Every once in awhile I write a really complicated post; one I have contemplated and prayed about and wondered how it will be heard and who I will unintentionally offend. I hit publish and then worry about them for days.

This is one of those, and again, you’ve been warned.

——————————

It was Tuesday morning, and we were discussing economic development and how important it is to democracy. If a family does not have food to eat today, it is difficult to care about what their government might be like in the future. It is difficult to care about voting or even having a political opinion.

Because of this, and likely other reasons, a country has yet to become democratic if their per capita income is not over $2,500.

Burma is currently at $1,817 gross national income per capita.

So how can the students help economic development?
This is the point of our studies: how can they participate? How can they take responsibility for development?

We talked about producing more. They are always keen to produce more, as if its magic or something. I suggested they try to consume less, and we made jokes about them giving up smoking or chewing betel nut, which are common habits about this group and very expensive. How much would they save if they gave each of these up? We discussed the numbers.

They seemed skeptical, and I decided to give them an example.

I told them how in America we all used to all drink coffee at home. Then slowly, coffee shops started to appear and serve us delicious coffee in a whole new way: new flavors, new foams, new styles. It was delicious, and we started to go there for special treats and meetings. And then companies like Starbucks–which they hadn’t heard of, I might add–began to grow and grow. People began to get these special coffee drinks more and more; until suddenly we were stopping to get them every day before work or school. There was a coffee shop on every campus and every corner. Over time, we realized we were drinking these fancy coffees all the time. It was a little money here, and a little money there, but it was adding up.

A few years ago, I told them, the churches and non-profits and other groups, started challenging people to stop buying coffee at the fancy coffee shops. They started asking us to see how much money we were spending on coffee: if we spent $5 a day on coffee in the shops, then over a year we were spending $1,825 on coffee each year. What if we gave that money to poorer countries? It could make a difference.

——————————

It was somewhere in the middle of my own example that I looked at the numbers. I realized that one person’s coffee over a year is an entire per capita income of a household in Burma–right now, after two years of incredible economic growth.

And my immediate thought was this: we just aren’t doing enough.

For that split second, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops throughout my country. Guys, we just aren’t doing enough! 

There are people hungry. There are people sick. There are countries on the verge of peace, and our coffee and shoes and handbags and cars and houses and televisions could help these things.

We could help provide food. We could probably even end hunger.

We could help provide clean water. We could probably even end death by curable diseases.

We could provide toilets. We could build schools and clinics and churches.

We could help bring peace.

————————-

And then I just wanted to cry. And throw up, all while I sat in front of my class trying to finish my example and inspire them to make small changes in their lives.

I am a part of that, too, that not doing enough.

And I know there are things we don’t say–and this is one of them. We don’t say that we have too much, that we aren’t doing enough, and that we should do more.

But what if it just might be true? 

What if we are blatantly missing Scripture? What if we are not loving the orphans and the widows and the poor? What if we are not being peacemakers? What if we are not being merciful? What if we are not doing justly?

Because while we just don’t say certain things, in that moment of giving an example about coffee, it just seemed so obvious. For a moment it wasn’t something to be considered or evaluated; it wasn’t up for opinion or debate on if it should be said or how. It just seemed clear: we just aren’t doing enough, because we are called to something more.

And to be honest, I didn’t feel guilty about us not doing enough and that I/we should be doing more, but that I/we could. I felt full of hope–that we could do more, that we could be peacemakers! That we could be merciful! That we had the resources to be the church to so many!

I went back and forth on how to write this and if I should even write this.  I don’t mean to insult Starbucks or coffee drinkers. I don’t mean to criticize you or your choices; more, I intend to critique mine.  And honestly, I don’t even know what to change or how it change it. I don’t know what that means for my life or my future or what choices I make.

Perhaps it’s a simple change in wording. I tend to ask myself what I am doing, perhaps I should be asking what I could be doing or what I’m not doing. Perhaps asking what I am doing promotes justification and excuses, but asking what I’m not doing brings difficult challenges and truths to the table.

I don’t know, friends.

I do know I probably won’t forget that moment for some time, hopefully for the rest of my life. I pray I’ll remember the feeling in my stomach and the clarity with which I knew I could do more and that every little decision does make a difference in the lives of people and in the Kingdom.

While away, I read a memoir of a missionary. He was a general practitioner for the beginning of his time overseas, but later specialized in ophthalmology. He spent time in seven different countries, and it made for a really interesting to read.

I hope his book is a little like this blog is for our life: just stories, all wrapped in his honest thoughts on it all. He doesn’t always focus on what he should tell about, but just his thoughts. He is honest about their struggles, their strengths; the times when he prayed or the times he should have prayed more.

There were a few little anecdotes I found really interesting and wanted to pass along; perhaps you’ll find them interesting and perhaps not.

On describing their first trip headed abroad, starting with a stop in India, but serving in Indonesia & Nepal, “We feel fortunate to have had the experience of ship travel on our first assignment abroad. Present day jet travel denies on the delightful and usually luxurious recuperation afforded by the few weeks, or even months, at sea. After a typically hectic send-off, whether going or coming, a chance to rest is more than welcome.”

I found this so intriguing. I have really grown to love the two days it takes us to fly all the way to Thailand. I find myself hoping for layovers. Being unable to shower isn’t always fun, but sleeping at the airport is always so deep–probably because I am so exhausted. The work we get done on the computer always feels so accomplishing–probably because we have been swamped and gotten so behind! The time to read and watch movies and just sit feels so rewarding–probably because we haven’t stopped for weeks leading up to it. I can completely understand the beauty of a few week at sea, and I’m completely jealous. And I will still be thankful for every layover, particularly those in Seoul, my favorite airport yet!

My favorite chapter was one titled, “How then shall we live?” He talked about cultural clashes between expatriates, the great debate of when to live like locals and when to live as we are comfortable, the rules of mission boards, cross-cultural marriages. All the things we see and ask and debate. It just felt so close to all the questions we ask every day. He described this discussion on their “witness in a hostile land…or if we should witness at all”:

“‘Our lives should be our witness.’
‘True, but we must also speak for the Lord, no matter what the consequences.’
‘If they kick us out, there will be no Christian presence at all.’
‘But the Apostle Paul didn’t stop preaching, in spite of warnings.’
‘If only the involved person gets kicked out, okay, but what if the whole team is ousted?’
‘Let every soul be subject to the higher powers.’ (Romans 13:1)
‘We must obey the rules.’
‘We ought to obey God rather than men.’ (Acts 5:29)
‘Isn’t it deceptive to say we’re doing medical work, when it reality we are here to preach the gospel?’
And so on and on went the dialogue.” (p.76)

Stephen & I haven’t had this exact conversation–probably because we don’t live in a closed country–but we have plenty that are oh-so-similar about most everything else we encounter. We go in circles like this, among ourselves and among others, quoting Scripture here and there, analyzing this situation and that. It feels like we are putting together a chaotic puzzle. And perhaps the picture might look different to each person, and they might all honor the Lord! How then shall we live? We are asking this all the time, and it was so refreshing to hear his questions. And honestly, it was refreshing to hear his lack of answers!

Throughout the book, I was amazed at his stories–times they were kicked out of countries, lost children, or took incredible risks. I was primarily challenged to two things. First, to be thankful for the experiences here–both easy and difficult–that are shaping us now and will shape us always; to be grateful for that opportunity. It is weird and different and unique; and it might leave us that way. But it is a whole new perspective into other cultures and communities, and we are seeing Christ in a whole new way. Rejoice in that, because I saw that he really did.  And second, to just love the Lord wholeheartedly. He didn’t argue his ministry, he didn’t have a good reason for everything they did; but they loved the Lord, they wanted to honor Him, and that was blessed.

There was just some very simple encouragement and camaraderie buried deep within his stories.

I will start with the wonderful news that Stephen is feeling so much better! He has been fever-free for the past three nights and feeling better every day. We went to get a chest X-ray yesterday, and we now know that his lungs are fine!  I’m really, really thankful for this.

Our friends headed back home to China yesterday, and we really are thankful they made the trek down to Mae Sot. We wouldn’t have chosen for Stephen to be so sick, but everyone was gracious.  We did pray a lot for their kids to stay healthy!

Thank you for all of your prayers and kindness!

I just wanted to take a minute to update on Stephen over the past couple days.

His fever was high (103 or 104 degrees) through the night on Saturday, and then went down–around 100 degrees–during the day Sunday. It was again high during Sunday night, and has gone down again all day today.

The nurses at the office thought it might still be malaria, so he took a second malaria test in case the first was a false negative.

Still negative.

So, in short: all we know is that he does have an upper respiratory infection, but it seems worse that it should be. We are still praying for a night without fevers and full of sleep!

Meanwhile, our sweet friends from China have come to visit us while they are in Thailand for a visa run!  We are enjoying having them here and really grateful they are gracious enough to put up with us amongst the chaos.

Please do keep praying for good health!

As I left for football tonight, Neh Wey leaned over the porch and shouted, “Buh bye! I love you!”

Well, it started with three arrests.

We came home last Thursday to hear that one man and two women–one of them being our primary translator, Mong Ey– from the community had been arrested for gambling. And for some reason that doesn’t fit into my logic, their children were with them in jail. Mong Ey had her three-year-old with her, and the other mom had her three-year-old and her five-month-old, both who had been sick for over a week. Her three-year-old had just been diagnosed with pneumonia two days before.

We know the conditions of the jail for illegals; we know they aren’t given food.

We really didn’t know what to do.

No one asked for help, and we didn’t know what we could do anyway. We were just thankful to see them all return later that night, and we assumed they paid whatever bribes were asked of them.

We didn’t pursue with questions, but they pursued us the next day.

Mong Ey came over with her husband, Mo Bya, and I had a pretty good idea from the beginning what it was about. I could read their facial expressions, the awkward body language.

I learned the details of who was arrested and why; I learned that the man & woman both had the bribes and paid them. Mong Ey didn’t have the money right now, but the police accepted the other woman’s earrings as collateral for two days. She had until the next morning to pay 1,000 baht ($30) or she’d be arrested again.

They asked to borrow the money from us and pay in back in twenty days, when Mo Bya would be paid. He showed me a booklet recording the days he had worked and described when he would be paid for all these days. This is a common practice here, and a common manipulation of migrant workers.

I understand what they were asking and told them I’d talk to Stephen, and we’d decide together. We’d let them know later that evening.

Stephen and I talked about it and prayed for quite some time. We had some concerns, such as if we let one family borrow from us, there might be countless more. Or if we let her borrow it, were we supporting the illegal gambling activities? We realized the chances of being paid back were 50/50: we are friends and talk nearly every day, so it would get awkward if she didn’t; but repayment of loans in this area isn’t common.

We tried to think about how we would treat a friend in the same scenario. We felt that if we truly want to be friends, then we need to trust them as friends, be honest with them as friends, and extend grace to them as friends.

We tried to consider the Scripture: how did Jesus respond? He definitely spent time with the tax collectors and prostitutes, but how did he deal with sticky situations? Our only conclusion was that he extended grace, particularly with individuals. We see him challenge the rulers, the church leaders, the authorities–all as a collective group. But in case after case of dealing with individuals, we saw grace: asking those without sin to cast the first stone; accepting a perfume anointing from questionable income.

We decided to loan it to them.

Many of you might think this was the wrong decision, and we understand that. Even now I’m not positive it was the right decision, only that we did what we knew: we prayed, we talked, we listened, and then we did our best. That seems to be all we’ve got these days–praying and talking and trying.

We were honest in saying we can’t do this for everyone, and we are fearful of that. We told them we don’t agree with it all, but we are friends. We want to help.

We don’t know if we’ll get the money back, and to be honest, that’s not my biggest concern.

Fast forward just a short twenty-fours, because the drama doesn’t leave us long around here.

A family came to us Saturday morning because their father was quite sick–he had thrown up this morning and had a lot of stomach pain. Since it had just been a couple hours, we said we’d wait and see. It seemed like a case of food poisoning or something that just needed to get out of his system.

They came back an hour later quite worried. When we went to check again, his pain level seemed abnormally high, his hands were icy, his breathing was labored. It just didn’t seem right. We also didn’t have a translator home at the time, so communication was very limited.

We called a friend, a nurse who could speak Thai to this family, who happens to know Thai very well. She was absolutely wonderful to help: she examined him in his house and discovered she could feel his liver, which apparently you shouldn’t be able to feel. She recommended we take him to the local Burmese hospital and offered to help.

So sweet.

We helped him and his wife into the car in the rain and headed off to the hospital. However, on the way, she decided he was in enough pain we should go the public Thai hospital for better treatment. She then proceeded to spend four hours with me there, and was a stellar help.

As of today, he has been admitted for two days and has had a couple ultrasounds as they are watching his liver function. He has been told that it’s from drinking; they can regulate it now but if he continues to drink, he’ll die from it.

That’s where we got to tonight, when Mong Ey decided to visit again.

She came over and started talking to me about the man at the hospital, Jaw. I gave her an update and we shared some small talk. She told me how they over-charged at the hospital, but we didn’t have to pay it all. I explained that I understood the system–we’ve been there a few times, you know. But she soon got to her point: she wanted to tell me how much I should pay at the hospital for him, or how much we should help. She told me that we shouldn’t help so much with the adults. It’s fine to help with the children, and it’s fine to help some of the adults, but if they are going to drink and drink and drink, that is their own fault. We shouldn’t pay to help them.

I don’t think I have gotten angry in another language yet, but it was coming. I was boiling pretty quickly.

I calmly told her we were here to help everyone. I said we may not always be able to help, and granted, we probably won’t pay for him to go to the hospital day after day if he continues to drink. But we would choose with each person that comes to our door. I also told her the money isn’t ours. I told her our church and our friends, they give us the money to help. She repeated the same speech a few more times: yes, we can help. We can help the people who come to our door. But not all of them.

By the third rendition, I went for honesty.

I told her that when anyone comes to our door, we choose. Sometimes we can help, sometimes we cannot. But always, we pray, we talk about it, and we choose. I told her that when she asked for 1,000 baht the other day, we prayed about it, we talked about it, and we chose to give it to her. In every situation, we will pray, and we will choose.

She told me we didn’t have to help everyone, and we could keep the money for ourselves.

I told her we are here because we love them–all of them–and we want to help. If we didn’t love them, we wouldn’t stay. I told her I would go back to America. But we want to help, and we will stay to pray, help, love, and be friends.

It was one of the best conversations we’ve ever had. At the beginning, when she gave her first speech and I was just beginning to boil, I wondered why we are here. Does she understand at all our hearts?  Are we just the crazy, rich, gullible neighbors?

But by the end of the conversation, I was back to knowing and believing that this, THIS is why we are here.

I was able to tell her so honestly–well, with language limitations of using the words “help” and “choose” more than I would’ve liked–why we are here, why we do what we do–why we let the kids play in our yard and house, why we go to the hospital many times a week, why we keep a small pharmacy in our living room, why I loaned her money.

Because of love. Because we keep praying, and God keeps surprising us.

Because in a week of addictions and consequences and controversial decisions, grace abounds for all of us.

This is from my translator today.

“Maybe one month or two months ago, the President of America die. I see it in the news.”

At this point I interrupted to say that no, I didn’t think so.

To be honest, though, I was a little nervous that amidst our recent chaos I might have missed it, and I was going to hear it first from my Karen translator in the middle of nowhere.

He continued, “Yes, Obama, he died and the supermarket crashed. The big supermarket. Y’know the biggest supermarket in America?”

“Like Dow Jones?” I asked. “The big stock market?”

“Yes, the biggest supermarket!  It crashed. But then it’s the Electronic Army. They lie and say the President die! The market crash, but it is the Electronic Army. But no one know who the Electronic Army is. Who is the Electronic Army?”

 I really have no words. I didn’t have any then, either!