I’m discovering it might be difficult for me to find time to blog in America. There are so many people to see; there are so many things to do!

So hello, two weeks in. We’re now in Little Rock among family and more friends, but we needed to make a short photo tribute to the amazing people we got to spend time with in Oklahoma City.

We joke that we’re soulmates, but really, we’re scarily the same. She’s pretty great 🙂

And her other half is one of the funniest people we know. I don’t really have a smooth transition for it, but Brad & Stephen made a random trip to the shooting range.

They were successful?!

We also spent time with our sweet, sweet friends from Burma. We practiced our Karen, played Yahtzee, and were generally amazed at how much older all of the kids are. We dreamed of them coming to visit Mae Sot and someday sharing a garden.

These faces will be greatly missed over the next three months.

I just might even miss cleaning their beautiful drawings off our porch.

The evenings are sometimes a little extra fun: the littler ones head off to bed and the older kids enjoy some time with us, often including special treats of coloring, playing games with us, and snacks.

And this evening, we were coloring. Most were coloring mountain scenes with a lone bamboo house; perhaps a cry for individuality away from the community that probably feels invasive. Another girl draws a really beautiful, vibrant flower. And then one of the boys shows off his drawing: a person, obviously female, and obviously lacking some important clothing articles.

How do you respond without language capabilities?

We promptly cut out a shirt for her and provided an opportunity for modestly dressed paper dolls.

To our credit, we responded quickly. But now as I look at it, I probably should have provided some pants as well. I’m also now seeing the chains, which worry me more perhaps. Both were less obvious in comparison to the other graphic illustrations, and seemed less important. I’m not so sure now. Censorship seems imperative in a few ways.

And then we made it home. I was nauseous throughout our taxi ride, flight, another taxi ride, a subway, a walk, and seven-hour bus ride. And then I laid in bed sick all day Friday and slept.

Thus, the return wasn’t great, but our time in Rangoon really was.

Y’know that “program” that I had on Tuesday?
There was another one on Wednesday.
Thankfully, they both went well and were great opportunities!

Tuesday also ended with us at a dinner party for the United Nationalities Association. I’m not really sure why we were invited, but you can only argue with an old Karen man so much before you just respectfully go along with whatever he tells you. They just kept encouraging me to talk about politics on behalf of the Karen whenever I could. What?!

So we went, completely underdressed. They insisted we wear Karen shirts–which we didn’t bring, but borrowed–but we were still completely underdressed. I only had two pairs of jeans and a knee-length skirt with me. For such an event, I knew the short-ish skirt would stick out; I opted for jeans. I’d rather be talked about as casual than inappropriately slutty.

And then I found myself sitting next to a two guys from the French Embassy in three-piece suits. Awesome.

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We also got to enjoy dinner on Tuesday and lunch Wednesday with some of my students from previous trainings! Through our time here I saw eight students, which was fun.

Two of the girls are working for a small community-based organization in their hometown. A dam was built there in 2006, displacing many families. They are doing reporting on the displacements and writing reports to the legislature to demand compensation. Another student is now studying at the local seminary.

It was really fun to get to catch up with them and continue to get their advice on future trainings.

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If you’re eating street food and getting around on foot, Rangoon isn’t too costly. You can get a meal for a $1 or $2, and even a thirty-minue taxi across town for $4.

But the hotels will get you.

As foreigners, we can’t stay with friends, but are required to stay in hotels, all of which are expensive. We were told by friends to expect around $60 per night for a low-end hotel.

This was too much for us, so we ended up at the Ocean Pearl Inn.

It was still completely overpriced at $30, but included “breakfast”–uncomfortably sweet toast, one egg, one banana–and free transport from the airport.

It has been an experience to say the least.

My favorite part? The sink pipe went into the wall, and back out again at your feet: so you spit your toothpaste into the sink and suddenly feel said toothpaste spit hitting your toes.

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The streets of Rangoon are very unique. Due to poor infrastructure, the roads are poor and the sidewalks are atrocious. You have to remind yourself to look up and around you, but if you do so too much, you’ll be on your face. The sidewalks are nonexistent in many areas, move under you in others, and sometimes turn into huge ditches or rivers.

There are many, many cars, but once you really look at it, you realize its taxis. Over half the vehicles are taxis, and a significant number are buses or public trucks; leaving a relatively small number that are private vehicles. There are just a shocking number of taxis.

And even with this, we managed to take a random non-taxi home after dinner one night. We walked to the main road and had a car pull up to us. We then saw there was a woman in the passenger seat and apologized, walking away to get another taxi. He assured us it was his wife–“the boss”–and he could take us wherever. We climbed in.

As we drove, Stephen started looking around in the car. “Is this even a real taxi?” he asked. I confidently said yes; all the taxis have “City Taxi” stickers on the outside. No problem!

And then we got out. No sticker. No special taxi license. Just some random guy on a date with his wife who thought he could pay for dinner if he just drove us across town…

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At dinner on our last night in town, our waiter was over-talkative. He stood next to us for about ten minutes before our food came and continued to talk to us while we ate. It was pretty awkward.

But the best part? He told us about Obama coming to visit Rangoon. The conversation went like this:

Waiter: Where do you come from?
Stephen: America.
Waiter: Oh! Do you know Obama come here? Obama come to Yangon!
Stephen: Yes, I heard that. Very exciting. Did you meet him?
Waiter: Yes, of course. I meet him on the movie.

To which Stephen later muttered, “So, we’ve met Obama, Aung San Suu Kyi, and Abraham Lincoln. And The Terminator.”

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One afternoon we took the circular train around town. It was recommended by an advisor and a really good opportunity. The entire trip is three and half hours, $1 for a ticket. The seats are less than comfortable in the “ordinary class”. However, we were able to catch a glimpse into the life of the city.

We landed in Rangoon this evening, just in time to get to the hotel and grab dinner on the street.

Before I comment on the city, a few thoughts on the flights. The first flight with Nok Air didn’t leave Stephen happy: he was sitting next to a thermometer that read 29.4 degrees–or 85 Farenheit. That’s warm for a small, closed and claustrophobic area.

Our second flight with Air Asia was also interesting. It was cooler, but this required a strange white mist coming out of the vents.

I have sometimes noticed this on other flights, perhaps just part of recycled air. But this was oddly thick and continued through the entire flight; unnerving really. I felt like I was being poisoned or sedated.

But we arrived aware and unharmed as far as we know.

I thought I’d just jot down some first impressions and thoughts. Sometimes this blog is more for me than you, and this post may be such.

It’s very nearly what I expected in some sense: a run-down city with significant and obvious income inequality. I was surprised at the lack of motorbikes, considering the neighboring country that seems overrun by them. There are two obvious groups: those with cars and those with bicycles, on public buses, or walking.

I love the thanaka powder everywhere; the longyis worn throughout the city. I love the Burmese culture at every turn. I feel an odd sense of pride to see Burmese language in print on every building, to see longyis worn confidently, to see Burmese in established jobs. So much of what we see of Burmese migrants and refugees is struggle, often working in low-wage jobs. I want to cheer them on for their name tags and desk jobs and beautiful English.

I also ache for so many from this country that aren’t able to come here: that can’t legally travel to see the city in their own homeland. Papers are such a messy thing, and as I handed in my passport for a stamp, I was acutely aware of the value of papers. Not only can I safely live or visit my country, but I can visit so many others. So many of my dearest friends and mentors cannot legally live or visit anywhere–even their own villages and homes and families. There is such a painful discrepancy in that.

Some days, community happens. I can sense the connections to the families here, I dread leaving them for three whole months, and I know we are truly learning something so beautiful here.

Other days, it is not so hopeful. Other days it feels that there are no real relationships on such limited communication; what if they don’t even understand why we are here? What if we are just being used?  What if we are just fools?

These are all possibilities. I can’t promise we are always in the right place or that we make the right decisions for development and sustainability. I can’t promise I’m not a softie and sometimes the kids know which child to send to ask for such-and-such. I can’t promise there are any true Kingdom effects of what we do day in and day out.

I can only promise that we certainly love them. I can promise that God has confirmed so many decisions and spoken softly in so many moments of questioning.

I can promise that these relationships are some of the hardest I have ever had, so when community happens: we celebrate it. We rejoice that maybe, just maybe, there is something bigger than us happening.

This week, there were some of those moments.

There was a celebration on Wednesday for a little boy who had turned one-month old. I can’t say I’ve seen such a celebration elsewhere, but they were happy. They joyfully brought over and shared four huge servings of fried noodles with us.

The next day we had our cooking class with plenty of extras left. We, too, brought them home and shared them with the community.

As simple as it is, there is something very beautiful & communal in sharing food together.

Another morning I went out for a run and returned just as everyone was headed off to work and school. As I came near our road, eight bicycles of men from the community rounded the corner–all in a row and all smiling hellos at me. Just as they went by, a truck full of school kids passed behind me, and I heard the sweet voices of, “Kelli! Kelli! Buh bye, buh bye!”

And then I ran closer to pass a little boy on his bicycle, who slowly and clearly yelled, “Hello! I go to school!”  I gave him a thumbs up, and then looked up to see our house. Out front sat a number of women, holding their children and conversing. I gave them hellos and high-fives to the kids.

Again, small connections that make us feel like we are truly a part of a neighborhood, learning together and living life side by side; somehow closing the great gaps between our childhoods, stories, and cultures.

 And last, we are so excited to say that the community garden is working: we have a fence to keep the kiddos from trampling plants, we have a well to water relatively cheaply; we have little sprouts popping up and promising to feed many.

I was almost nervous to post that it’s working, because we never know what will happen next. We are excited for this and praying it stays alive and flourishing while we are away.

We are praying that community happens: in these weeks before go, even in the weeks we are gone–that somehow our relationships will deepen with a short absence.

“We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up.”
Romans 15:1-2

We have recently been blessed with the music of The Verses Project, which releases songs based off Scripture for free download. This verse above is one of them, and it has been reverberating in my mind: that we might bear with one another’s failings–or cultural offenses for us; that we might please our neighbors for their good; that we might build each other up.

After a few more days of lovely meals, motorbike adventures, market shopping, and playing with the neighborhood kids, they’re off. We loved having them here, and really loved that we could say “see you soon”–less than a month!–rather than honest goodbyes.

We had a surprise text message from the airline telling us their flight from Mae Sot to Chiang Mai was cancelled, a lovely mess for us to sort out. In the end, we put them on a bus by themselves and sent them off! It was literally just the two of them,  the driver & stewardess leaving the first stop in Mae Sot.

Thankfully they survived and a sweet friend from Partners picked them up and let them rest at her house until they flew out that night. As for Stephen & I–after a series of changing events–we’re off this afternoon to Rangoon for a few days. We were scheduled to be gone two weeks for a relief project, but after a few unexpected events, this was changed. Holding two visas and two tickets paid for, we decided to invest a little of our own budgets to visit Rangoon for just a few days. Since we are always seeing Burma from the perspective of the rural areas, ethnic groups, migrants and refugees, I think the opportunity will be helpful. We’ll be meeting with some community-based organizations and hopefully discussing improvements in my curriculum and projects.

One of our favorite activities in Mae Sot is the Burmese cooking class.We started off with a visit to the market and a little tea shop.

Our utensils.

We made four dishes, the first being Karen Pumpkin Curry.

And then samosas, which were so fun.

And Mandalay Noodle Salad, complete with mixing the noodles, chopped veggies, and dressing with our hands.

And then Lime Basil drink, which we should make for all of you because it’s delicious and oddly foamy.

We enjoyed an early dinner of way too much food!

We had so much left over, and thankfully we have a whole host of kiddos always anxious for a snack.

…And when you give a mouse a snack, he’ll want to play for hours, too.

The boys showing off their muscles!

In 2006, I came to Thailand on a short-term missions trip.

I have a love-hate relationship with short-term missions, but my whole life is a product of one.

During this trip, part of our team took a day trip to Mae La refugee camp to visit a home of Partners. Kris Allen was among the group and gave away his Takamine guitar to the family that ran the home. And I met Luke.

Luke was an elderly man living in the camp. He told us stories of his life in Burma and how he wanted to go home. He told us that he couldn’t see any longer, and was unable to read his Bible, but he could pray. He prayed for America at five specific times of the day.

I, on the other hand, did not know Burma was a country, nor that they had been at war for sixty years with over 100,000 refugees and over 100,000 internally displaced people.

And Luke, he changed my life, really.

That’s where it all started, and turned into raising funds for Partners’ work in Burma; changing my university major to political science and writing every research paper on some aspect of Burma; starting a weekly prayer group to pray for Burma; doing an internship with Partners; Stephen & I both falling in love with the people of Burma; working with refugees in Tennessee, then Oklahoma; working for The Spero Project; learning Karen and eventually moving to the spectacular town of Mae Sot. God used Luke to shape my entire world as of 2013.

It was sometime last year that we were in Mae La for a Partners’ event and saw Kris Allen’s guitar on stage. It all came flooding back–this is where I’d been, these are the people I’d met; this is where so much of my life changed.  I asked about Luke that day, but he was home and sick.

Since then, Stephen has pushed me to try to go back and see him, and to tell him the influence he had on my life and Burma.

Kerrine, who works with us at Partners and coordinates all of the children’s homes, worked out all the details for us to meet Luke on Tuesday.

It was so lovely.

I’m not sure I could express it all to him; and at 81, I’m not sure he grasped all that we were saying or how thankful I was. But it was such a good day. It was such a beautiful reminder of God’s big plans, and how little of them we can grasp from where we stand.

We also had a chance to visit each of the six dorms the kids were in, letting them ask questions and learning a little bit of their lives. We were so thankful for the opportunity to visit, especially with Gena & Karen there to join us!

Gena & Karen have braved the motorbikes with us! We borrowed an extra motorbike from a friend, and we are all enjoying scooting around town.

This is our favorite breakfast shop.

And of course, amidst markets and restaurants and such, there is plenty of time to spend with the neighbor kids.