I keep looking at this picture I snapped on our way off to the hospital. It’s just so adorable.

And yes, he really is that charming and she really is that sweet–even when she’s sick!

Sometimes stories just come too quickly, but I don’t want to forget them.

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We had to get our starter fixed on the Suzuki last week, another piece of the steady project of keeping our car up to working standards!

Stephen picked it up at the shop and we both headed towards home. I pulled up next to him on the motorbike at the stoplight. He leans out the window with a huge smile and thumbs up, saying, “It starts!”

I laughed. We have such high expectations!

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We came out of our house one morning last week to find blood dripped on the porch.

We have been tired recently, so I was afraid someone had come to wake us to go the hospital and we had slept through the shouting. I went over to a translator across the street and asked if anyone had come to get her or if she knew what might had happened.

Our conversation went like something like this–with the margin of error considering my Karen is hit or miss:

There is blood at the front of our house. Did anyone get hurt last night? Did you try to come get us?
No. I don’t know. Was it human blood or dog blood?
I don’t know…I don’t know how to know different kinds of blood.
Oh. (Facial expression says this is odd.) …Let’s go see.

We walked over to our porch, and she observed the situation.

Yes, it is human blood. It looks like they walked up here and sat down here to call for you. And you didn’t come, so they left…

I’m not feeling very comforted at this point, thinking that I might have slept right through someone bleeding on our porch! She then calls over a group of women from the community and starts asking them if they knew anything; they evaluate the “scene” to determine what might have happened.

No one knew or could decide, other than that someone came for help and probably found their own way to the hospital.  I was not comforted, but decided that we have very weird lives.

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I helped host a wedding shower for a friend, complete with a Princess Bride theme this week! I was pretty proud of this for being in Mae Sot..and just being tired, if I’m being honest!

I had left for the shower about twenty minutes early to help set things up and get the food over. I realized about ten minutes later that I forgot the chocolates I had made and kept in the fridge. I picked up my phone to call Stephen.

He answered, and I heard his voice outside the front door of the host’s home. He had seen the chocolates, ran them over to me, and he arrived with just perfect timing!

I was so impressed. And so was everyone else!

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One evening last week we were off to…something…and planning to swing by a neighbors home to deliver some medicine for her sick child. It was then that another child came up with different ailments which I didn’t have the medicine for, so I sent Stephen off to a pharmacy for additional medicine while I walked to the neighbors house.

I arrived back and was sitting outside of our house for a few minutes while waiting for Stephen. Before too long there were five little girls piled around me, and we began playing games. I showed them my fish face, which only one could replicate. We tried to roll our tongues like hot dogs, to lick our elbows and noses, and to invert our eyelids.

We laughed, and I loved it.  And it was about as chaotic as this photo implies!

Today, I visited a Thai school just outside of Mae Sot, in a “suburb,” if you will. Our “suburbs” are really just rural village areas, but y’know.

I arrived just around 8am after a twenty minute motorbike ride through the rain and dutifully bumped my horn as I parked and the entire school sang the national song. I just wanted to be sure I started classy.

After meeting up with my friend and being introduced to her colleagues, we made our way to the classrooms. This week is Academic Competition, where each day is filled with tests and contests in every subject area for everyone at secondary & high school level.  It will all wrap up Thursday with an all-day assembly and award ceremony.

I was asked to come and help with the English competitions. My first task was to give spelling tests. They were wanting someone to read the words with a native English accent.

I thought this was actually a really good idea for them to learn, but I now think it would have more helpful to go over in the weeks before and on test day. It felt a little like I read out words from the list, received blank stares, and then the Thai teachers said the words quietly under their breath and the students miraculously understood. Oh, well.

The second competition was Story Telling. Each class had a short story they had to present. They introduced themselves and then read or recited the story, being graded on their memorization, tones, voice, and actions.

We finished about 10:30am, and I was invited to go over to watch the music competition.

We walked over and listened to a few singers, their performances being blasted out into the auditorium.

I really have no words for this part: it was really and truly a very cultural experience on many levels.  I was very overwhelmed.

I was sitting off to the side as a wallflower–well, as much as I could be as the only foreigner present–and suddenly I was being prodded and pushed by the entire group of teachers around me to get on stage. I really had no idea this was coming. I thought I had just come to listen and suddenly I was trying to convince them “I really don’t sing in public” and “I don’t have such a good voice” and “I really just don’t sing!”

By the end, I was lying.

They wanted me get on stage to sing “The Titanic Song”–circa 1997!

Some days, you just don’t know what people will suggest you fill your day with.

While I was still lying about not really singing ever, I heard my name amongst a string of Thai over the loud speaker. Suddenly, I was informed that since I wasn’t interested in singing, a student would be singing to me.

A student–maybe fifteen?–climbed the steps and looked over at me, saying something about “A Love Song for You” into the microphone.

He started singing a Westlife love song, knowing an impressive percentage of the lyrics. I could feel him looking at me, along with all the other hundred or so people in the room.

And that, my friends, was today’s awkward situation.

…for gift giving, apparently!

This little group of siblings showed up with two presents–one for Stephen and one for me–yesterday afternoon.

They had made these adorable little boxes, which I completely remember learning how to make as a kid, and added handles.
The boxes were filled with flowers and had an I love you message inside!

And then all the kids thought it would be fun to make boxes–each complete with flowers and an I love you message–and bouquets with an I love you message attached. Oh, and a Hello Kitty head wrapped in piece of cloth!

After a very busy week of moving families and homes, we are working hard to find a new normal. We are trying to still be there for doctor visits and a safe place for the kids to play. We are trying to still be a sense of stability & security. We are trying to be patient. We are trying to keep up with all the new places and ensure everyone is safe and settling in.

Does that sound as tiring as it feels?

But we are finding a new normal. It involves visits and unexpected opportunities, and thankfully–it still involves children playing in the street, at our front door, and in our home.

These are only partially gathered and semi-presented thoughts from the past few days amidst very complete exhaustion.

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Monday was a better day. We had found temporary housing for nearly every family. We used some community funds to give a small amount to each family based on their size–either $15, $20, or $30. This primarily covered the rent they needed to up and pay in their new, more expensive homes.

Most are within walking distance. Most moved into concrete one or two room apartments, costing between $20 and $45 a month. They were paying $10 on the property across from us, so this was a big increase and may not be permanent.

A single mom and her son moved about two kilometers away into an already-built home for $15 a month. This is a $5 increase–about a day’s wage–but more doable. She is farther, but also in an established community there. She has also been our primary Karen translator, so we can visit to chat and keep in touch. We are already discussing how we can be helping her as she moves out of her comfort zone of community after her husband just recently left her.

A bigger family rebuilt at the migrant school they all attend nearby, and they’ll rent there for $15–a doable increase and more permanent solution. The father did such a great job at finding a plan on Saturday, getting the wood moved over Sunday, and having everything rebuilt by Tuesday. Amazing. He’s in his new house above, in the middle of loading in items–and he’s still smiling!

There is so much to be thankful for. They do have a solution for at least a month. We have been able to help move many people’s things, and their wood is currently being stored in our yard. They are waiting to see if they’ll be able to find a place to rebuild, or if they’ll just sell it in a month or two.

Stephen’s Burmese teacher has been an incredible help with translation and dealing with difficult conversations. We are so thankful for his help day after day.

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It is odd to see what people value: what is thrown out, what is packed up. It tells you a lot about people.

It is also odd to see people pack up and move your trash. We loaded up big containers, old suitcases, old clothes, a broken drying rack, cupboards, broken shovels…all things we had thrown out or given away. Things with our names on them.

Very weird.

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Another thing to give thanks for: Aung Moo! Does anyone remember his story? He was carried to our house by friends in October; he was seizing. We learned he had meningitis and it went to his brain, causing encephalitis. He was in the hospital for three weeks, miraculously lived, and was sent home unable to walk, care for himself, or see due to cordial blindness.

Now, by more miracles, he is able to see about three feet in front of him! He can identify colors, and he is doing really, really well. He recognized Stephen, and he seems to remember that we helped him. So sweet.

We are struggling to ensure he’s cared for.  We asked a few families if they might take him in exchange for us helping with rent and food, but they all seem so overwhelmed by recent events, it is just too much for them.

For now, he is safe in his current home. We are providing food to a nearby family who is cooking for him and bringing food over. Otherwise, we are praying–for a family to care for him, for provision for the food, for continued miracles with his vision.

And otherwise, we are giving thanks for his improvements, all of which are a complete miracle.

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Stephen is so good at this–at walking into situations and living life with people. On Friday morning, I was sitting inside and unsure what to do with the ten people sitting outside. They were so sad, I was so sad, and I didn’t know what to say.

Stephen came over and said, “They are all sitting over there, and I think we should just sit with them. Do you want to bring a couple toys over for two or three kids sitting around? Maybe they just need a distraction.”

I was skeptical. Just go sit with them? We can’t actually do anything. What if I cry? What if its awkward?

But he was completely right. I colored with two kids and crashed cars into each other. He practiced his Burmese. We sat. We let them know we cared enough to just be here.

I don’t know the word for it, really, but I want to say pastoral. Not in the sense of preaching or teaching, but in the sense of sitting with and living life with people. Loving the person in front of you. Looking for little ways to care for them.

He is perfect at finding a little thing that will help them. I remember the day he came in and asked if he could use some money to buy a new clay fire pot for one of the women. He said she dropped hers and it cracked, and she looked like she might crack, too. He just thought it might be something small that could let her know it was going to be okay.

He always thinks of those things: this person needs a hammer; this person needs a new pair of shoes. And he’s always right: it makes their day. I think less about whatever it is and more than someone is watching out for them. Someone has their backs, probably when it feels like no one does.

I’m so glad he’s here with me. I’m so glad that he helps me to see how to look into the situation, to look out for people, and care for them well.

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After a couple busy weeks and a few Sundays busy with travel, we took a Sabbath last Thursday. We chose the day somewhat arbitrarily; we just knew we were wearing thin and asked Partners to take a personal day to rest.

The chaos started Friday.

God is just good like that.

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On Friday I really wondered if this was the beginning of the end for our lives here. Was God simply calling us to move back to America? Was this the way it was going to end–walking away from a neighborhood of empty huts?

We have prayed about this over the past few days. What do we do next? What is God calling us to?

We are still praying, but for now we don’t feel this is a closed door. Instead, we feel that our lives are reshaping: that instead of our lives intersecting naturally day after day, we invite people over. We go to visit families. We bring rice to the single mother and sit to talk with her. We help her make friends and connections in her new community.

We remain stable for the kids. We open our home for playing and English; maybe we make a few trips to pick people up to come play or walk them home in the evenings.

But perhaps this is even a greater test of the friendship, a greater witness to God’s love for them.

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I keep looking out across the changing landscape in front of our house. I wonder what I would prefer to look at; which would be the saddest. Would it be better to have a neighborhood of empty, abandoned houses reminding me of our sweet friends who used to live there? Would it be better if it were half torn down, remaining bits of concrete and old structures? What if they do come and burn it all? Would that be more painful to see or less?

They all make me quite sad. I’d rather dream about Stephen and I purchasing it to build something lovely–a playground for the kids to play on, a hut for teaching, a community center. I would rather dream of something lovely like that.

We started praying for God to somehow redeem it. To somehow make it a place full of hope.

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One woman, a mother of seven, motioned something to me the other day. I don’t know what she was trying to say, but it was something involving Stephen, me, prayer, and help. Either she prayed, and we came; or we prayed and help came? Somebody was praying, and she was thankful that her family was going to be okay.

It made my heart really happy.

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Dwell in the midst of us
Come and dwell in this place
Dwell in the midst of us
Wipe all the tears from our faces

Not our will but yours be done
Come and change us
Not our will but yours be done
Come sustain us

This is a song we used to sing at church, but I can’t find it anywhere. It has become my prayer over these past few days. The locations are changing, the place is changing; but dwell in us. Dwell in this community.

Wipe the tears from our faces.

And please, oh please, sustain us.

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 Please keep praying with us.

We have a funeral tomorrow. And we don’t know what comes after that.

Maybe the past few days have been the easiest. Maybe even with the lack of sleep, the work of hauling and moving from the wee hours of the morning to late at night, the shock of death, the families sleeping on our floor…maybe that was easier, because we were busy. We were distracted. We were able to help and wrap our arms around them.

Maybe the next stage, while we figure out what to do, how to love well, and how to re-shape the landscape: maybe that’s even harder.

Maybe the funeral isn’t the hardest part, but going on with an absence in each week.

Please keep praying–for His presence, His hope, His plans, His joy.

Wow, we are floored to see people’s response.  Thank you, thank you, thank you for praying with us.

I wanted to take a minute to share more of the story: in photos, in little pieces I don’t want to forget.

The numbers on everyone’s arms were really hard to swallow. Some of them laughed, joking of their new names being these arbitrary numbers. Others came back and immediately scrubbed them off.

On Friday night, we had a community dinner. We purchased a 40 kilo bag of rice and sent everyone home with some to cook and return. This little guy below, Ne Nin Awh, even brought over his own little bowl of rice to contribute.

We chopped vegetables together and made a few big pots of ramen noodles.

Once everything was ready, we gathered to talk about what had gone on through the day and how sorry we were. We prayed for them, told them we loved them. We discussed options, even if there were only a few to discuss.

And then we all ate together, which will be pure chaos no matter how hard we try.

I snapped a picture of the back of the neighborhood as it was on Friday, including the sweet little girl curled up in the blue armchair.

And then they started to tear down. It’s been an awful thing to listen to for the past couple days.

Some have loaded up truck after truck to move to a different location. We started with building materials, so the men can begin rebuilding some homes while their things are stored in other, still-standing homes.

Some are moving into small, concrete rooms nearby until they can find a place to rebuild. They are tearing down their homes and storing the materials in our yard for now.

Stephen and I are primarily drivers. They let him help with unloading, but I usually only get a couple handfuls of stuff before they shoo me away to sit and wait with a cold drink.

It is hard work; the tearing down, loading and unloading, rebuilding. It is sad work. It is so sad to see the sorrows on their faces.

I don’t want to forget a few things. I don’t want to forget Yuh Yuh Meh Meh’s mom telling us the place she had chosen “because it was close to Stephen & Kelli.” So many of them have tried to stay close, and we have told them they can still come over and we will still come to visit.

I don’t want to forget Yuh Meh Oo’s face when Stephen & I told her we would be coming over to her house now and bringing cards to play. We acted out us going to her door, knocking, and asking her to play cards with us. Her laugh was beautiful.

I don’t want to forget the sweet kids sleeping on our floor. Some stayed for a night because they were scared after the long day; another group stayed last night because their house is now being rebuilt. The group last night was all girls, aged 8 and 16, and three around 20 years old. After we locked the door about 9:30pm, I showed them where the light was and said they could play until they were tired. The oldest sister grabbed for the magnetic dress-up dolls and they all gathered around to play.

I don’t want to forget when we were unloading wood, and a man off to the side made a comment about the white woman. I didn’t understand the Burmese, but I could tell it was about me and most likely an insult. I looked over at the man that made the comment, at which point he was scared I understood and shaded red. But I didn’t even have to defend myself: the three men unloading began to say things back in Burmese, clearly defending both Stephen & I. For as little of the conversation that I understood, I was honored. We are friends.

I don’t want the little folks sitting at the front door to end.

I want more Memory games, more helpers in the kitchen, more kids asking for water, more little cuts to put Band-Aids on. I want more time.

We are still not sure what God is doing. We are still praying.
Thanks for praying with us.

This past weekend, our sweet friend graduated from high school! We have known Thay since 2009, when her family moved to America and I first took her family to a doctor appointment.

I forgot where I parked the car in the parking deck, and we ended up walking the entire parking garage–up and down–as a group of six.

I never would have guessed that over the next year of our time in Oklahoma City we would come to love all of them more than I could say. The memories are countless of our adventures, conversations, meals, and crafting together.

And now, five years later, she has graduated from an American high school!

[Meet the whole family! On the back row: Aye La, Law Del Moo, & Thay; in the front: Moo Wah Paw, Htoo, War Gay, & my sweet friends’ little baby girl, Liv.]

We are so sad not to be there, but so proud! We love you, Thay!

I was talking with a friend recently about things that are broken: in ourselves, in Burma, in the communities around us, in our relationships, in our work.

At one point we talked about children: she is single, wanting to be married and have children; she regularly fears that this won’t happen. I am married, really don’t want to have biological children {at this point; another conversation for another day}, and regularly fear that the systems in place will fail. Another friend is married and wants children, but they can’t have them; she has been through process after process of trying to have children and is fearful that they won’t work.

We talked about the brokenness of this, and how sometimes we just want to cry out: why don’t you fix this, God? Why don’t you fix these broken things, giving babies to those who want babies and not giving them to those who don’t? Why don’t you give food to those who don’t have it, and take it away from those who have too much?

Why don’t you just fix the broken things?

I realize that this opens an entire different conversation about freewill and sovereignty, but that, too, is another conversation for another day. To be honest, I don’t really feel like God answered me with a theological argument. Instead, I feel like he challenged me to choose to look at the things that aren’t broken.

See the mountains? Those are beautiful. They are whole.

See the faces around you–in different shades of brown and different shapes of eyes? Those are beautiful. They were made in my image.

This sky was resting above our neighborhood on Saturday evening. It was crisp and clear. It was beautiful. And I had a choice: I could see the wholeness of the clouds. I could see the innate wholeness of the people playing takraw below. Or I could just weep for the brokenness to be made whole.

Somedays I think require weeping. Somedays it is good to be reminded that we are groaning for redemption.

But recently, the need for redemption has seemed palpable; the brokenness has seemed prominent. So for today, instead of me asking why he isn’t fixing the broken things, I am choosing to look at the things that are whole.

It started with dinner: we had a Mexican casserole dish that I made up a few months ago, chips, & salsa. We had deep fried homemade tortillas to make the chips, and I left the oil out on the stove to cool.

I’m sure you have an idea of where this is headed.

Sacha was in town visiting from Chiang Mai, and we had been talking for months about how we were going to make chocolates with our new chocolate molds. She has this amazing mold that is just ready for making huge, yummy truffles, so we set to work on that. We had a cookies & cream filling and a mint cookies & cream filling, all wrapped in chocolate by squirting liquid chocolate into the mold with a syringe.

We thought it was a pretty creative solution, and I thought it was pretty impressive that we had a syringe on hand in our medical supplies! We live a very weird life.

Other than being oddly messy and having chocolate everywhere, it was fun and made delicious and {some} fancy looking truffles!

Of course, we had four kids playing with puzzles on the kitchen floor, too. And Stephen was picking a movie for us to watch later on the laptop on top of the washing machine.

It was right about then that Stephen slipped on something–we’re not sure what started the whole scenario–and managed to catch himself. However, he also caught the wok of oil cooling on the stove, which flipped up and poured all down Yuh Meh Oo and her puzzle and the floor and the wall and the oven.

We went for Yuh Meh Oo first, of course, and were immediately really thankful it wasn’t hot oil. She did have on an adorable little red dress, so I helped her clean off and get changed into Stephen’s t-shirt. This is the same little girl that broke her finger on our porch a few years back. I guess she is learning that the more time you spend at our house, the more you enter into our chaos.

The littlest two–Lay Tah Oo & Awh Awh Lay–didn’t quite understand that they shouldn’t walk in it, so we were trying desperately to not get the oil tracked everywhere while we picked out puzzle pieces from the slimy mess.

And we all tried not to slip again while we cleaned up oil covering half the kitchen floor.

The good news is that the truffles were amazing.

Also, when I went to bring Yuh Meh Oo her cleaned dress this morning, one of the other neighbor ladies saw me walking that direction with the dress in hand. She laughed and said, “Yuh Meh Oo!”  This is summary for, “I heard the story, and I’m laughing at how weird you guys are.”

Yes, point taken.