on a chair, and a glass of water dumped on the floor.

But, still, there were 16 of us there, and we all wanted to be! Things are growing.

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As we sat talking with some friends this week, I realized how much of a blessing this church is to us. It’s just beyond words, an answer to prayer, above and beyond and what we could have asked or imagined.

They love this community so well. They are learning names. They are celebrating with us when hoards join us for church. They are welcoming people in with smiles that aren’t welcomed in so many places. They are teaching in ways they understand. They are using repetition for those who can’t read.

It’s incredible.

As I watched her with her homemade flannel graph, I realized how far we are from this—knowing the culture, knowing the language, knowing the nuances. From letting a story and a love flow out of us smoothly and understandably. It would have taken us so many years more to get to that point, and yet she was here this week, on top of things.

And yet I didn’t feel intimidated. Suddenly, I felt like it was okay that I was who I was. It’s okay that we’re better at hospital visits and homework help. It’s okay that we’re better at opening our doors and living life here. It’s okay that language learning just isn’t that quick for us.

And it’s okay that they are amazing evangelists and amazing story tellers and know three languages.

God knew this was coming all along. He knew we needed to till the soil and plant the seeds. He knew they were coming to douse them with water, and that we’d all be sitting back together, celebrating the growth.

We have prayed for this, friends. We have prayed and prayed and prayed, and he is answering. I can’t even really describe the feelings I am feeling: after the loneliness of feeling like we were in this community alone; the prayers for help; the prayers for language; the prayers for the seemingly endless road ahead; the prayer after prayer of, “Oh, Lord, LET SOMETHING GROW.”

He has heard; he has answered. And he is such a good, good Father.

A few of the kids have been asking us to join for church on Sunday evenings.

While we welcome them to our Saturday program and the Sunday afternoon kids program (and had fifteen came yesterday!), we’ve been hesitant to have kids join us at the evening service.

This is primarily because most of the members of our last church thought we had an orphanage due to adult-child ratio we were bringing to the service, and managing 10+ kids means you are doing just that: managing 10+ kids.

But it’s also hard to turn down church, when we really would love for them to come.

So yesterday, I checked with the pastor and his wife, explaining that a few of the older kids–over 10, namely–were wanting to come. Was it okay if we brought a few?

She replied, “Yes! They speak Burmese and they’ll understand! Let them come!”

(I felt there was an implied, And they’ll understand more than YOU! But it wasn’t spoken. Or at least not were I could understand it!)

So the one twelve-year-old girl who had been asking and asking and asking, I told her: yes, she could come. But it wasn’t to play–you can play at our house. This was for singing and listening. Capeesh?

Well, one thing led to another, and soon her grandmother was coming! And her three-year-old nephew. This is in addition to a family of 4 that has been joining weekly. We were pretty excited about this. Three adults, and their own children?! That’s a great adult-child ratio, and we’re always excited to see adults interested. In anything.

Then a few more things led to a few more, and a couple older kids asked if they could join, too. We agreed, on the same premise: not for play; singing & listening only.

By the time we piled in the car, there were 13 of us in our little four-seater Zuk! We crowded in–really, really crowded in, and I was pouring sweat by the time we got there, because having people sit on top of you is hot, especially when it’s hot.

By this point, I was nervous. I was excited, yes, but this was a lot of kids. We had two parents watching their own two kids, which I felt little responsibility for. We had one parent watching their two kids, which because of how much time they spend at our house, I did feel a little responsibility for. And then we had four without parents that I felt a whole lot of responsibility for.

We took up four rows of the church. And since there are only about 30 people there each week, we were a big percentage. We are never subtle, really, despite our best efforts.

This church, though–one of the things we love about them–they are so amazing at welcoming people. They learn names and say hellos; they remember the kids and welcome them in. They say hello from the front, give them a clap of welcome, and during prayer pray for our community.

The kids did AMAZING. Better than we ever could have expected, really. They sang along, they found the verses and read along; and they did their very best to understand what was going on and ask questions quietly.

Unfortunately, to most of the questions I was asked, I wasn’t sure. I’m still struggling enough to follow along without keeping five kids in the loop! (What are we doing now? Uh, I’m not sure; just one minute. What verse did he say? Uh, not sure. I missed that reference. What is he talking about? Uh, not sure. This verse, but…)

The kids stayed so quiet & listened so well. The lowest point was when the girl next to me was singing to herself during the sermon, which to her credit was in the category of “sing & listen” and is probably deemed a “quiet” activity in Burmese culture (but was still singing out loud). I didn’t actually stop her until she started clapping along with her song–again, in the middle of the sermon. I then emphasized that this was the listen portion of the evening.

I was amazed how quickly it went from Stephen & I sitting next to each other week after week, helping each other understand the sermon; to suddenly managing a host of kids sitting between us and knowing I’m giving them mom-eyes.

We rounded out the night with a meal after the service, which everyone loved! We filled our own table, because again–subtlety is our specialty! And I’m sure the kids ate their weight in rice. The three-year-old ate three times as much as I did.

We asked for help with rides on the way home, and three kids and I climbed into the church truck to catch a ride allowing Zuk a break from carrying all of us. It makes for a long night, getting back past 10, but we were so thankful for such a great church that welcomes our neighbors in. And we’re praying they enjoy it and want to learn more!

We are loving having our Burmese church so involved in our community! This week, Stephen captured a song they learned in both English & Burmese.

They also made the traditional bracelets that every kid makes at their Christian summer camp. I don’t even know what to call them, but the kids absolutely loved it. I really enjoy how thankful they are for every opportunity.

Shortly after church, we enjoyed some time coloring in the house. There were kids everywhere, and it was lovely. We even found a place for one girl’s little rat baby, because why not?

Also, this little guy has learned at least some of a song from church! It’s adorable to hear him singing|shouting Hallelujah. We’re still trying to sort out what the rest of the song is…