They are here! I am late in announcing, but Stephen’s mom, Gena, & best friend Karen arrived on Monday night.

As we prepared for them to arrive, we realized that it was just a year and five months ago that we received the news of Gena’s breast cancer diagnosis. As many scenarios that ran through our minds as we heard updates from halfway around the world, we wouldn’t have guessed that she’d be here, visiting us in Thailand and in great health! It was a beautiful reminder of God’s goodness to us.

This will simply be a very photo-filled update on their first two days in Chiang Mai, full of goodness.

Here we are waiting at the airport to pick them up. About ten minutes after this, we realized we were at the domestic terminal, rather than international; and we took off running to meet them.

I was in charge of taking photos off the arrival; I did a poor job. Stephen knows me so well and said, “I know exactly what happened. You wanted to be a part of the event; you don’t like to look through the screen. So you just held the phone out here, snapped a shot, and hoped it turned out well.”  And that is precisely what I did.

We went out for pizza tonight, but found our favorite place without power. They happily seated us to a beautiful candle-lit dinner.

Then the lights came on, and we received a pizza much larger than what I thought I had ordered…oops!

The days have been filled with laughter, and it is all goodness!

We spent most of Wednesday on public transit.

In the process, I learned that a few things. First, I like songtaews better than the bus for the first four hours or so. There is a nice wind in your hair, you are surrounded by Burmese and Karen (the Karen allow you to practice language!), and you can watch the beautiful scenery much better. I will admit you are occasionally smushed and/or sat on and the smells are not always spectacular. And after a certain number of hours, your body starts to recognize that it is weird to be moving sideways for such a long time.

Two fun anecdotes from the day: while at the songtaew station, a Karen woman next to us asked, “Are you Kelli? Do you remember me?” I didn’t, and asked where from: we had met in Tennessee, where we had helped her family when they resettled. I used to spend many days with them, namely teaching her sister English. She and her dad, Thomas, were back visiting friends and family along the border.

And while sitting on the songtaew, the Karen woman next to me asked if I new someone in Mae Sot. At first I thought she might be crazy: what are the chances? But after we talked it through, it turns out that she knows my co-worker, Marci, and her family! And this woman and the other Karen woman on the songtaew live at a children’s home that Partners supports. We told them we work for Partners and they were thrilled, which is always encouraging!

I have to say I felt a little more local: I could use my Karen, we had connections to the people we were with, and I even enjoyed a six-hour journey in the back of a truck.

 

We started with two truckloads of dirt, delivered on Saturday and needing to be more evenly distributed. One lonely Stephen working. This was at 5:30pm, after a day at the office & hospital.

Within twenty minutes, we had one more adult and five or so teenagers helping. With time, we gained a few more adults and even more kids helping any way they could. And we worked our way into darkness.

And then we had dinner together!  I have learned to keep something on hand, and Mama noodles are certainly popular.

They then set back to work on a second shift, working until 8:30pm.

And they successfully evened out the dirt so it’s ready to be watered and planted! This photo was taken this morning to best capture the successful work.

We’re pretty thankful for teamwork.

Even with three hours’ worth of blisters, that is certainly better than the many days of blisters it would have taken us to go it alone!

I was cutting carrot sticks the other day for hummus. I thought the kids might like them, so I gave them each a small stick.

It wasn’t well received, and their faces were priceless. You would have thought I gave them cardboard to eat. They twisted their faces in disgust, then noticed me watching and put on a fake smile. One little girl offered hers to a friend, who gave her a stare of insanity and refused, motioning to the fact she had her own to eat.

I laughed and went to tell Stephen to catch these faces, and I returned to one of the girls walking in from outside, where she had chunked her carrot in the yard!  I told them they didn’t have to finish. One of them then smiled kindly and returned her half-bitten carrot to my serving bowl.

Also for hummus, I was cutting homemade tortillas into chips and putting them in the oven. Amidst the fifteen kids in our kitchen, I forgot about one pan until I smelled it getting a little burnt. I grabbed the pan, picked out the salvageable ones, and threw the rest into the yard.

About twenty minutes later, an eight-year-old girl came in with a pile of the discarded chips in her hand. She was eating one and making a face of disgust.

Not that she understood me, but I replied adamantly, “I know they are bad! That’s why I threw them in the yard. You can’t pick up my cooking off the dirt and expect it to be spectacular!”

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Again in the kitchen, I was making cookies for some friends coming over that night. A boy of about twelve decided to watch the whole show and comment throughout.

After putting together the sugars, egg, and butter, I pulled out my mixer. He jumped back as I turned it on and then assured me, “Oh! Very good. Very good!”  I let him try the final batter (it had flax seed as an egg substitute for all you rule-followers out there!), and received reassurance, “Very good! Good job! Good job, Kelli!”

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As I was getting ready to head to the hospital on Saturday, I was using a “translator”–the person with the best English around–and hand motions to determine the age of the child, her birthday, and her parents names before we got there. As we talked and motioned, a man came out from the community to join us. At first I thought he might know Karen and came to help, but he only spoke Burmese.

And then he showed me his tattoo.

He pulled up his jacket sleeve to reveal a large cross tattooed on his forearm. He smiled a huge grin, missing a number of teeth, and stuck his arm in my face. He mumbled something in Burmese.

I thought he might have asked if I was a Christian, suggesting maybe that’s why I was helping these people to go the hospital, but I have no idea. It could have been entirely unrelated. He could have asked me if I wanted a tattoo like his. Either way, I went with yes, just in case he was asking if I was a Christian. I later hoped it was something where yes was an appropriate answer.

This sparked a conversation between Stephen and I: when you don’t understand what you are being asked, is it safer to say yes or no? Are there statistics on this?