We were thirty minutes late to home church on Sunday.

Thankfully, we live and work with people who aren’t too unlike us in this area, and church started forty minutes late. We were just in time to say some hellos.

While we were singing, Stephen somehow managed to stick three fingers directly into his coffee. He looked up at me disgusted, because you see, he hates having gross|sticky|gooey things on his hands.

I leaned over and whispered that he could wipe his fingers on my jeans. They were dirty anyway; I had pulled them out of the dirty clothes to come to church.

He then leaned back over and said he could wipe them on his own jeans, because he had done the same.

This is us right now, for better or for worse. We are often late, and our lives are very messy in most every way.

Our friend, Greg, led the home church in looking at the list of blessings in Matthew 5 & Luke 6. It was wonderfully  presented and thought provoking, challenging us to look at the heart attitude of how they were presented and who they were presented to. He ended with this list of additional blessings, which he partially gathered & partially wrote, for us to ponder:

Blessed are the unemployed.
Blessed are those who don’t have it all together.
Blessed are those with no place to call home.
Blessed are those who have run out of strength, ideas, will power, resolve, or energy.
Blessed are who who ache because of how severely out of whack the world is.
Blessed are those who stumble, trip, and fall in the same place again and again.
Blessed are those who on a regular basis have a dark day in which despair seems to be a step behind them wherever they go.
Blessed are you, for God is with you; God is on your side; God meets you in that place.

This is us right now, for better or for worse. We have nothing together, and we are struggling to figure out where home is. We are way out of ideas and energy and strength. We are really aching, and sometimes feeling followed by despair.

Our dearest friends are unemployed and don’t have it together. They have been kicked out of their home and are trying to make one here. They are often out of strength, resolve, and energy to keep trying so hard. They ache. They often stumble in the same place again and again. Sometimes it feels like despair is just a step behind them.

But God is with us; God is meeting us here. He is shaping us toward meekness, peace, and purity. He is turning our mourning into dancing. He is bringing the kingdom. And we are blessed.

There are some horrible things occurring in Western Burma right now.  The Rohingya, an ethnic group of Burma that is primarily Muslim, have never had it easy. The past in year particular has seen the displacement of over 145,000 people amidst fighting. On 14 January the government of Burma issued a verbal order that all Muslim males aged 10 and over be arrested.

This is heartbreaking to us–as a couple, as an organization, and hopefully as a society.

I am currently reading through Metaxas’ biography Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy. As a pastor and leader in the German Christian Church, Bonhoeffer became a part of the conspiracy to kill Hitler.  I found this quote last night, which he wrote in a Christmas card to a friend in December 1940 (p.373):

“It is not war that first brings death,
not war that first invents the pains and torments of human bodies and souls,
not war that first unleashes lies, injustice, and violence.
It is not war that first makes our existence so utterly precarious
and renders human beings powerless,
forcing them to watch their desires and plans
being thwarted and destroyed by more “exalted powers.”
But war makes all of this,
which existed already apart from it and before it,
vast and unavoidable to us who would gladly prefer to overlook it all.”

I find this horrifically true. There is so much we prefer to pretend doesn’t exist in our broken world and broken souls: the lies, pain, and injustice in all of us. The death that makes us mortal; the futility that all creation was subjected to (Romans 8:20). But we prefer to ignore these horrible attributes, we pretend that we aren’t in bondage and we aren’t groaning for something else.

And then there is war, which just shows us what we are all made of.

It’s not just what they are made of: not just crazy government leaders or extremist protestors or radicals. It is in each and every one of us, it is around each and every one of us.  Brokenness of what we were meant to be, a battle of our own choices and desires and something outside of ourselves. War just causes us to see the sin we prefer to overlook.

And as we look toward the situation in Western Burma–as we see creation hurting creation, as we pray and try to determine our role {as a couple, as an organization, and hopefully as a society}–we see that it is nothing new. It is nothing we are not capable of ourselves. And it is still nothing that any of us wants to address.

But maybe it is better for us to see our powerlessness,
so that we can recognize the power of God.
Maybe it is better for us to see our precariousness,
so that we depend on something outside of ourselves.
Maybe it is better to see the things we would prefer to overlook,
so that we are reminded to do what is good.

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
Micah 6:8

I had just come back from a doctor visit.

Stephen stood at the door and said he had just grabbed a man by the arm and told him not to hit his daughter at our house.

We have known there is physical abuse in the home for quite some time. One of the girls comes regularly for bandages, with a new cut or bruise a few times a week. We’ve tried to sort out what to do, but it is like so many other problems here: we have more questions than answers, more challenges than solutions. What is cultural? Burmese culture, Asian culture, or even the culture of poverty? What are the rights of illegals? How do we handle situations we can’t really change? How would Christ have responded?

And as many times before, we have attempted to manage what happens here, at our house. We may not be able to end sexual abuse, but we can make sure it doesn’t happen here. We may not be able to end hunger, but we can do our best to ensure that the people in our home aren’t wanting. We can’t cure diseases, but we can treat the injuries that come to our front door.

I don’t know if this is the right decision or theory. It’s just what we have reconciled ourselves with at the moment: represent Christ here. Make this home a place of refuge, a place of love, and a place of hope.

So when Stephen saw this father hitting his daughter, he went out, grabbed his arm, and explained he couldn’t do that here, at our house. The little girl bolted while she had the chance.

I’m glad it was him and not me. But I wish it was me and not her.

He seemed pensive, so I asked him if he felt he had done the right thing. He said yes. Just after the man left, another little girl, Meh Meh Toe, ran over to Stephen. She gave him a hug and told him thank you in Burmese.

We are praying for this little girl, particularly tonight that she doesn’t face worse.
We are praying for our home, that it would be covered in grace and goodness; that it would be protected.
We praying for this community to see Christ and know the hope of the Kingdom.

And I am really thankful for God’s goodness. I cannot begin to count or even comprehend the ways that God always sends an allegorical rainbow, like a little thank you from a nine-year-old.

The journey home had some scares along the way.

Our flight path was from London to Colombo, Sri Lanka, and then onto Bangkok. In Bangkok we had to switch airports to catch a smaller plane to Mae Sot. {This has only be available for the last little while, and it is so wonderful! At the end of a long journey, a one hour plane ride is so much better than a 9 hour bus trip!}

When we got off the plane in Sri Lanka, we could tell something was up. There were large crowds in the airport, at 2am, in a way you know isn’t right: you can tell they are late and waiting and tired.

We then look at the screens to see that two flights have been delayed: both on their way to Bangkok.

We found some internet and started searching. We learned that some bombs had gone off that morning in Bangkok; we read that 45 countries have posted travel warnings for Thailand. We received this advice:
– don’t travel to Thailand (too late to heed that)
– don’t wear red or yellow (Stephen had on a red shirt)
– carry enough money with you for a week (we had about $40)
– when traveling, leave about four hours early to the airport (we had a 3 hour layover between flights, which included an hour taxi between airports)

We also found that our flight had a “Rescheduled” notice next to it.

Oh, wonderful.

We took a seat and waited to see how things played out, not sure what we could do differently from here. Stephen switched his tshirt, and we booked it through the Bangkok airport to get through immigration and into a taxi.

We made our way through some eerily quiet parts of Bangkok, and arrived in time. We made our way out of Bangkok and into the quiet little town of Mae Sot, thankful for the uneventful journey!

For those of you curious about the political situation in Mae Sot, I can assure you that there is no reason to be alarmed. Before we left, there were some protests downtown every night–but “protests” involved about 20 people waving Thai flags and “downtown” isn’t at all what you’re imagining. It looked more like a parade or memorial service. They did upgrade to a bull horn for a few days.

And now, Stephen drove by last night to find just one man standing on the side of the road, next to a big screen television playing footage of the protests in Bangkok. With that being the nature of protests in Mae Sot, we aren’t worried yet, even as we watch Thailand declare a state of emergency in Bangkok. We’re thankful to have been home for 36 hours!

We made it to England.
We are resting.
I am desperately trying to sort myself out: who are we? Where are we going? What is ahead?

Our mantra for the past little while has come from a Rescues’ song, “I know that it hurts but on January first…
…everything’s gonna be better next year!”

We keep telling each other this–that it’s going to be better. Part of me believes it must be; another part of me just needs the laughter in the moment to hold back tears. I honestly have no idea what 2014 holds: I don’t really know if it will be “better” or not. What would be better? What would be worse? The unknowns are sickeningly numerous; I am worn down. And 2013 held a whole lot more mess than I ever bargained for.

So maybe it will be better next year.

We are still trusting that God is good. That somehow, someway: this is good and He is good and we will be better people because of it.

The fears are looming; even as I write they come to the forefront. I type them out, and then backspace.

We are choosing to trust {noun; “a firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something”}
We are choosing to hold onto hope {noun; “a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen”}
We are waiting for redemption {noun; “the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil}

‘Tis the season of trusting, not fearing. ‘Tis the season of hoping that everything’s gonna be better next year!