Life just keeps running by us, and notes should be taken.

I am currently in the middle of three weeks of training here in Mae Sot. Despite some unexpected–and yet, so expected–hiccups at the beginning, it’s going quite well. The long days of teaching from 9am to 3 or 4 or 5pm are exhausting, but rewarding, too. I do love this part of my job.

I really do believe that it has the potential to make a difference. This is not because it is anything significant–what I teach is quite elementary level, and those truly in political science and development would probably find it base. But I really believe we have aimed to create a curriculum that helps the people of Burma right where they are: coming from a chaotic, torn history with development of some kind coming at them so quickly, and needing to jump in and feel like they can make a difference. They really can; I really do believe that. After all the researching and sometimes depressing statistics, it all starts with the people: it starts with education, with hope, with small choices. It starts in individuals and then communities, and that is how we change the world.

And if we equip people to love in the way they pursue education, healthcare, voting, saving money, starting businesses, and leading their community–then haven’t we put Jesus right in the middle of all the changes and development?

These are my big dreams, and I see them so clearly when I train. We have these unique, wonderful discussions, always unexpected and surprising, but rich with their perspectives and questions. I love that even since I began training a couple years ago, the change is coming: the change in thinking, changes in their stories; even the statistics are changing! I looked today for updates, and nearly every statistic we consider has improved, including lower infant mortality rates, higher literacy rates, more political freedoms, more civil liberties, more cars and internet and cell phones. It is incredible to see it unfold right in front of eyes.

I do love training.

I am hopeful that maybe, just maybe, it is making a difference in the lives of the people I am teaching, the country that I love, and ultimately the Kingdom that is coming.

And it always comes with laughter, too. There is the location: a beat-up house with cracks littering the walls. The bathroom is so dark I can’t even really see around to check for spiders and what nots. With all the rain, the ceiling is leaking in about twelve different areas, so the tables are strewn about the room oddly to avoid the cold drips of rain water falling all day. There is a large puddle–say two foot by three foot–that stretches about half of the right side of the room and requires careful maneuvering not to slip.

There are the varied opinions coming in: the one student who just keeps repeating he isn’t smart enough for this; the other student who is quite convinced China is the best country in the world and Cambodia is the worst, but has very little backing or opinions as to why. (And yet somehow both countries keep entering into every discussion?)  There are the overloaded questions: “Tell us about healthcare in America.” Right, because that’s not a huge, overwhelming and controversial topic to someone who hasn’t heard about insurance. Or the random request for help selling a 1804 US coin on the internet that they believe to be worth $100.

Or today, just as we took a break for lunch, my translator came up to me and asked,”I heard this before I came to your class, and I want to know what you think. I hear that, ‘Democracy killed Jesus, and now following Jesus brings democracy.’ What do you think?”

We talked a little longer to clarify he is saying that the “democracy” of Pilate asking the crowds if he should release Barabbas or Jesus led the crowd “voting” for Barabbas and thus, “democracy killing Jesus.” He had also heard before and we discussed in class that democracy generally flourishes more in Christian countries. And then he continued to ask if democracy was leading to the end times & rapture.

Whoa. I believe my answer was along the lines of, I believe…this, this, and that. I see…. this and that. And really, I don’t know.

Stephen & I are laughing a lot these days. I come home with more stories every day, and we just have a growing repertoire of jokes that are keeping us afloat.  We are also just more tired than we have ever been–our stress levels are high, and neither of us is sleeping well. Heck, I’m writing this blog at 3:30am, unable to sleep since 2am!

Amidst the training, there was a dinner for twenty-six staff at our house last night and an all-day emergency responder training. There are new children coming with fevers every day. The long days and nights of rain are putting the kids at risk for everything–colds, pneumonia, malaria, dengue. We had two neighbor women arrested for gambling (and being illegal) with their combined three children, requiring more prayer and wisdom and general neighborhood drama. The kids gave re-enactments of  the event for hours.

After I told a story about something I had seen in town the other day, my coworker commented, “I don’t know if I don’t go out into town as much, or maybe not at the right times…or maybe you just notice more, but I don’t see any of these things around town. You have so many stories!”  To which I replied, “Oh, that happened right in front of my house, in our neighborhood.  I knew them!  I don’t have to go very far; in fact, they often just come right into my house with the stories!”

We’re here. We are trying to take notes of the chaos and share what we can.

In some ways, we are still trying to stay afloat, which has been a theme for quite some time now. However, we are taking steps for some small changes, and more importantly, we are hopeful that these small changes will make us sustainable.

We are hopeful.

The chorus of Blessed Assurance has been rolling around in my head for a few days now. “This is my story, this is my song; praising my Savior all the day long!” Our story seems very messy right now and very scattered, but I really find this line encouraging. This is it; this is our story. We are doing what we can to praise the Savior; we are doing what we can to let Him write the story and sing the song.

When I drive my motorbike across town for another Karen lesson, in hopes of someday speaking, understanding, and translating flawlessly: this is our story.  When I pray before my class and then try to teach politics and economics that my students understand, can apply, and are infiltrated with Christ’s hope: this is our story.  When Stephen gives high fives and tickles all the little kids as we arrive home; when the kids ask for water again and again; and even when we tell them (again!) to not touch the motorbike as we drive by: this our story.  When we are driving a little two-year-old Burmese boy to the clinic while his mom stays back to nurse her newest baby; then we suddenly realize it looks like a little like we stole this child–that’s our story!  Even when Stephen goes out to sit on the porch with the kids when a drunk neighbor begins to bother them or pray through how to help when neighbors are arrested for gambling: that’s a part of our story now. And when we are really torn and struggling, praying together and frustrated together and hurting together; and thus finding ourselves closer than ever: it’s all a part of the story.

I never thought our story would be this chaotic, interesting, heart-wrenching, and complicated. But I can honestly say we are still praising the Savior with all that we are. We are asking, we are hoping, and the story is being written–in classrooms, through photos, on a motorbike, in meetings, over meals!

It’s a very fun thing, Instagram!
And we’ve jumped in, attempting to capture our days in little snapshots.
They don’t all make it onto the blog, so I thought I’d tell you all to follow thespurlocks if you’re interested in the little joys and little people and little doctor visits that fill our days!

The adorable kid stories might be endless, but here are a few that make me smile even days later.

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Last week I was making brownies for a dinner with friends. Yuh Meh Oo watched as I mixed the batter, and then I gave her a taste. She smiled, gave me a thumbs up, and then pulled a little container of fish paste out of her pocket and took a bite.

Oh my, do we have different palates.

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Over time, we have created our own little communication system with the kids.  We have words we use for most of our activities: they have learned the English word “color” for when they want to draw, they use Karen for water, and Burmese for please & thank you. In the end, we might be confusing them more, I suppose.  One of the words we’ve used since who knows when is “deh kwah” when the kids want to play cards.

We assumed this was some kind of way to say “cards” or “game” in Burmese.

Then Stephen started learning Burmese, and asked his teacher what it meant. Absolutely nothing. Apparently they assumed it was an English word?

Whoops. Now we are working on re-teaching “cards”–and even more specific, “blue cards” or “yellow cards.”

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One of the little girls asked to come inside to play cards with me the other night. We had plans out, so I said we could play one or two games and then we had to go. She agreed, and two girls came in to play.

After we played a couple rounds, I said we were finished because I needed to get Stephen. The other little girl looked confused and asked for another game.

The first explained something in Burmese that ended with a beautifully annunciated, “Kelli has to go!”

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Lay Tah Oo isn’t much of a talker. He’s here most days, so I have tried to teach him numbers and letters and little phrases. Just since we got back from furlough he has learned “deh kwah” and “auh tee” for water. Before that it was pretty much just “Hello, Kelli-Stephen” and “Goodbye, Kelli-Stephen.”

Then he walked up to me last week, shoved a thumbs up in my face, and shouted, “Good!”

It’s funny to see them repeat the things we say, exactly how we say them. And a little scary for all that we assume they don’t understand!

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There was a whole group of us coloring on Sunday afternoon before Stephen & I went to home church. I have been working on a few paintings for the community space, so while they colored I was painting “Jesus loves you” on a canvas. I chose this for a little canvas precisely because I know they understand the concepts of it, and I want them to have an idea of what the other verses & quotes are about.  Before long, this conversation unfolded:

Yedi: L-O-V-E-S.
Kelli: Yes. Love. LOVE. (with an added hand-motion heart)
Yedi: Oh! I love you!
All the girls together: I love you! I love you! I love you!

A few minutes later, I told them they could color for ten more minutes, and then we were going to church. They asked to color more when we came back; I told them probably not, but maybe they could play cards.

Yedi: Kelli! Kelli! Musana (points to her friend, Musana)
…I love you! (makes hand-motion heart)
…Yshsss (points upward, allowing me to understand this was “Jesus” but she had forgotten the word)

Kelli: Oh! Musana loves Jesus? Kelli loves Jesus, too! (hand motions included)

Yedi: Yedi I love you Jesus!

Meh Meh Toe: Meh Meh Toe I love you Jesus!

Ney Weh: Ney Weh I love you Jesus!

Adorable.
I pray they do love Jesus!
And I do hope they always say the entire phrase of “I love you” in the middle of sentences.

We were reading in Psalms today, and I was amazed at David’s assurance of himself.

“Vindicate me, O Lord, for I have walked in my integrity, and I have trusted in the Lord without wavering. Prove me, O Lord, and try me; test my heart and my mind.” (26:1)

We are in the midst of sorting so many things out right now. We are praying and praying and praying. We are fasting. We are on Skype and having meetings and seeking advice from so many. I want to pray faithfully, to say the right things, to present myself in a way that glorifies Christ, to speak well of Stephen, to make decisions and take steps that are wise, courageous, honorable. The list goes on.

But I can’t promise I do any of that well. I can’t say I have walked only in integrity or have trusted without wavering. I am seeking to be integrous. I am trusting with all that I know how. I believe; Lord, help my unbelief!  Or perhaps, I am trusting; Lord, help my fears!

Do I want the Lord to truly test my heart and mind? Even in my greatest efforts and attempts, it seems, well– insufficient.

One of Matt Maher’s songs has become my regular prayer, “Lord, I need you; oh, I need you. Every hour I need you. My one defense, my righteousness; Oh God, how I need you.”

This is my prayer: be my defense, Lord. Not because I am confident enough to ask you to test my heart, but because you do know it. You know our desires and burdens and fears and attempts and failures. Please be our defense.

In an effort to counteract our exhaustion, confusion, and uncertainties, I began making a list of things I am thankful for right now, in no particular order. So here’s to thankfulness:

Stephen’s humor. It is saving us more days than not. He is hilarious and can make me just ache.

Skype. We began Skyping regularly with a couple in the States that used to live in Mae Sot. They are providing wise counsel and understand life here in a way many cannot. I am so thankful for Skype making this possible, and for that matter, making it possible for us to talk with family around the whole wide world. I’ll throw in FaceTime, Instagram, Facebook, and email–all things that make America not feel 13,922 kilometers away.

Yuh Meh Oo. Yes, this girl in particular. She’s outrageously sweet, loves giving hugs, will crawl into your lap, and can make my day. She is over here many mornings, many nights, and quite a bit of time in between. I’m really thankful for her and all that she teaches me.

Hospital visits. I know, that’s an odd one. But inevitably, once you take someone to the hospital and care for them in an emergency, the relationship changes. Stephen said just last night, “I almost wish we had to take everyone to the hospital at some point. I mean, not really, but the friendship changes so much.”

Yim. This is the incredible Thai-Karen woman I work with, and she is just wonderful. I really enjoy our conversations and all that I can learn from her. She is going to do great things in life, and I’m so glad I get to know her.

Our motorbike. I love that I can finally drive it for one thing!  But really, I love that we have made it here almost three years with just one motorbike between us–with the exception of borrowing a Partners’ truck for hospital visits and such. I love the simplicity of it, and just learning to be flexible. I like working together to figure out rides; I like riding in the rain and getting just soaked.

The tortilla maker. I love that Stephen made it as a surprise for me, and I love that it makes delicious Western food easy. I love that I can make huge batches and freeze them; I like that I can experiment and put whatever I want in my tortillas. Yes, I really am thankful for my tortilla maker that is too heavy for me to lift myself.

Language progress. We are getting somewhere, and I am really, really thankful for those answered prayers. I am still praying more and and more for this, but we can grasp it. Stephen has found a great Burmese teacher, and he’s doing stellar. He’s getting to where he can read and is experimenting phrases with the kids.  I am practicing with a new teacher, as well, and she’s great. We have fun chatting, and it’s fun to finally be understanding conversations, helping with translations, and just not being so tired after every conversation. I am starting to have just casual conversations with our neighbors, and its just lovely.

Bible study. I am in a weekly bible study with a couple other girls and really thankful for it. I’m thankful for our time to pray together and for the perspectives they offer.

The pool. We have a year membership at the local pool again this year, and I think this is one of our better investments. While still in town, it is a little escape from Mae Sot. We can look up to the sky and see palm trees, pretending we are somewhere exotic.  And it’s open all year, which is just a great privilege of living here. And really, I just love getting outside for some exercise, so I’m also thankful for bicycles (and bicycle baskets), tennis shoes to run in, and football games each week. They all work to keep me sane.

Our house as a home. Our house is really feeling very home-y, and I love it. Even amidst the concrete and some horrible design flaws, we have made it feel like us. I love coming home, I love inviting people into our home, and I absolutely love the location. I couldn’t have asked for more. (Well, except for the silly we-live-in-another-country things like bigger sinks, running water, and trusty electricity.)

Long nails. Since we got back from America, I’ve been working very, very hard to stop my habit of nail-biting. It has required keeping my nails painted for all these months: not an easy task here. As soon as they begin to chip, I start to bite on the ends, so at times I have painted them twice a week. Particularly with our current stress level, I’m very proud of my now long nails.

Good health. I’m glad I thought of this one, because I couldn’t very well end with “long nails” as something to be thankful for. But I really am thankful we haven’t been sick in a good long while, particularly with nothing serious. With the number of sick people we see each week and the odd symptoms we bring into our home, I would deem this a miracle.

There’s always a chance this is only funny to me, but hey.

I began a training this week, and today we were discussing the common needs that a government provides. We talked about our needs as individuals that we meet as individuals: we need to eat, so we grow or buy food for our families. Then we talked about how groups, in the nature of a being larger populations, have different needs–relations with other groups, security, economic rules. If we were just in our families, we wouldn’t need policing, but as soon as we get bigger, it becomes a common need.

One of the students asked for more explanation. We really fight the natural learning culture here and I push, push, push for them to talk, discuss, and ask questions, even to disagree with me. I have to reiterate this every day, and work hard for it–sometimes sitting in silence for looooong minutes waiting for them to respond to a question. Often, their asking a question is simply to state what they didn’t understand.

Do you have any questions?

Common need.

Oh, okay, that’s not a question, per say, but I can explain more of that.

I drew two villages of houses on the board, and explained that one grew rice and the other corn. I gave some examples.

The two villages want to trade, but disagree about the values of rice and corn. Who can decide when the argue? The governments. The two governments can meet and discuss. (Common need if expanded to countries: international relations.)

Two houses in Village One are arguing every day about their trades. The government decides that one bag of corn is always 1000 kyats. Now if there is an argument, they go to the government to solve it. (Common need: setting rules for the economy.)

Village Two begins to sneak over to Village One at night to steal corn. The government of Village One uses their “army” (one person from each of the eight houses) to stay up at night to defend the corn. (Common need: providing security.)

We have discussed these examples for quite sometime, and they are getting it.

Then one student asks, “But, Teacher, what if the government steals the corn?”

Well, yes, that is a problem. That’s actually a significant part of why we’re here in this course!

Thank you, Lord, for clean water!

Thank you for a full tank of not drinkable, but clean and fresh smelling water to take showers, wash dishes, and do laundry in abundance.

Thank you.

The kids asked to play on Saturday evening, just as we were settling in for the rest for the night. After we had locked the gate and were watching a movie, two girls climbed over our locked gate, came to the door, and called for us. They then proceeded to show Stephen that the gate was locked and it made it difficult for them to get in.

Which was, indeed, the point.

Either way, I told them Saturday that Sunday was busy: I had a wedding to go to in the morning, we had a swing dance class in the afternoon (!), and then a surprise party that night. But Monday, I told them–Monday was a holiday, and we’d have a little holiday ourselves and play together.

We were going out the door this morning to run & swim. Three girls were waiting at the door, and I explained that we would go for a little while, and when we came back we would color.

I’m amazed at the improvement in their English. They are getting basics: go, come back, wait, not now, etc. If I put them into sentences, they understand, and a few of them can make complete sentences themselves.  We walked outside the other day and little eight-year-old Yedi said clearly, “Awwwh, Kelli-Stephen have to go.” Other than combining our names into one word, that’s grammatically correct!

Anyway, they were waiting for us when we got back. They piled into the house, just a small group of seven. We sat and colored. I made an “I love you” sign at first; one of the girls asked to keep it. I said yes, resulting in every other child wanting one of their own. I then proceeded to draw seven pictures that somehow said “love” in bright, bold colors.

I was just coloring, but it’s a little bit insane with seven little ones.  I was trying to think of different ways to make each picture special, since I had a chance to give the child something specific for them. It’s small–just a crayon drawing–but it will probably go on their wall, and this is one word many of them know and I want them so desperately to feel. I tried to make each one unique, and in some way shaped around their little personality.

Meanwhile, I hear, “Kelli!” every few seconds, and they held up their drawings for me to see. Again, a moment to give them some one-on-one attention and tell them what a great job they are doing.  I try to make my statements unique, make different facial expressions and sounds–yet all that they will understand.

And still meanwhile, one little girl starts naming colors, so I am practicing colors with her while we color. Red, green, orange, blue, yellow. She had learned to spell them at school, so she begins to spell them out in magnets, but needs help finding some of the letters. Again, a great opportunity! She is learning so much, and it is great for her to reinforce what she has learned at school, particularly in practicing with a native speaker. But spelling out “orange” and pointing to the correct magnets while complimenting others’ drawings and making seven drawings myself: my brain was getting overloaded.

They are all munching on grapes, as well, putting their seeds into two small bowls. One gets dumped over, and I have to ask them to pick them up.

A little boy is climbing on furniture he shouldn’t; I tell him to get down. This happens at least five times.

I’m wondering if this is what mothers of many children feel like: trying to manage chaos while making every one feel special and trying to maximize every opportunity that arises.

Except I can send them out the door an hour later, and I’m simply the cool neighbor. It’s definitely different.

But at the same time, there are some I don’t want to send home. I know this one’s mother has left for work years ago and not returned; I know that so-and-so’s father is regularly drunk; I know that this one loves to be held and loved on, seemingly not getting that at home; I’ve seen that one punished in a way that still leaves me worried; I know that nearly all of them will just be eating rice and chillies tonight.

Either way, I’m glad we colored today. I’m glad they like to sit next to me playing Angry Birds & Dots. I’m glad they are giddy with joy at the three dolls we found & purchased in the market.

I’m glad there is love.