The House Collective

light of love: seventh anniversary.

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Last Sunday was the seventh anniversary of our church Light of Love. We attended the usual morning service (9am to 1pm) and the evening celebration service (5:30pm to 10:30pm), so, uhh…that was a lot of church.

But it was really beautiful.

Lots of our neighbors came for the celebration, three of the kids participated in a special song & dance, and I made lots of cake with two of the girls. After singing a few songs, Pastor Ah Tee asked a few people to turn off all the fans, which incited a small amount of panic as I sat surrounded by forty-some people in a space the size of your living room.  They then passed out candles to everyone and we lit them all as we sang and the pastor shared how the church–Light of Love–has been a light to the community for seven years; and how we as the Church are the light of the world. We then all put our candles together, showing the bright light we together emit.

It was a beautiful word picture. We only half-melted during it, and I’m pretty sure it didn’t top too much of 100 degrees in the room, so…bearable. I did get a little worried at the candles, in dirt and in a pan, on the plastic chair. 

And I had another panic when, during the service, a little boy from our community got up for water and tripped over the fan cord–unplugging the fan and nearly falling into the tipsy folding table holding flowers and four cakes. 😳 It was a close one.

But we really are so thankful for our church and it was fun to celebrate!

replay.

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It was our weekly Sabbath.

Thida was already cooking when I slipped out the door for an early morning bike ride; and Stephen slept a bit longer than 5:30am. Because we Sabbath differently.

When I got back just after seven, I sat with a few of the moms and kids, just chatting a few minutes. With news of an arrest last night and the community gathering thousands of baht to get him out of prison; the reality that this is only the beginning of more arrests and more pushes and pulls to this little neighborhood…I was ready to call it a Sabbath on the other side of the doorway and let Thida do her thing.

Then we heard shouting in the front and went to see. It was one of our little friends who is six years old, with one of the hardest lives and living situations, now crying and facing his aunt–a teenager with a baby of her own now–and she’s wielding a stick. Not a normal stick, mind you: many of the parents use small sticks in their discipline, and whether I fully agree with it or not, I can see it is cultural. I can see it as different strokes for different folks.

But this, this is a very thick wooden broom handle.

I try to calmly intervene; ask what has happened. He’s naughty, she says. He took something from another boy.

__________________________

I’ll interject here to just say I ache for this little guy. At six he has faced more hardship and horrors than he should ever experience, and he’s still the sweetest. He comes bearing the biggest smiles every morning, politely says thank you, and really, if he knows he shouldn’t, he doesn’t. He just doesn’t always know yet.

Just Thursday he bit another boy on the cheek. It was shockingly aggressive; left a large mark and just felt surprisingly vicious. And since he was at our housing playing, I  took him outside to handle it.

When I asked what happened, he matter-of-factly explained that the boy had taken his train.

He was confused where the problem was: a train taken out of his hand and a bite on the cheek seemed fair enough.

I explained to him that at our house, that’s not how we respond when we are angry. It’s ok to be angry, but we use our words here to say we are angry. We can to ask someone not to do something, or even ask an adult for help. We don’t hit, fight, or bite here.

He nodded and apologized.

I love this kid to pieces. His heart is beautiful. And his innocence is beautiful, despite coming out of all the stories you don’t want to hear: living with his grandparents through a split; his adolescent aunts caring for him in the early years of his life while his parents were in prison for some drug involvement; his aunt leaving him to move to Bangkok as a teenager; his other aunt pregnant as an unwed teenager; his parents returning when he’s three and doesn’t know them; his dad having TB and the newly-reunited family being moved into isolation hours away; his grandfathers second wife leaving and then returning; with endless drunkenness and rage and beatings in the middle. His mother just left the family three weeks ago, only two weeks after we finally arranged to get him into school and started feeding him breakfast five days a week.

Endless brokenness.

And this kid, guys: he just keeps smiling. He’s so incredibly resilient. He shows up every morning, excited for breakfast and throwing thankfulness all over the room; asking, again, if we are playing at 4 o’clock.

__________________________

As I watch her threaten him with the oversized stick, I’m skeptical he’s really that naughty.

But like countless other times in this community, sometimes it’s hard to know what to do. If I was in the parent | guardian position, I wouldn’t want to be told how to parent my child. I wouldn’t want to be told—particularly by a white lady that doesn’t even have children!—how I should handle this.

Sometimes it’s enough to just having someone else present and aware. Diffusing the situation for even just a split second—it allows for reconsideration. It gives a moment for them to ask themselves if they should continue; to consider if the punishment fits the crime.

And from past experience, usually a moment’s consideration or a few onlookers is enough to calm things to words.

Of course that wasn’t the case here. As I turned back toward the house I heard the crack of the stick on something.

Replay #1 as I try to sort that out, wishing I hadn’t turned around; wishing I knew what I should have done; wishing I knew if she actually hit him then or hit the ground in threat.

I turned back around in a hurry. And from there, here’s what I think happened, amidst the chaos in another language: I think I told her no, not here. Here, at our house, it is not okay to hit him. She can choose what she does at her house, but not here. We do not hit here at our house.

She said something about him not moving, and I shrugged. I said I didn’t care; she would not be hitting him here.

Let’s just say it was loud enough that others around heard, and they now know our stance on hitting kids with big sticks.

I knew I had to walk away at that point; I was shaking horribly and tried to pull myself together over a glass of water. Thida apologized in the kitchen, and I tried to mumble something about how we don’t do that in America/I don’t experience these things in America and I’m not sure what to do.  She could tell I was losing it, and so could I.

I stumbled into our bedroom and woke Stephen up through tears and trying to explain I didn’t know what to do. I can’t go out there now, because I’m crying. You can’t cry in Burmese communities, not visibly. And yet I can’t let him get hit. I didn’t know what to do.

Stephen kindly stumbles out of bed and spends the next hour, with the help of two other kind friends in the community, taking the stick away, calming everyone down, and checking on this little guy.

He’s bawling as I bandage up a couple cuts, evaluate some welps. He gulps down a cup of chocolate milk as we tell him he’s going to be alright.

I tell him again how we love Jesus and we don’t hit here. I tell him we love him, and that we use our words when we’re angry, not fighting, not biting, and not hitting: just like I said the other day. I explain we need to be nice, to obey, and to be a good kid, but that that isn’t okay. Stephen tells him if he’s ever scared to run, RUN, as fast as he can to our house.

__________________________

I just keep replaying it over and over again. What I said to her; what I said to him. What I saw and what I did. What I should have done or shouldn’t have.

How I got here in the first place.

I wonder if I actually said what I said. I wonder that often anyway, but especially when I’m frustrated or scared or stressed. Did I even make sense? Was it all laughable? Or was it just downright not what I meant to say?

Was it true? Was it kind?

How do I know if it honored the Lord if I’m not even positive I said it?

How do you love someone in another language? How do you love across cultures? How do you not just mess up one thing after another?

It’s a shame the replays don’t answer questions.

__________________________

He came back the next day for breakfast.

Same beautiful smile. Same hungry belly.

He ate two platefuls and then asked for a new Band-Aid on his way out the door. I bandaged up his hand again and asked if he was okay.

Are you alright? Yep!
Are you full? Yep!
Are you happy? Yep!
Are you coming to play today at 4? Yep!

He told me thank you. I told him he was a good kid, and he tumbled out the door. And then he tumbled back in a few minutes later because he forgot his rice tin for lunch.

And then tumbled back out, while I tumble through another day and another replay.

renewed.

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We were on our way to the Department of Motor Vehicles this week to renew Stephen’s license. It expires while we are out of town next week and you never know how many times you will need to return with different paperwork, different medical tests, and different days or hours. But amidst the week, it was on a very long to-do list.

I believe I said something along the lines of, “Well, maybe it will just go really quickly and smoothly.”
To which Stephen replied, “Yeah, maybe. Maybe the DMV in Thailand in another language will just go really, really smoothly. That’s a lot of optimism you’ve got there.” 😂

He’s now back for the second time this week with two copies of every possible paper he could need (signed & unsigned, black & white, plus originals), to watch an hour long video of violent car & motorbike accidents, and then hopefully it will go smoothly & quickly!

_____________________

We got our licenses shortly after we arrived. They give you one year from your birthday at first, and then you get a five-year license. So, as he returns–we’re nearing the seven year mark in this country, in this growing little town, on this street and in this very house.

It’s funny the things that show you time going by. It’s not what you expect.

It’s not that seven years has snuck up on me: I’ve watched it coming one day at a time. And what is seven years anyway? You’d think five would’ve hit me, or maybe ten if we make it.

Instead, it was last week as I was trying to get two fans to work, I was frustrated as these “fans we bought new” were failing us. I said something about not wanting to buy more–they should work! And Stephen reminded me that, while we did buy them new, they have been on for nearly 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for 7 years.

Maybe those fans are as tired as we are. 😂

And then it was this license. I remember getting the second one, seeing it was good for five years. Five years, I thought, we won’t have to renew it!  I thought we’d be gone by then. For some reason four years seemed likely; five years seemed the cap.

So much of what we do feels transient, even seven years in. We rent a house because we don’t have the option to own; most of what we buy we consider the re-sale value. We do paperwork for visas and work permits regularly, a constant reminder that we are aliens. We operate in multiple languages.

I find myself walking in the market like it’s home to me, understanding the chatter and knowing exactly where to buy the best carrots. And then I find myself wondering why people are staring. Apparently I still look less at home than I feel with my glowing skin and large nose.

(Yes, it’s probably the most frequent comment from strangers, either to us or without knowing we understand them: what big, beautiful noses we have!)

And for some reason, renewing it this week, it feels like we are…residents. We are making a home here.

 

This license feels like evidence. I came, I stayed, and I’m renewing this thing.

_____________________

He just called to tell me he has to go back this afternoon. They wanted his old passport–the one that expired two years ago. The one that is in America, unused, because we can’t use an expired passport. So they will accept a copy, but he will have to come back at 1pm for the next video showing.

So, you won’t make this easy on us, hmm? I tell you, that expired document requirement was a surprise!

But let me tell you again: I came, I stayed, and I will renew this thing.

The license, and my will to survive, it seems!

the news i hear.

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In my Burmese lesson last week, we read a poem together.

I’ll be honest: reading Burmese poetry is not my favorite. I’m not an avid reader, nor do I fully appreciate, much English poetry, and Burmese poetry is an even further stretch. Even when I understand all of the words, it’s hard to understand why one line is talking about a boy under a tree and the next is about a skirt being used as a flag.

Further, poetry holds a number of cultural notes–referencing “known” events, histories, habits, jokes. The chance of me knowing those is, well, less than likely.

I conclude: I don’t read much poetry, particularly in other languages. But I was.

And I loved this one. The title, and repeating line after every verse: The news I hear, it is not good. 

Verse by verse, he went through current events internationally, nationally, locally, and personally: “the news I hear, it is not good.”

I connected with it in a way I can’t recall ever connecting with poetry. Because, friends, this is true for today. It is true for my heart right now, as I watch tragedy after tragedy unfold in my world, in my country, and in my neighborhood.

Charlottesville: The news I hear, it is not good.
American politics, from North Korea to DACA: The news I hear, it is not good.
Harvey, in all it’s ugliness: The news I hear, it is not good.
Flooding in South Asia: The news I hear, it is not good.
Thai politics and new laws: The news I hear, it is not good.
Thai law, for my friends trying to become legal: The news I hear, it is not good.
The Rohingya, fleeing for their lives and dying gruesome deaths: The news I hear, it is not good.
Burma, trying to find their feet in development: The news I hear, it is not good.
My friends being denied a visa last week: The news I hear, it is not good.
My neighbors trying to make ends meet and find work: The news I hear, it is not good.
My best little friends, hungry every morning at our door: The news I hear, it is not good.
Our friends, waiting for the arrests to start before they move back to Burma: The news I hear, it is not good.
My friend, sewing in our home, losing her contracted job this week: The news I hear, it is not good.
My husband and I, waiting and praying for our sweet baby bunny: The news I hear, it is not good.

But my God, He is good.

“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever.” (Psalm 136:1)

Charlottesville: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
American politics, from North Korea to DACA: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
Harvey, in all it’s ugliness: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
Flooding in South Asia: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
Thai politics and new laws: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
Thai law, for my friends trying to become legal: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
The Rohingya, fleeing for their lives and dying gruesome deaths: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
Burma, trying to find their feet in development: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
My friends being denied a visa last week: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
My neighbors trying to make ends meet and find work: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
My best little friends, hungry every morning at our door: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
Our friends, waiting for the arrests to start before they move back to Burma: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
My friend, sewing in our home, losing her contracted job this week: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.
My husband and I, waiting and praying for our sweet baby bunny: The news I hear, it is not good. But my God, He is good.

literacy & learning.

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Our pastors asked us a few weeks ago about teaching in our community. A few broken conversations later, we had a community meeting, and still a few more conversations after that, we re-arranged the community space for whiteboards and…we have community adult education classes happening!

Our pastor, Ah Tee, and his wife, Pranee, are teaching on Tuesdays and Thursdays. They teach one hour of Burmese literacy, teaching five Burmese women how to read and write in their own language. And then they teach an hour of Thai class. And since the neighbors also requested English, Kelli teaches English for an hour on Wednesday evening.

Guys, this is a community center if I ever saw one.

We are really thankful for the opportunity for the neighbors to learn, and that it doesn’t take much from us! We are so excited to have our pastors and friends in the community with us, helping us sort things and observing and advising.

We also love that they are teaching literacy. We had been working on this for sometime, shortly after we learned that San Aye, who sews with us, can’t read or write. Pyo Pyo, our bread manager, is also limited in her literacy. Both of them are taking the class, and it’s so beautiful to see!  There is also a young teenage girl who attends Thai school–and so doesn’t get to learn Burmese–that has joined.

The two sewing ladies have been practicing their alphabet as they sew, reading letters aloud, or spelling words out letter by letter. Thida, while she waits for all the children to come in the morning, has been practicing her Thai letters. They are using new English phrases they learned and testing them out on us!

Meanwhile, Mwei Mwei is our young seamstress that we still want to ensure keeps studying. She is now taking Thai and English classes with the adults in the evening, as well as practicing Burmese reading and writing, learning typing, and learning math with me in the afternoon.

On Tuesday, I helped Mwei Mwei with her typing program until the kids came at 4pm. I then played with the kids in the main area while the literacy class was held in one of the rooms; and Stephen taught The Reinforcers how to solder in the studio. And then we swapped it all around at 6pm for the Thai class to continue.

It’s incredible to see the space used so much and see so many opportunities for our friends! And we love seeing so many opportunities for new skills and languages.

this bites: but we’re famous!

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Some of our dear friends in Mae Sot, Adam & Nu, have a two-year-old daughter, and she took a tumble last week. She seized and passed out following it, so they rushed her to the emergency room to have her looked over and run some tests.

I will reassure you of two things: First and most celebratory, she is fine! Everything checked out as normal. Second, you can see that it isn’t just us. It’s this town or something.

Anyway, they found themselves in the ER during the night shift, when our translator friend works. Since Nu is Burmese, he came to help them communicate with the Thai staff.

And in the middle of it all, he said there was a couple here last week that speaks great Burmese and goes to church. He said he’s friends with us now and wanted to know if Adam & Nu knew us.  Sure enough, they do. And he was over the moon that we could just all be friends!

Even when it bites: at least you get complimented on your language skills and you all turn up okay in the end 🙂

this bites: the other side.

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Last night Stephen reminded me of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine was bit by a dog, so of course we had to watch it.

So, do I need a shot? 
No, not shot. Dog bite.
No, I know I wasn’t shot. Do I need a shot? 
No, not shot. Woof-woof, not bang-bang.

This is the story of our lives in SO MANY WAYS.

So it bites, but your life is also a comedy show for somebody out there!

In other news, the dog is apparently dead, likely because he bit me and when they told me he had already bit three people this week, I said something along the lines of, “Then kill it,” through gritted teeth.

They took me seriously, it seems. I’m definitely not upset about it, and Stephen sent me a text with confetti when he heard. Oh, and he’s on the hunt for a dead dog emoji! 🙂

this bites.

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I’m nearly out of words, friends.

Since we landed back in Mae Sot in April–what seems like ages ago!–it has just been one thing after another. It has been life-changing shifts, government surprises, arrests, emergencies, deaths, and tragedies at every turn. Whoa.

And this week was another biting one, this time literally.

One of our bread ladies has had her two-year-old admitted to the hospital all week, so we’ve been visiting them every day. And while she sure does look cute on this creepy old hospital bed, it wasn’t a fun week for her.

And since they were still in the hospital on Friday, I filled in with bread making. We served breakfast starting at 6:30am, and while kids still trailed in, we started making bread and tortillas at 7am.

I came back from deliveries pretty exhausted. We were ready to call it a day, but one of the girls in the community said her “uncle” had a sore foot and asked if I’d come bring him some medicine. They live on the road behind our house, and then down a little path in a field. Since it’s rainy season, I went as far as I could on the motorbike and then hopped off to walk the rest of the way through the mud and cornfields, growing high over my head.

Right where the fields break into the clearing for their house–just a few meters from their house–three street dogs lunged toward me, two in front and one ran around behind me. Since we have some twenty street dogs on our road, I didn’t think much of it, just pulled back a bit to let them call them off, throw rocks, or whatever they would do.

Ah, but not so lucky.

The one that came behind me was more aggressive and bit right into my calf. I was a bit stunned, since I encounter street dogs all the time, have been out to their house multiple times; I just thought nothing of it. But as I kept walking I was certain he had got me.

I went ahead and gave the girl’s “uncle” the medicine he needed–for a wound, mind you, that was much smaller than the one I’d just gained giving it to him!–and I tried to just make my way back home quickly. I had a ways to walk back and still the motorbike to drive home, but I couldn’t see blood seeping through yet and thought I’d just hurry!

Well, long story short: It’s really, really good I was wearing jeans. You could see a full ring of bite marks, but only two teeth had punctured. He had gotten all muscle, and it huuurrrrrtt. But the worst part: those two little punctures (and the fact that he’d bit three other people that week) definitely meant I needed rabies shots.

Off to the ER.

Since our public hospital is Thai-run but encounters primarily Burmese patients, they have translators on staff. We had met one of the night-shift ER translators last week when we brought in our friend with a bicycle accident. He loved that we knew Burmese, invited us to church with him, and just generally really wanted to be friends.

So on Friday, he was incredibly friendly and welcoming. It was nice to be able to tell exactly what had happened, and to be honest, even though we haven’t learned Thai, we are finding that most Thais we encounter are at least impressed we learned Burmese (and Burmese translators are easier to find than English!).

Alas, it was still a rough night. There was a stab victim in the ER, too, and that was less than pleasant. We were also given masks shortly after arriving, because apparently the H1N1 outbreak is continuing to get worse, and they had had five cases already that day. 😳😷

I had to have six shots in the end–one in each upper arm, one in my lower arm, one in my hip, & two into the wound itself, which I will openly tell you IS THE MOST HORRIBLE THING. I don’t know exactly what they did, but it involved putting the needle in and moving it around for a very long time, where you have just been bitten by an angry dog. I screamed in shock when she started moving the needle around in the wound. I also limped for two days following, perhaps from the bite and perhaps from the shot.

Oh, and I have four more rounds of shots to return for in the next month.

So that bites.

a few of my favorite things.

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When the word feels like its crumbling in your own neighborhood, in your host country, and in your home country–just accentuate those positives. Big & small alike.

1. Smart fish. So, we went to a coffee shop outside of town last weekend. It was lovely in so many respects, and I posted pictures of us there in this post. However, THE FISH. They had a lake full of fish, with these nice little walkways across it where you had the option to buy fish food and feed them. I had no fish food with me, but the fish follow you! They followed our footsteps, hoping for food, as we walked and walked back and forth different directions. A whole host of them. I don’t have a great photo, but just take my word for it: those smart fish were very, very awesome.


2. Podcasts. This is my new favorite way to be involved in America and American culture. I still love the Instagram photos, but Facebook is wasting me away. And the news: oh, I simply can’t handle it. But, podcasts give me a taste of America from an admittedly biased, personal perspective that is at least palatable. My current favorites, of which I’ve found them all on iTunes, are: This American Life–always have loved and always will; I feel like Ira & I are friends. Persuasion–recommended by a friend and have loved it! Two American Christian ladies just chatting about some important and some not-so-important things. They are humble, not having all the answers but just chatting. Also one of the ladies is from Central Illinois and it feels oddly like home. Still Processing–another humble, we-don’t-have-all-the-answers podcast. This podcast often addresses racial issues and as of yet was my favorite perspective on Charlottesville–it was just honest and it challenged me and it broke me. I think that’s probably what we need most. Upside Down Podcast–more Christian women chatting about difficult things. These ladies all seem to live in similar communities to what we do. I feel like we’re already friends. Hey, girl.–American women from different backgrounds and races chatting about a variety of important and not-so-important things. The Red Couch–an interesting, personalized take on politics and society. Diverse, unique, and hilarious: a winner.

3. Reading aloud, currently Lord of the Rings. We’re always trying to find new ways to decompress in the evenings. While we still go through the occasional TV series or season, I have to say there isn’t that much I want to watch, particularly when you eliminate serious, scary dramas (i.e. police, crime) or too-life-like dramas (i.e. This is Us is out). It also has to be accessible to us here, which is a whole different issue. Anyway, we’re exploring other options. We’re trying podcasts together, currently listening through Serial in the evenings or the occasional This American Life. And, we’re reading together.  We have been for years, and we’re currently nearing the end of Lord of the Rings trilogy. While I’ve always loved reading together, I’m really loving it now. I’m realizing how peaceful it is and is becoming one of my favorite things at the end of long days.

4. ကျွေးတယ် || To feed. This is likely one of my favorite aspects of Burmese childrearing. From a extremely early age, kids are taught to share their food. No matter what. Every bag of squid chips is shared with the whole group. Every pop-ice. Even every sucker. It may not always be the most sanitary activity, but I do love how the kids learn so quickly to share so freely. And it makes for adorable situations like this:




5. Sewing. This is my newest hobby! A team purchased two Singer machines for our little sewing project, and that means there is usually a machine available to me on evenings and weekends. I’m only tackling simple mending, curtains, pillowcases, and blankets for now (read: straight lines, easy to fix mistakes), but I am happy to be listening to a podcast & the hum of the machine.

6. Injuries that bring us together. There is always quite a bit of sickness during rainy season, but we also have had our fair share of major injuries. On Wednesday, we took one baby to be admitted at the clinic for potential H1N1, and then found ourselves at the orthopedic doctor with an eight-year-old with a broken tibia from playing football.


And just a few hours after that, we were called after a bicycle accident. Two people had collided on their bicycles just returning to the community from work. Stephen & I ended up at the ER with our friend San San, while they put twenty stitches into her leg. With other injuries in the mix, it was a long week. But I was thankful that we tackled them together.


Stephen helped carry the little boy in and out of x-rays; and he was there to help get San San into the ER. And we ate street food for dinner on a hospital bench, so–while it does get more romantic than that, I’m thankful for the fact that we do this together. He’s the best.

7. ဝတ်မှုန်း || Win Moun. Speaking of injuries, one of our favorite little girls is currently admitted to the local hospital. She has an infection on her tiny little finger that has gotten ridiculous, and they need to watch it for a few days and potentially lance it while she is sedated. But this girl–she has our hearts, and she is bringing a smile to our faces every day when she calls for us, Uncle Stephen & Aunt Kelli. She is very verbal, and held both arms out yesterday at the hospital–one having a hurt finger and one having just had blood taken–shouting, “It hurts! It hurts!” in her best pathetic tone. She also shouted to the doctor, “Don’t do that! DON’T DO THAT! It HURTS!”

I was wearing this sweater when she held my cheeks and said the Burmese equivalent of, “I wear it.” She then went to get my pink jelly shoes to complete the ensemble. 😍


8. New glasses. (Read: any happy-ending story.) It was a feat we’ve been tackling since June, but eight appointments later and a only a few tears, this beautiful little girl was able to get glasses!  And adorable little pink ones to make it even better.



9. The Rock Game. We’ve been playing this for years, but I’m getting better at it now! It’s similar to jacks, but much harder and the kids play it from about two years old on up. So I’m way behind on learning. But we now have a little group playing it a few times a week during Playhouse–mostly teenage girls and young moms, and it brings a smile to my face. Especially if I can at least play on par with the ten-year-olds!


The world is probably still crumbling in broken stories. But the positives have been successfully accentuated. ✔️

the reinforcers.

by Filed Under: house church, kelli, onehouse, photos, stephen 1 Comment

Alternate title: What Stephen is calling “The Reinforcers.” I’m just not sold on it yet.

At the beginning of every year, we sit together and talk about what has changed and evolved in the community over the past year, what God has done, and what prayers have been answered. And then we make goals for the next year.

At the beginning of 2017, we specifically prayed and strategized for very little growth–we wanted to deepen relationships, to get better at what we do in the community, specifically to grow in quality and not quantity. We have felt in over our heads for so long, and we just really didn’t want to start anything new.

That has become the running joke of 2017: Let’s “not start anything new.”

Instead, we brought on Mwei Mwei and started a new side of our sewing project. This also involves providing part-time education for her, so I now teach her English & math three days a week. And she wanted two friends to join her on Wednesdays, so we have a little English class in the afternoons.

We started The Breakfast Club, which is an epic undertaking involving new community members being hired into the house, a warehouse full of bulk rice, eggs, and noodles (in addition to the flour and baking goods we buy in bulk!), and the added bonus of waking up by 5:30am Monday to Friday.

We got more involved in our church, with Stephen helping on the worship team and I’m helping with Sunday school. As of Saturday, I’m teaching English to the pastors & elders at our church.

Oh, and The Reinforcers. We just started that last Tuesday.

First, the background: We have previously partnered with Kingdom Mission Fund, who is funding Stephen’s current project with OneHouse. While Stephen continues to work on the recording and translation projects, we have found its coming slower and more challenging than we thought. He keeps trekking ahead, but also felt like God opened up a different door.

Stephen felt like there was an opportunity to begin mentoring two teenage boys, training them on live sound and hopefully computers and recording in the future. His hope was to purchase live sound equipment that could be used for our monthly worship nights, and also be rented out to local non-profits and businesses. He hoped that if the equipment was purchased with the grant, the project could then sustain itself, providing part-time jobs for the boys and teaching new skills. It would also provide new opportunities for churches, non-profits, and other ministries in town. Meanwhile, it gives the boys a part-time job on the evenings and weekends, where they can contribute to their families while attending school–and hopefully keep them there. So many teenagers are pulled out around this age because they are needed for their income, and we always want to prevent that. And as icing on the cake, it provided an opportunity for Stephen to invest in two specific guys. One of them has no father figure in the home. The other has a physically present father that is not the best role model, and his mom is currently battling cancer (our Flower lady, Daw Ma Oo) and has been gone since April.

Pretty amazing project idea, right? Stephen always comes up with the best ideas. I just wish we could do them all.

We applied for an additional Kingdom Missions Fund grant this year and hoped to receive it when we were stateside. Unfortunately, we weren’t chosen this year, which left us in a predicament: we still felt like this was a great project and a genius idea. Upon returning in April, we felt both of the boy’s situations needed it more than ever. But our grant was requesting $4,000–something we just don’t have in any of our budgets.

So we’ve been praying and praying and praying. We have been considering options and re-working the idea. Where was God leading us? Why did he give Stephen this great idea, and why were we both so unsettled? It didn’t feel right to simply close the door, but we also weren’t sure how to make it happen.

Until this month. Our church had a new building open earlier this year, and recently acquired some new instruments and has some new musicians–including the two newly-baptized young men in our community. They have the capacity for a full band, but they are still trying to get in a groove.

We began talking with our church, and we have re-worked the idea for our current situation. For the time being, Stephen is partnering with our church’s worship leader and his good friend, Saw Min Tun. They are going to purchase a few things for the sound system at church that makes it more usable. They are setting up the mixer in the back of the room, and Stephen is going to go ahead and train these two guys to run sound weekly for our church. They will still learn the techniques and it opens the door for additional training. And we are investing some: we are making a few initial purchases as gifts to the church, and then we are “hiring” the two boys each weekend. They will run sound for band practice every Saturday and for church on Sunday, and we’ll pay them each $6.

And we’ll wait. We’ll see if God provides a way to purchase a sound system and open up doors that way, or perhaps He has something else in mind. And for now, it still provides a way to support these families in need through education, new opportunities, and skills.

Stephen is training them one afternoon a week, doing what he loves, and loving getting to spend time with these great kids. And they are ecstatic–they are really beyond excited to learn about sound and music. They are both artistic and very smart. And they’ll be coming to church with us regularly while providing additional income for their families.

Because even when his first great idea doesn’t work, Stephen finds a way 🙂

{If you’re like me, you’ve read all that and you’re still asking: so why “The Reinforcers”? I’m told that live sound is officially called sound reinforcement, so these guys are now The Reinforcers. I think they all just like that it makes them sound like superheroes.}