It almost always begins as a normal evening, but before you know it a child is throwing up on your porch.

I had thought that these children not actually being mine could prevent me from the encounter with bodily fluids of any kind. But this event–as well as the children urinating behind our house daily–proves this inaccurate.

I took some disinfectant (or at least I think so; it says 99.9% something…) and paper towels out to clean it up. In simply seeing the paper towels, the kids starting yelling, “One! One!”

I wasn’t really sure why they wanted them, but in the grand scheme of picking your battles, I thought I could afford to give away a few paper towels. So I gave each child one.

But they didn’t know why they wanted them either. This was immediately apparent as they stood around each other, holding their paper towel out in front of them, and speaking a few words between themselves.

They stood there for quite awhile before they ran home, presumably to find something to wipe up or wrap up.

Yuh Meh Oo came back a couple hours later for a hug. She comes by most nights–she just likes to get a couple extra hugs and smiles, then we say our goodbyes and blow kisses to each other as she walks home for bed.  This time she came back with her paper towel in tow, folded into quarters and held to her chest, as if it meant the world to her.

We had some left over fried chicken and rice from a potluck last night. And though I’m aware this sounds a little pretentious, I don’t really care for leftover & reheated fried…anything.

So I thought I’d share it with the kids!

I reheated it today and shared it with a small group of girls. They were ecstatic. At first I think they thought I just brought my lunch out to eat it front of them, and then they just tried to feed me. Once I told them they could have it, their eyes lit up and they dove in.

But apparently fried chicken makes you very thirsty, because when you give a child fried chicken, she’ll ask for a cup of water. And then twelve more.

 

Over a month ago, our Thai landlord came to our house while we were out and trimmed our banana trees.

This wasn’t really a big deal to us. The trees weren’t as pretty without the huge overhanging branches, but I didn’t have a strong opinion. However, our Karen and Burmese neighbors, who we had told they could have the banana bunches when they ripened, were quite upset about it. They felt that this ruined the trees.

The Karen woman we talk to quite often, Mong Ey, was really, really upset by the whole scenario. We spent about an hour outside, attempting to calm her and reassure her that the bananas would still grow. She did end up hacking one whole tree to the ground in anger, and they had the banana stalk for dinner.

And then weeks went by, and I didn’t think much more of it.

Until yesterday. We had some friends over for dinner, a few of whom are learning Burmese. One of the girls greeted Mong Ey in Burmese and they began to talk in Burmese for quite awhile.

My friend then came in to tell us that she had been told the whole banana tree story, and Mong Ey was apparently still very, very upset.

This I feel quite bad about.

However, in the recounting of the story, Mong Ey told our friend that she came over to talk to the Thai man, shouting at him that he couldn’t cut the trees because we are her family and those were our trees.

…And I don’t remember much else of what she said. But she called us family.

And now, every crayon mark on the wall, the spilt soup on the couch, countless hours spent in a grungy hospital, and the Q-tip stuck to my wall, they are all worth it.

Because we’re family.

Mae Sot is a shady place.

There are countless stories and figures; there are plenty of things that we see day in and day out.

Today the topic was human trafficking.

We discussed the high prevalence of trafficking Burmese, how they often come through Mae Sot into other southeast Asian countries. And they are put on a ship in a container. 

And to go where?

California.

My country. They arrive in a container, to my country, for prostitution.

_________________

I thought of Jon Foreman’s Equally Skilled:

How miserable I am
I feel like a fruit-picker 
Who arrived here
After the harvest
There’s nothing here at all
Nothing at all here 
That could placate my hunger
The godly people are all gone
There’s not one honest soul left alive
Here on the planet
We’re all murderers and thieves
Setting traps here 
For even our brothers

And both of our hands 
Are equally skilled
At doing evil, equally skilled
At bribing the judges 
Equally skilled
At perverting justice
Both of our hands
Both of our hands

They are no worse than I am; and this country is no worse than my own. 

We are all equally skilled. Equally evil.

_________________

Last week in the office conversation came up about Christ coming back and if we were ready. It was posed as a challenge: Are we living in such a way that we are ready for Christ to return?

There is an implied response that we’re probably not living up to our potential, and we need to alter our lives to live in light of eternity.

…Per usual, I didn’t have the implied response.

Afraid to admit might thoughts to someone who might put me into counseling, I asked Stephen that night, “Is it bad that I am ready? Not because I think I have done enough or that I lived in such a way that I am ready to stand before the Lord. Instead, it’s simply that the idea of living all of life that is in front me with such darkness everywhere; it seems overwhelming.”

I know this appears like I need anti-depressants and counselors. Some of you might recommend I move home. But I genuinely believe those aren’t the solutions.

The groaning has simply become louder. Because we are all equally skilled.

And I don’t actually think this groaning should be ignored, because there is something to groan for. There is redemption coming.

No, don’t gloat over me
Though I fall, though I fall
I will rise again
Though I sit here in darkness
The Lord, the Lord alone
He will be my light
I will be patient 
As the Lord
Punishes me 
For the wrongs I’ve done
Against Him
After that 
He’ll take my case
Bringing me 
To light and the justice
For all I have suffered

And both of His hands
Are equally skilled
At ruining evil 
Equally skilled
At judging the judges 
Equally skilled
Administering justice
Both of His hands

Both of His hands
Are equally skilled
At showing me mercy 
Equally skilled
At loving the loveless 
Equally skilled
Administering justice
Both of His hands
Both of His hands

In an effort for good health, plus the advantages of spending time together and soaking up life in Mae Sot, Stephen & I have begun biking each weekend.

There is a Buddhist temple on the border that we bicycle out to from our house. The temple is actually on a mountain with steps leading up to it, so we climb up and down, then cycle back. When we returned for our trip to Phuket, we went out for the first time and have since made the trip every weekend.

And today was also the day we looked it up on Google maps to figure out how far we were actually going, and we counted the steps on the way up.

I was pretty much just in search of justification: is it pathetic that I am as tired as I am at the end of this?

And, yes, I do think so!

The bicycle trip is 17.3 km from our house, for a total of 34.6 km.  And there are 690 steps in the middle.

Exhaustion: duly deserved. But still conquered!

“Interesting.”

Apparently, I say this quite a lot. I just finished up a two week training course, and just two days into it I had everyone in unison saying, “Interesting,” at every natural pause.

They were such a wonderful group, though, and it really was a privilege to discuss politics with them for two weeks. They were respected community leaders, primed to make a difference in their immediate areas and further. They were hopeful. They loved Jesus and still thought politics was worth their time.

And thus, we were instantly friends.

Nevermind that fact that I was younger than all of them, and I have no concrete answers to offer them. You see, my lack of conclusions doesn’t end with this blog, but continues into my entire life, faith, and work: I am always asking, thinking, and analyzing; very rarely, if ever, concluding.

We spent about six hours a day together, discussing theories of government, transitions of government, individual freedoms & self- sacrifice, the common good, self-interest, and more. We admitted the failures of government and the successes; we dreamed about what they might be a part of establishing in their own country.

And really, we hoped.

We hoped for government to be a blessing to them rather than a curse, and ultimately, for something far greater than government.

One of the themes that we discussed and I have continued to ponder: why are we so hesitant, so uncomfortable at the mix of Jesus & politics?

It seems that the Church tends to recoil at the thought of politics and government, as if it is innately evil. Or perhaps as if we, too, are not innately evil.

One of the things I love in studying politics is the way God’s fingerprints are written into every stage of history, government, and policy.  I can see the curse, creations groaning for something, woven in to every constitution and every research project. I can see Jesus caring for his people and bringing his Kingdom–through the government rather than in spite of it.

And more, politics continues to break my heart for the Kingdom to come. It causes me to ache for restoration. I am currently reading Guns, Germs, & Steel for the second time through, where Jared Diamond analyzes history: we know that Western peoples achieved wealth and development through guns, germs & steel, by why them? Why did the Western countries achieve this while other countries have suffered repeated oppression and struggled for minimal development?  His entire analyzation of human history is heavily grounded in things I don’t personally believe in, but all the same I am loving his book. Although he doesn’t see it, the Kingdom is written all over it.  It is a challenge to me and a source of hope at the same time.

The Kingdom is coming, and it is simply our choice to embrace it. And for me, politics is a big part of this–something not separate from Christ, but intertwined.

I am reminded of Esther 4:13-14, where Mordecai tells Esther, “For if you keep silent at this time, relief & deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you & your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

I suppose that is my encouragement to continue analyzing, teaching, and broaching the subject of Jesus & politics. Because perhaps I am here for such a time as this, and perhaps we all should be here for such a time as this–engaging in politics with hopes of positive influence, rather than cowering away in fear of being overcome.

“For if God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31)