The House Collective

it’s a big idea.

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A local organization in town, Global Alms, provides excellent certified self-defense classes. They also run Yes She Matters–a crisis line women can call locally to receive emergency assistance in four languages.

Knowing some of the particular challenges our community was facing, Global Alms & Yes She Matters offered us a free twelve-week self-defense course for twelve people. That is an incredible gift!

Further, they have been personally working with me, so that I am equipped for things we might deal with in our community.

This just makes me so thankful, as I think of these women teaching myself and my dearest friends week after week so that we can live safely. That is an incredible gift.

But it’s also a big idea. They are so brave to take it on in a group with varied backgrounds of abuse and experiences, some in current situations of abuse, in addition to other fears and concerns.

We’re already seven weeks in, and I’m still not sure what to say.

It was hard to see it in the first week: those that carry past experiences wear it on their faces and in carry it in their bodies. Their eyes give them away. They are desperate to learn, desperate to be there.

But there are also those that only feel a threat in the distance; they haven’t seen it close. They wear that on our their faces, too.

It’s been a learning experience. It’s been exhausting at times: physically, mentally, emotionally. We’ve had some of the hardest conversations yet around this class. Some I never thought I’d ever have, and most I’m still not sure if I’m more thankful or more heartbroken for them.

I do know I’m thankful we serve a God that heals the broken-hearted, because there is so much broken-heartedness around us.

We made safety plans a few weeks ago, discussing our exit strategies, our safe places, and people we trust. We packed bags and stored them in secret places, with spare keys & copies of important documents.

We’ve also laughed. We’ve accidentally smacked each other instead of the foam pad. We’ve shouted at one another, “Get back!” and “Give me back my money!” in simulations. (I’m still working on my angry Burmese.) We also got to see Yedi “attack with a full gangster act, and we all rolled with laughter.

It’s been a bit of an overwhelming experience, but a good one. I’m thankful for what I’ve learned, thankful for what I’ve seen my friends learn. I’m so thankful for Global Alms sharing their skills and expertise so generously. And thankful for a chance to spend every Saturday with some of my favorite women!

copycat.

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While stateside, I had often admired leather earrings I was seeing in different places. I knew my sister and a few friends had purchased some from Noonday Collection, but I also knew that wasn’t really something we could swing, nor could I explain to my neighbors that I spent over 1,000 baht on earrings.

So instead, I bought some pieces of leather and just made a few myself. I visited Noonday Collection’s page for “inspiration” and made a number of pairs.

Fast forward many months, when last week I found myself welcoming one of Noonday’s founders into our home to meet the artisans that will now be making product for this lovely company.

{That’s right! You’ll see jewelry made right in our house by our best friends in upcoming Noonday collections!🎉}

We sat around our table as the ladies opened Noonday’s Look Book of items, to see where their items would soon be showcased. On the first page sat a quite familiar pair of leather earrings, to which Mwei Mwei exclaimed, “Kelli! Those look just like yours!”

Since it was in Burmese, I smiled and encouraged them flip the page.

Another pair of leather earrings. Another exclamation.

By the third one, I laughed and explained quietly in Burmese. And asked them not to tell. Thankful for secret languages! 😂

I’m also thankful for great facial expressions captured by friends!
And for organizations like Global Child Advocates, Sojourn Studios, and Noonday Collection that partner with small little neighborhoods like ours.


conversations.

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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.

family dinner.

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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.

ed sheeran.

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Zu Zu has become a sweet friend. She works with an organization in town called Global Child Advocates, who runs Sojourn Studios, which now hires three women in our community to make beautiful ceramic jewelry.

Last year Zu Zu began to help with Sojourn Studios. About twice a week she comes to our house to check in on the jewelry and the ladies; to give them additional instruction. She helps lead a bible study over tea twice a month.

She is always smiling, frequently laughing, and often encouraging. #agoodfriendtohave

Last week, as we were in the car returning from a training we attended together, she told me this story:

“Before I met your husband, when I had never met him, I thought he was Ed Sheeran.
I went to the office, and he was there. He came to see Kris, and they were talking together.
I asked my friend Ivy, ‘Ivy! Ed Sheeran is here! Why did no one tell me Ed Sheeran is in Mae Sot? That he came to our office?’ And Ivy said that she didn’t think it was Ed Sheeran, but that it was just Kris’ friend.
But I still thought it was Ed Sheeran, so I went to another friend and another, to everyone in the office and asked them why Ed Sheeran was in town and why no one told me! They all said it was just Kris’ friend. But I thought he looked just like Ed Sheeran!
Then I started working for Sojourn and I came to your house. And he is your husband, Stephen!”

This is when the friend sitting next to her piped in, “Ed Sheeran I love so much!” Then they all started singing. Y’know, Ed Sheeran.

in review.

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I love paper. I like writing things down. 

I like writing list after list, and then losing them or sticking them in pockets all over the place. 

Last year at Christmas, I was gifted a beautiful paper planner. I wanted to write all the things in it.

But I also love my husband, and he really loves those online, syncing calendars that we can share. He can always read the handwriting. He always knows where to find it. He runs out of patience my list-writing and list-losing habits. (Which if you know his patience, is saying quite a lot.)

So, I turned this lovely planner into something of a record. I set a few goals and just started keeping track. I wanted to run, swim, and bike through the year. I wanted to read 52 books. I wanted to study Burmese, and I wanted to practice my violin again. 

I bailed on violin. 
I did study Burmese faithfully through the year. (Still.)

I read 54 books. 

My favorite author of the year: Fredrick Backman. He’s followed by Jim Wallis, for what he believes and how he presents it so well; and Rainbow Rowell, for writing truly fun fiction.
My favorite autobiographies: Madeline Albright & Ruth Bader Ginsburg. 
Most terrifying read: Fascism: A Warning by Madeline Albright. Even more terrifying, actually, than Night, a memoir of the Holocaust by Elie Wiesel.
Most surprisingly genius: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles. And all of Fredrick Backman’s work. Every single one is charming, even if you at first think its horrifying.

I ran 405 kilometers. 
I swam 77 kilometers. (Most of those were in an 18-meter pool, so that’s about 4,277 laps!)
I bicycled 773 kilometers.

And thanks to Stephen’s great ideas to keep records of other things (on the computer, in organized charts and graphs), we know other things about 2018.

The Breakfast Club served 8,791 meals!

Flour & Flowers—just from January to September—baked 815 loaves of bread and rolled out 5,170 tortillas. They sold 248 pans of cinnamon rolls. At the end of the year, they each took home 5,000 baht (about $158) in savings, in addition to their weekly salaries. 

For all my railing on paper and records, it’s pretty cool to see! I love seeing the books I read, remembering all I learned. It’s good to know that I could run across Arkansas on I-40 in a year if I needed to. It’s good to know that I could swim across Lake Balaton—in Hungary, in a year—if I needed to! I like seeing how all those crazy Fridays played became huge amounts of bread and savings accounts. I like seeing how all those 5:30am wake ups fed oh-so-many kiddos.

Here’s to 2019. 

52 more books. 
52 verses memorized with Stephen. 
Hopefully 104 more runs, 156 more swims, and 52 more bike rides!

our favorites: flour & flowers.

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It is a bit hard to include this as a favorite, if I’m honest. It has brought a lot of heartache this year: cultural challenges, poverty issues, difficult conversations, and challenging friendships. I think it’s really only in stepping back that I can look back and see what good it is. 

It is a favorite. 

More than that, it’s a part of us; particularly me. For four years now, every week has included deliveries around Mae Sot. We have baked loaf after loaf of bread and rolled out so many tortillas.

It amazes me to think of where my language was when we started this: trying to learn the words for cup and teaspoon; flour and yeast. To now, when the ladies and I chat as we bake and have heart-level conversations about abuse and kids and faith and money. (All while they still correct my grammar. 😉)

It amazes me to think that we started this when Nyein Nyein was pregnant with her first son—who will turn three in December! And that we just met her second-born, a beautiful little girl, the day before we left last week. 

We have come so far with these ladies, learning so many skills between all five of us! We have watched Daw Ma Oo face cancer and go into remission!  When we started, we had rules about a Flour lady and Flower lady joining us each week, to carry their own responsibility. Now I only go with on Flour lady each week, so that we all pitch in to allow Daw Ma Oo to rest (and still sell her flowers), as she continues to gain back her strength after radiation & chemotherapy. 

Together, we’ve been through many childbirths, hospital stays, travels, family crises, and more. All over bowls of bread and newspaper-bundled flowers. 

It’s all too good and too messy and too beautiful to not be a favorite!

Here are a few numbers to put to the stories and smiles. 

28 September was our last Flour & Flower delivery until 2019, so many in Mae Sot filled their freezers with bread for the next couple months. We used 47 kilos of flour (that’s 103.6 pounds!) to make 65 loaves of bread, roll out 340 tortillas, and make 180 cinnamon rolls.  

Our weekly flower deliveries began in 2014, and then we started baking bread—officially creating Flour & Flowers—in July of 2015. In the three years of bread baking, the ladies and I have baked & sold: 

2,866 loaves of bread
17,115 tortillas
659 pans of cinnamon rolls

Since we are done for this year, the ladies took home some savings to help them through the next few months, and will get additional savings per our usual schedule, in December. This year they will all get the largest amount of savings yet: 5,000 baht per person, or about $150. For many of the families, that is a monthly salary at, what they would consider, a well-paid job. 

So yes, clearly it’s a favorite! It’s amazing to see what God has done. 

what’s to come.

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We’re still alive over here.

While some days that is just barely true, it’s true all the same; and a gift not to be taken lightly.

Last week was a deluge. And now, sitting miles away on a couch in the countryside of France, I can tell you: we barely made it here. In the seven days before we flew out, we made five trips to the emergency room for friends. Two new babies were born. There were some truly scary situations where I thought we might lose dear friends.

There was also our last Flour & Flowers week before this time away. The Mae Sot community loves these bread products more than we realized, and they ordered with gusto! This past Friday the ladies baked and sold 65 loaves of bread, 330 tortillas, and 180 cinnamon rolls. That’s incredible, for three women with two ovens and a tiny little kitchen on the Thai-Burma border.

So incredible, in fact, that one of the ladies went into labor that evening! She was a month early, so when we got the call at 3am, I asked multiple times, “Now?! She is in labor now?!”  After my panic and worry that we hadn’t given her enough breaks or we had pushed her to pre-term labor; the baby arrived safe and healthy. She is a beautiful little girl.

And her sister-in-law told us, “I told her she did a great job going into labor before you left!”

There were also the plans to be set up while we are away: jewelry and sewing projects that will continue; friends that will step in to help the kids and adults continue English, guitar, and cajon lessons; The Reinforcer that will continue some sound editing projects; and our house continuing to be open for Playhouse three days a week. Our blind friend, Aung Moe, must still eat; and the insurance program still needs premiums paid every month.

Oh, and when you travel, you must pack bags–which thankfully managed to happen the day we left.

_________________

I suppose I should back up and explain. I’ve been out of words for awhile now. They just don’t seem to come like they used to, so I stopped writing.

We’ve just left our little community for two months away.  We are visiting family in the States, with the intrepid hope that this might be our last opportunity to visit before we are placed soon for our adoption.  And we’re taking some time in France, where we are anticipating space to pray, think, and dream for the future, with some healing and rest mixed in.

We still love this community, and we hope that somehow, by sheer miracles, we will see change come: changes in patterns, changes in futures, changes in systems, changes of heart.

We also hope that we can have the stamina to keep going when we feel this worn out.

Here is a short video Stephen put together of the different happenings around our home and what we envision for this time away.

____________________

Recently I’ve struggled so much to write. The stories, they are too close; they are too much a part of me, a part of us. Sometimes I’m not sure how to even tell them, while respecting my dearest friends or even myself.

So as the silence reveals, I bailed on the words and the stories; particularly the ones that hurt so much to tell.

But there are still so many, that are good and fun and joyous. And Mway Mway has been capturing photos recently, and I’m loving it. They are beautiful glimpses into some of our favorite people and favorite spaces.

Thus, in a new twist for this writing space, I’m launching a mini-series, if you will. “Our Favorites”–a few of our favorite things as we step back and look over the photographs of the life we live.

Stay tuned.

new skills, new perspectives.

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Mwei Mwei is one of my favorites. (Or Mway Mway; she uses both because it’s really မွှေးမွှေး) After a little hiatus to Bangkok, she’s been back in our lives for over a year now. She makes porcelain jewelry for Sojourn Studios two days per week, and also sews canvas bags for Housewares one day per week. With this job, she also studies at our house: she takes private Thai lessons once per week that are subsidized by Sojourn Studios; I’ve been teaching her math; and Stephen’s been teaching her guitar and photography. We have hopes of starting her on Rosetta Stone in English in coming months.

We’ve learned that if you can find something she loves or cares about, she’ll give it her all. If she doesn’t care or feels she’s competing with a sibling, she sits back and quite obviously doesn’t put in effort. It’s been a learning curve to find her strengths, find her passions, and get to know her.

One of those things that motivates her? Photography. She loves it, and has an eye for it. She has been easy to teach and has picked it up quickly. And now we want to show her that she can make a future of this; she has skills she can offer to both us and the whole world.

So after a few months of photography lessons on Stephen’s Canon DSLR, we’ve given her the project of taking photos in the community every week. She can choose what to photograph: Sojourn Studios jewelry, the kids playing or taking classes, sewing projects, The Breakfast Club, Flour & Flowers, The Reinforcers. She captures photos through the week, and in her class she sorts and edits, with Stephen’s oversight.

Nyein Nyein, one of our Flour & Flower bakers, and the best tortilla roller!

Pyint Soe, a Reinforcer and high school student; son of Daw Ma Oo, the Flower Lady

And then we buy them! Each week, we pay her for the photos that are good. We give her two different rates, for if she captures a good moment, but perhaps it not fully in focus or not well aligned. Photographically it might not be amazing, but we love the people and love that she captured it! And then, when she really captures a beautiful photo with great skill, she makes a pretty decent price for our little neighborhood!

Since we started, she’s made a few extra dollars most weeks. Last week, she took photos of San Aye making jewelry, and did an absolutely stellar job. She made nearly double her weekly salary!

We’re pretty excited about this. We’ve helped her create a watermark, and explained how this shows everyone it’s her photography. We showed her this blog and our monthly updates, so she understands where the photos are used and why. We’ve explained how our friends and family in the States want to meet our friends and learn about our lives here; and that through gifts of the Church, we are able to do all these projects and create jobs like hers.

It’s always intimidating to share all of this with our neighborhood. But a friend posted an African proverb the other day that I think captures it quite well, “Until the lion learns how to write, every story will glorify the hunter.”

While I think this captures the point, I’m not sure I want to be represented as a hunter, nor do I wish to present my friends as lions. But the idea still stands that if we never open this up to their perspectives, you will only see ours.

I don’t know if we’re to the point we can equip our neighbors to tell their own stories, but I hope someday we can. For now, this feels like one of the first steps. We want you to see our neighborhood, and for our friends to be presented, from another view that isn’t just ours. We don’t want you to always see what we see or praise what we praise; it will probably always make us look good.

But if we give our friends room to tell you themselves, to show you their lives and their work and their skills, we hope that honors them.

So enjoy these beautiful photos that Mwei Mwei skillfully captured, and be looking for more photos with her watermark on it! We are excited to see where this can take her, and us, too.

all in a friday.

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We had an epic Flour & Flowers day on Friday. So epic, in fact, I was up before 5am, and met the ladies at 5:30am to begin. And because it was such a full week of orders, I helped them pretty consistently through the day to help with details and be an extra set of hands.

Our two ovens were on constantly from 6am to 4pm.
We used about 30 kilograms of flour.
We made 35 loaves of bread.
Nyein Nyein rolled out 170 tortillas, because that’s her specialty.
We made 30 pans of cinnamon rolls.
We delivered to 33 customers around town.

Nyein Nyein & Pyint Pyu Hey had to finish baking while Pyo Pyo and I showered and headed off to make deliveries. We came back to pick up the rest mid-way through. For Pyo Pyo and I, we finished deliveries and finances about 6:45pm.

It was such long day, but also so very good. They were optimistic about the sales, and they made quite a bit of extra money to reward them for their early morning and late day. They also put a large portion into their savings account for the end of the year, which is exciting! To be able to reward them both the day of and in the future seems like a win!

We also had good conversations and laughter. There are great things about having a tiny little kitchen filled with four people (five during The Breakfast Club hours!) to run into each other and step over each other and laugh together.

There were so many good things about the day.

__________________

At one point the conversation turned to our husbands. They commented that Stephen & I don’t fight; ironically, we had just had quite the argument the previous morning, during The Breakfast Club, which I was sure at least some of them had heard or been aware of. But the conversation, loosely translated, when like this:

You and Stephen never fight. 
We do fight sometimes.
But we don’t hear it. When my husband and I fight everyone can hear it and everyone knows!
Well, we fight, but you might not hear it. And Stephen doesn’t hit me.
Because in America men don’t hit their wives, right?
Well, in America, men can be arrested for hitting their wives. But also, Christians mostly don’t hit their wives, because of what the Bible says. Stephen doesn’t hit me because he loves God and doesn’t think that is okay.
Yeah, Stephen doesn’t like it when men hit women. He really doesn’t like that. And he loves you. You love each other. 
Yes, and because he loves me. We do love each other. And yes, Stephen doesn’t like men hitting their wives or other women.
He always comes out and stops them! So I’m not worried when you are here. I can come here or Stephen will come stop my husband.
Do your husbands hit you?
– One time. He hit me one time. Our son didn’t like it and said, ‘Don’t do that! Don’t hurt mommy! She doesn’t like it!’
– Sometimes. Have you ever seen the marks on me? It hasn’t happened for a long time. The worst time was when you were in America. I had marks all over me; my face, my arms, my legs. He was really mad and hit me a lot. Until his brother came to pull him off me and told him to stop. But everyone heard and saw it.
You weren’t here so I didn’t know what to do. But I don’t worry if you are here, I know Stephen will come! My husband is so much bigger than me, there isn’t anything I can do. But Stephen will come. 
Was he drunk when he hit you?
Yeah. He drank to much and came home; I hadn’t finished the rice yet and he was really angry. My daughter was so scared and kept shouting, “Daddy, don’t do that! Mommy is hurt! Daddy, DON’T!” But it hasn’t happened for a long time now.

I was processing all this, and that was obvious. I love these women, and their kids, and their husbands. And honestly, in this context, they are pretty healthy families, all things considered. My mind was swimming: the father of that little girl? They actually have a really sweet, beautiful relationship. The brother that pulled the husband off? He’s a Reinforcer. He’s in high school.
It’s true, Stephen will come if he can.
It’s true, he doesn’t like men hitting women; husbands hitting their wives. And in his words, “If that’s what they remember me by–the crazy American who didn’t like men hitting their wives–I’m okay with that!”

The ladies were watching me, and asked, It makes you sad, doesn’t it?

Yeah, it makes me really sad.

Sometimes there is so much we want to change in this neighborhood. I want them to have more education and more opportunities: to learn English and to learn how to use computers; to learn guitar and Thai and literacy. I want them to have a job where they manage the books and count the money; where they learn more reading and writing Burmese and doing math; where they learn to manage their time and do their best: so we sell bread and flowers every week to do that. We make jewelry and sew bags.

I want the kids to love books and play safely. I want the kids to go to school, not to work or be sent off to who-knows-where. I want them to learn to save money. I want them to eat healthy and have enough to eat. I want them to go to the doctor and receive treatment. I want their babies to be born with paperwork. I want them to have access to safe, clean water. I want them to have a safe place to ask for help when it floods or they lose their jobs or someone gets really sick.

I want them to see their value. I want them to have confidence. I want them to know how much God loves them–so much that he sent this young married couple halfway around the world, to this seemingly random street, to fall in love with this neighborhood. To struggle miserably at language, but keep on trying. To struggle miserably with learning to love here, but to keep on trying. I want them to see that God really, really loves them, and he can show them mansions of his goodness that I haven’t figured out yet, but I believe is there. And I believe it’s good.

But yes, I also want them to learn that husbands hitting their wives isn’t a normal, and that its okay to expect something else. I want them to see how to stick up for each other. I want them feel loved when someone else does stick up for them.

There are so many things we want to change; and it feels overwhelming.

But I have committed: “I will listen for the echo of rejoicing in heaven when those I minister among step into the light or even take a small step forward, and will remind myself that persistent celebration rolls back the power of the enemy.”

And somewhere, in that sad conversation, there was an echo of rejoicing.

__________________

It was just hours before this conversation became more real. We were about to leave for dinner, but instead, the evening found us outside standing next to these same ladies, while we all tried to determine if another woman in the community was safe. It was a fight; a loud argument. But it has turned violent before, so we waited; prayerfully and carefully trying to determine when it’s preventing violence and when it’s prying.

Stephen went over to ask if everything was alright, and the mother said she was okay.

As we waited not too far away, her little boy came over within ten minutes, “My mom said to come call you now. She said to go call Stephen.”

So Stephen went to get the mother; and I went inside with the little boy. He had tears in his eyes as I sat to talk with him.

He and Stephen played MarioKart and Donkey Kong; and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles–which took so long to understand: The men, different colors, with the knives, cutting down…grass? What? Oh, turtles? No, frogs? With knives? What?” 

I sat with the mother while she cried and calmed down. She told me she didn’t want her baby–the one arriving in just a month or two; and didn’t know how to take care of her kids. Would we take them?

Oh, the painful irony, folks: of being in a slower adoption process than we hoped, while being offered children–A little boy you already love and know! Newborn babies about to arrive across your street!–and know they are paperless; knowing the line between trafficking and adoption is so grey here; knowing that she needs to be equipped to care for her kids, not have them taken away. So we talked about this little baby that she would soon love so much. That she would look into his eyes and love him. How her son needs his mother and they love each other so much. They can stick together. He’s going to be such a great young man someday…

We talked about options, too: how we can help, how we can get outside help. How this isn’t the end of the story.

But as the story continues, it is not lost on me, as Stephen played video games with a little boy over a bowl of Mama noodles in front of the prayer painted on our wall:

May God bless us with discomfort
At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships
So that we may live from deep within our hearts.

May God bless us with anger
At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of God’s creations
So that we may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless us with tears
To shed for those who suffer pain, rejection, hunger, and war,
So that we may reach out our hands to comfort them and
To turn their pain into joy.

And may God bless us with just enough foolishness
To believe that we can make a difference in the world,
So that we can do what others claim cannot be done:
To bring justice and kindness to all our children and all our neighbors who are poor.

__________________

I have been thinking more recently that this blog is on it’s way out; because who would want to read this? I’m sure there are rules out there about how many words I’m supposed to write; and this has to be way over that!  It’s quite sad, and I know it. You might even think I need to pursue more counseling (than I already am!).

Can I just tell you: there are so many good things in our lives. I love how many jobs are created in our home; that women able to work safely and be paid fairly with their kids nearby. I love that they are given opportunities for more education in a variety of ways. I love that the youth have a safe place to be and learn. I love that the kids know we won’t hit them. I love that the parents know Stephen doesn’t hit me. I love that the littles come calling for Auntie Kelli and Uncle Stephen; and they’ll always find a hug, a smile, and safety. I love that we are in the neighborhood and culture; but also bringing in a new perspective. I love that we have so much to learn and so much to teach. I love that the kids teach pretend school on our porch; I love that they no longer dig through our trash. I love hearing English songs sung on our porch, whether the words are right or not. I love seeing the kids bring books to Thida to be read to. I love that the kids know to say thank you at our house, while the parents are amazed. I love that I can see kids on their way to school in the morning, put bandages on their cuts, and send them out the door after a steaming bowl of rice, vegetables, and meat.

I cannot believe what God has allowed to happen here. I cannot believe that he has been so gracious to us; for something so much bigger than a couple that didn’t know what they were getting into.

But while the goodness continues, every single day, I feel like I must also write about the sadness, because it’s true. It’s real, around the world, including this seemingly random street; and yours, too. It’s in your country of residence just as much as mine.

I recently read in Jim Wallis’ America’s Original Sin book, “Are we hiding behind untruths that help make us feel more comfortable, or are we willing to seek the truth, even if that is uncomfortable? [John 8:32] is telling us that only by seeking the truth are we made free, and that hanging on to untruths can keep us captive to comfortable illusions.”

All the conversations yesterday, the fighting: it made me uncomfortable. Honestly, even the 5am wake up and endless baking made me fairly uncomfortable! But I also encountered truth. And for this little neighborhood, the truth is that God both hurts for them and loves them more than we ever will. And that this is precisely why we’re here: to let the truth set us all free.