One evening last week, we took some time to worship together. Stephen played keyboard in his studio while I sat on the floor singing along and praying through our lives, for our families and friends.

I began thinking about one of our little neighbor girls. She’s very dear to me–a  favorite, if you’ll allow it–and comes here the most. She loves to sit outside and watch us. She’ll stay for quite sometime, just sitting on the porch, playing with the Memory cards or trash she found outside. And then she’ll come with huge, gorgeous eyes and ask us to come out and play. I usually tell her I’m busy the first time, but she always wins me over. Sometimes its the way she has all the Memory cards lined up perfectly waiting for a new game of just the two of us; sometimes it’s just an aching for her.

She loves to be held. Most of the other kids like to be thrown up in the air–“One! One! One!” they’ll say, like the pelicans on Finding Nemo–or to play with the cards or toys we have for them. They love hugs, too; maybe one or two, or a few moments of climbing upon us.

But my little favorite, Yuh Meh Oo, is just a little different. She doesn’t much like being thrown up in the air. She likes to play cards, but more for the sake of us all playing together and less for the activity. She loves it when it’s just the two or three of us and no other kiddos are around. She’ll crawl up in my arms, lay her head on my shoulder, and just sit for quite some time.

The more I’ve observed her, held her, and grown to love her, the more I’ve known something is different. She clearly needed a little extra love and attention.

And it was her that I was praying for specifically as I sat on the floor singing.

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Fast forward to the end of this week. Stephen and I have begun painting our living room, and the doors and windows are wide open. The children are playing outside and coming up occasionally to comment and point at the new shade, and probably to discuss why they can’t draw on the walls but we can paint them.

It began to rain, and the kids quickly strip down to their shorts to play. Through motions, they asked if they could splash some water onto our “porch” that is approximately 2 meter by 3 meter, to slip and slide on. They’ve done this before, and it was hilarious then, so we agreed. Stephen even had the idea of throwing a little soap in, and added some detergent.

They loved it.

All was well, until my favorite little sweetheart stood up crying with her finger bent a little to the side.

And thus the afternoon unfolded through some broken exchanges of Karen. We learned that Yuh Meh Oo doesn’t have a mother, and her father is terrifying. It suddenly comes together why she loves our hugs and comfort, and perhaps why she needs them. The group gathered around initially tells us she doesn’t need  a doctor, because it’s too expensive. We offer to help cover the cost, and they agree to send her along.

Stephen takes the motorbike with another “community mother” that’s unrelated, and Yuh Meh Oo. As it turns out, they were treated very poorly at the local hospital for illegal Burmese migrants, so Stephen took them on to the local Thai hospital. The adult woman refused to go inside for fear, and Stephen ended up taking a this little six-year-old inside by himself, admittedly looking a little suspicious, and trying to balance her Burmese, their Thai, and his English.

All this is while Yuh Meh Oo is X-rayed and sees a few doctors in her first air conditioned room.

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I have begun to feel an urgency to be able to communicate with all the neighbors. We know each other amidst the oddest friendship. We can exchange simple conversations, when the few who speak Karen are present.

But somehow, they trust us. And we trust them.

And recently, God has given me a beautiful vision of being able to communicate–to invite the children into our home, but then be able to tell them what not to touch and when to go home, rather than simply find boundaries we can communicate with actions. To have the girls over for tea, as they become teenagers in the next few years; to be able to talk with them and know them. To be their friend and confidant. To live life together more holistically.

It made me ache to continue learning Karen, and hopefully to be in a secure enough place I could continue with Burmese shortly. It made me hope for the relationships to come.

But it also made me grateful for now. The deep trust and unique relationship that has already formed under these distinctive circumstances will surely make the future conversations so much richer.

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Per usual, I have these stories and more, and I don’t have a true conclusion to any of it.

I suppose I can simply say that I’ve seen God working this week, and it seems noteworthy.

Something changed in me as we sang that night, and He broke my heart all over again for the community so near to us. And ultimately, it prepared me for the next Friday, as we discussed hospitals, saw deeper into their poverty, and stepped slightly closer into their lives.

He challenged me to continue studying with hope, and we have begun studying our Karen a little bit each night. I’ve committed to only five minutes a day, and we’ve done at least that every day in April. I’m committed to progress, and determined to finish one so I can move onto the next. There are so many conversations to be had.

Honestly, I don’t have the right words. I’ve had this blog half-written for days now, and even now I’m writing and erasing multiple times.

I just love them more than I thought I did. And this week in particular, I can see the things that God is orchestrating things. I’m thankful that we signed another two year lease; and I’m thankful for the miracle that landed us in this home across from this neighborhood. I’m praying for miracles in our language learning; and I’m hoping for beautiful things to grow out of the next stage. I know that we have sought to be wise in not giving too much, but I also see that there are times we should give more generously. I can see when it is good for us to establish boundaries, but also when we need to let a little grace and extra kindness seep in.

Somedays I could see us here for many more years; other days I’m not sure I’ll last another fifteen minutes. And sometimes, these are the same days, leaving me feel as though I might be just going crazy.

But in a few moments recently, I’ve known that this has been right and something sacred is forming.

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May God bless us with discomfort
At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships
So that we may live from deep within our hearts.

May God bless us with anger
At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of God’s creations
So that we may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless us with tears
To shed for those who suffer pain, rejection, hunger, and war,
So that we may reach out our hands to comfort them and
To turn their pain into joy.

And may God bless us with just enough foolishness
To believe that we can make a difference in the world,
So that we can do what others claim cannot be done:
To bring justice and kindness to all our children and all our neighbors who are poor.

–A Franciscan benediction

There are four women in our little community of neighbors that are pregnant. I don’t know what that percentage is, but it’s high; babies are a common thing around here.

The kids know this, of course, and notice that we don’t have children.

The new game? Pat Kelli’s belly and ask, “Baby? Baby?” on a regular basis.

 

Whoa. That was a crappy week.

Let’s just say that a few nights were filled with work obligations, unplanned interruptions, and sorting out loads of ants. We found unnumbered ants in Stephen’s studio, curling up the walls into speakers, camera cases, and shelves. Not even sure what they were after.  The next night we found a new colony invading our couch, on every cushion and every little cranny. I have never been more thankful that we purchased a couch with every piece of fabric removable; we simply took it to pieces and washed it all with a double soak and rinse.

And, honestly, the ants were the least of my problems this week–just the simplest to write about!–which just goes to show the extent of chaos in every other area of our lives.

Either way, sometimes timing is everything.

And this week, we received a most beautiful package!

Packages are always welcomed and cherished. Sometimes a little guilt comes with them; we admittedly receive the most packages, by far, in our office. It’s a ratio of 1 to 50, or something equally ridiculous. We have such generous parents, huge families, and thoughtful supporters; and maybe a little bit that we’re newbies? We try to share, and really–guilt aside–a little treasure box to open, even as so-called “adults”?! It doesn’t get much better than that.

A sweet couple came to volunteer with Partners for a month last year, potentially looking to come join our team. After a few surprises, they won’t be coming for a little while, but with their time here and keeping in touch–we’re making friends in the States from here! And they sent us a box packed full of goodies, including by not limited to: sixty bags of organic Rooibos tea, including the original, vanilla, berry, and chocolate mint; microwave popcorn; cereal; chocolate covered almonds & pretzels; pumpkin seeds; fruit leather; and a much-needed encouraging note.

It’s amazing how God’s timing is perfect, using people from around the the world to bring some small joys to Mae Sot.

The group left this morning, all dressed in their best, newly-purchased dress shirts, ties, and closed-toed shoes. They are on their way to Rangoon for peace negotiations and ceasefire talks.

There is so much hope, so many prayers, and countless unknowns. Please pray with us!

We’re kind of suckers for giveaways, and free things in general.

This might be a little bit more of me than Stephen. I just talk him into them. But here’s another one, and we’d love your help!

A hotel chain is giving away a five night stay in a beach resort in Phuket, Thailand!

We’ve uploaded “our favorite vacation photo” and we need you to vote for it.  Here’s how you can send us on a vacation:

Click here to open the resort website in your facebook.

You may need to sign in, but you should be taken to the page for Centara Hotels & Resorts Photo Contest.

Once there, you’ll need to “like” the page, and then you can vote in the contest.

Scroll down to the photos, and find this photo of us jumping on a bed:

 Vote for us!  To enter your vote, you’ll need to click “Login through my facebook.”

Then tell your friends to do the same thing, on facebook or in person 🙂

The contest ends 15 April, so please do this before then and spread the word!

The best part? As I write this, the current leader has only 80 votes. This seems doable, right?

I had thirteen students in my class for most moments of the day.

We started around 9am, and finished around 4pm, with a little bit of chaos in between.

“Class” seems too formal a word. I wish you could have seen it. I wish you could have seen the dirty walls, the printer on the floor printing out our materials, the ants invading the walls and floor, and the small table with all thirteen gathered around. I wish you could have smelled the overwhelming scent of betel nut and seen the plastic bag of betel nut being passed around throughout the class; or heard the translator speaking over the betel nut in his mouth.

It was the epitome of grassroots in all its ambition and simplicity.

It went wonderfully, though. Truly wonderfully.

As I was being introduced in a completely over-qualifying manner, I was thinking of how I might introduce myself to a group, explaining how in the world I ended up here.

And that’s when it hit me: I studied political science for this. Just exactly for this. I wanted to understand politics so I could make a difference in Burma; I’ve repeated that so many times when asked why the heck I chose that field without going on to law school or grad school or, well, anything. Every time it felt so ambitious: a young kid with a free degree from the University of Central Arkansas wanting to influence the politics of Burma?

But now she’s here, and in a simple, hopeful way, she’s attempting to affect politics directly through the people, even if its in this dirty, hot classroom while the students chew mildly-addictive stimulants.

And I was so thankful. Thankful for my degree, and the opportunities I grew up with in America. Thankful for the phone conversation with my brother in law as I sat outside at university trying to sort out what major I should switch to next and what I really wanted to do with my life; thankful he uttered the words “political science.” Thankful for my favorite professor who met with me repeatedly and patiently helped me determine ways to make every class and every paper apply to Burma; thankful for his help in the past couple months pointing me in the right direction. Thankful for all that God has orchestrated to bring us to this shady little border town to be a small part of something so much greater than ourselves.

It’s and adjustment to have people dig through your trash: to see them come as you go inside; to see the garbage men stop to dig through; to simply realize that even  your true trash–things that cannot be recycled and are despicable to you–is still someone’s treasure. And that someone is not one weird person that has an odd fetish; it’s the community that lives among you, and it’s out of poverty.

It takes an even greater adjustment to walk outside and hand your trash bag directly to the mother who has met you in the street. She has come, with her baby in one arm and the other outstretched to receive the bag. She smiles broadly.

She is entirely unaware of the social faux pas this is. She is entirely unaware that this is even odd or uncommon or disturbing.

Culture runs so deep within us, it’s actually quite difficult to separate ourselves from it. Her culture is so accustomed and free to seeing trash as opportunity, she can’t imagine that I would be uncomfortable. And I am so uncomfortable, I cannot imagine that she can feel none of this awkwardness, nor can I explain to you the extent of her nonchalant attitude.

Tomorrow, I become a teacher.

I don’t know how many students will be in my class. I don’t know when my class will start, or for how long I am supposed to teach. I’m not sure if there is lunch provided or if I should bring something. I have submitted my curriculum for translation, but it has not been translated as of yet.

And thus begins this new stage of my life: I research, teach when asked, and remain flexible.

Oh my.