We’re cherishing the fun of having Chris & Jenn in town with us, and it has been a wonderful few days already–full of unexpected adventures!  With time we’ll share more and post photos.

But as we are so thankful to have some family close, today we can also feel the weight of some family being so far away. Stephen’s mom is going into surgery today, and we are painfully aware of the ocean between us. We ache to be there with his family.

So I guess we simply ask that you’d be praying for his mom today, as well as for his dad, sisters, and us as we all stretch across the world’s largest waiting room.

We’re about to load a bus and head off to Bangkok to meet Jenn & Chris at the airport!

And thus, joy abounds 🙂

That is how Stephen began his sentence today. I’m not sure it was possible to end well, really.

But he chose to finish it anyway.

“Don’t take this offensively, but when you wear goggles, you kind of look like the young Kelli.”

Awesome. So I looked like a frog as a kid, too?

Oh, and after some observation during our regular visits to the pool, we’re pretty sure they simply lay the towels out dry in the sun and fold them back up.  I guess there is the off chance they are letting them dry and folding them up to take them to the laundry, but it seems unlikely.

Oh, well. I guess the smell can only really be blamed on us then?

I love hooks.

It’s a simple thing, but they are wonderful. You can hang up everything: dirty clothes, clean clothes, clothes you haven’t decided if they are clean or dirty; wet clothes and pajamas; even belts, jackets, and bags. Or here, helmets and umbrellas, which we seem to have in abundance.

Either way, they’re ideal.

And we have this amazing little factory outside of Mae Sot where they make bamboo furniture. It’s all lovely, and it gets shipped around the world, to places like Pier 1 where they can sell it for hundreds of dollars. Or they can sell it here for $60.

So we went and ordered some hooks. We got to hand pick the kind we wanted, the color of the stain, the number of hooks.

I was very excited. But it would take two weeks for them to be ready. It’s a factory and not always open, so though we were lucky on this trip, we asked when they were usually open. Every day, they said, except Sunday. Afternoons, not mornings.

It sounded simple enough.

We returned two weeks later, only to meet the guard and receive the hand motion for closed. And if you’re ever in town, that’s the same hand motion for not here, don’t know, don’t have, or don’t do that.

We weren’t sure why they weren’t open: it was a Tuesday about 4:00pm. Sounded like not Sunday, in the afternoon to me. But we left, and decided to come back the next week.

That was today. We biked over, a little earlier in the afternoon this time. Maybe 1:00pm is more their definition of afternoon?

Closed. The guard gave the same hand motion, but this time with some laughs and one word: three.

Three? Three what?  Stephen motioned to his watch: three o’clock?

“Yes, yes,” he shook his head. “Three, three.” And he pointed at his wrist.

So we came back at 3:30pm this afternoon. And mind you, this is not oh-so-close. Biking takes a good forty-five minutes if you’re booking it. Motorbiking is obviously faster, but it’s not so comfortable to go too far on a motorbike seat; but then a bicycle seat doesn’t scream comfort, either.

Anyway, same same. We got the closed motion and a few more bouts of laughter, but from a group this time. Stephen motions to his watch: 3 o’clock, right?  But this time, the man walks over to his calendar and points to 3 October.

I’m sorry. What?

Please note that it’s the 21st today. It’s either going to take a whole lot of magic or a whole lot of patience for me to pick it up on 3 October.

And I’m going to have to say that is not what I first assumed when you said three.

We pointed some more. I pointed to the 21st, they seemed confused. I pointed to 3 November, and they pointed to 3 October again. I tried Karen, but they responded in something else.  We did a lot of pointing.

And I guess we’re going back Monday. Maybe three days?

Most of the time I’m amazed how much you can accomplish without words. And other days I’m amazed at how much can be miscommunicated with them.

There have been so many ups and downs recently; some I can disclose on the blog and others I cannot. More times that not, the past few weeks have been hard. I have been drained. I have been hurting.

But we’re on the brink of something good.

Many good things, really.

My sister and brother-in-law arrive in Thailand one week from today. One week!  I have been so excited for them to come for nearly three months now, and it has been continually building. I’ve imagined meeting them at the airport so many times, I occasionally have to re-think if it’s already happened. I am so excited for the time to cook together, visit the markets, and show them our lives here.

My excitement has been multiplying as the days lessen, and this week, my excitement has become more urgent.  It’s become more of an ache–for familiar faces to be here and experience this with us for just a moment.

We have more things planned than anyone thought possible in a shady little border town like Mae Sot.

We’re on the brink of something good.

But it doesn’t stop there.  After my sister departs, we have just one month in-country before we fly to America for the holidays. Yes, one month. So short of a goodbye to my sister that tears can be denied.

And amidst some time to catch up, this month will chock-full of traveling and Christmas festivities. We’ll be traveling about five hours south and eight hours north in these few weeks, helping to host six Christmas parties for our children’s projects all along the Thai-Burma border. That will be six Christmas parties of games, crafts, the Christmas story, and a gift for each child. Six Christmas parties for the lovely orphaned Karen children that have stolen our hearts.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

Or does it?

Because the 18th of December welcomes us back to American soil for some cherished time with our families. I’m aching for it already.

It’s been a rough go, yes.

Today?  Not wonderful, to state it mildly.

Tomorrow? Exhausted at the thought of it.

But, we’re on the brink of something good.

 

And we’re home.

It was a quick trip to the big city: a few dinners with friends, a few meetings, and a few shopping trips.

We spent the day yesterday shopping with our boss and her two children, aged two and seven months. Both kids were in the hospital for a few days this week with pneumonia, and they needed a day out. We also traveled back with them today to help with kids.

Though we were glad to help, I can safely say that a) we’re still not wanting kids any time soon and b) there was more vomiting involved than I would have liked…

 

We’re in the big city right now, enjoying four short days of refreshment, meetings, wonderful conversation, delicious food, and fancy grocery shopping.

In the midst of enjoying delicious food over wonderful conversation this evening, the waiter refilled our friend’s glass of water and a small spider poured in. He kindly took the glass aside and–while still in view–used a pair of tongs to take the spider out. The tongs were then returned the ice bucket, and the glass was returned to the table.

Amazing.

“Why?  Because poverty is complex.  The people living in debilitating poverty live complex lives.  The hearts behind those who have much are complex.  The hearts of those who have nothing are complex.  Considering the teachings of Jesus about material possessions, the poor, and how those truths affect the ways that each of us live our lives is complex.  Poverty and our response to it cannot be and will never be summed up in a short blog post.  Attempting to do so is dangerous at best and wildly prideful in the least.”

I found this excerpt on another blog and thought it was very well-written. I love the way she describes the complexity of both wealth and poverty, and I think this same complexity comes into so many areas of life.

It seems to operate as an excellent disclaimer for this blog: that I in no way intend to simplify life into something conquered with mere words. It seems like each year, month, day of life we are exposed to another side of poverty, another side of wealth, another side of culture, another side of home.

I suppose writing is just a way of processing each string that I discover plays a part in the greater tapestry being created. Nothing more, nothing less.