“The angel of the Lord showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.”

Revelation 22:1-5

For the past five years, I’ve attempted to keep up my reading and research of Burma. Each book has presented a different aspect of the same conflict: the victim of a targeted ethnic minority, the Western researcher that has given her life to historical research, the victim of socialist policies, the Westerner who lives among the people and writes of his quest for democracy, the Westerner who lives among the people and writes of his quest for Christianity, the victim who has resettled and begun a new life; the list goes on.

I find it most challenging when people ask which book they should read about Burma. Each book creates a more balanced, more holistic view of the situation–of every ethnic group, of every party, of every religion, of every army.

And it is the valiant effort at a balanced portrait of Burma that I loved most about my most recent read. I just finished Nowhere to be Home, part of the Voice of Witness project. I had seen it was in the making about a year ago, and I’ve been watching their website since. It finally came out, and I immediately paid the money to have it shipped here to Mae Sot.

Voice of Witness writes their books using oral histories, interviews, and stories to document social justice issues. They work for years to gather multiple interviews, various perspectives, and to go through the process of translations, editing, etc.  This particular volume about Burma includes personal accounts from Karen, Burman, Shan, Kachin, Mon, Rakhine, Chin, Karenni, and Rohingyan.  It includes stories of former SPDC soldiers, victims of trafficking, political prisoners, resettled refugees, migrant workers, and more.  It has stories of all ages, with perspectives from Thailand, Burma, Malaysia, Bangladesh, and the US.

And it captured me.

So much, really, that I’m passing it on.

I wanted to include a few excerpts, too, from my favorite narrative.  Toward the end of the book, Law Eh Soe, a Karen refugee that has been resettled to New York, was interviewed. As I read his account of being a photojournalist in the ’88 Uprising and his photos from the 2007 Saffron Revolution being broadcasted around the world, I was reminded of everything that has captured me about the Karen. His story said it all: an oppressed, struggling people that somehow seem more defined by their optimism and generosity.

I know, this is quite a bit to call it an “excerpt”–but it was all I could do to not type out the entire chapter for you, and even that was more to avoid copyright infringement than to avoid the typing.

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“I loved that Yashica MG-1. I started taking pictures of church events, like weddings and ceremonies. So after those first years, I really knew ow to use the camera. One day, my very respected Christian minister came to discuss cameras with me. He told me, ‘I have committed to go in a few days to Naga Hills as a missionary. I will stay there for over five years, and I need to document it with a camera.’

Then I thought of something. I told him, ‘You take my camera. Yeah, you take my camera.’

‘But why? Do you have an extra camera? How will you take photos?’

‘No, you take it. God will provide for me.’ He was surprised, but it made me feel wonderful. It was my only camera, but ten years later, I had three or four cameras. But I’ll never forget that, because you always have to give the best of what you have.” (p.402)

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[a few days into the 2007 Saffron Revolution, after Law Eh Soe participated as a photojournalist and protestor]

“I knew the government was looking for me because just after I left, they raided my friend’s house where I had been hiding for a week. I only stayed in Rangoon for two days. Then I left and went out to the border area. I stayed on the Burma side of the border, because I had a good relationship with some people there. So this time, when I was in trouble, they helped me out. It’s like a movie–but it’s not like Hollywood.

When I got to the border area, I received help from some friends. When I was there, a man I knew from before gave me a satellite phone. ‘You can call anytime you want.’ He brought a TV from the city and he set it up for me with a satellite dish so I could see what was happening in Rangoon.

And then, for the first time in my life, I saw that CNN, the BBC, and Al Jazeera had all used my picture. This was the most wonderful thing in my life, I was so proud. I can’t compare my skills with many other photographers–I’m not a good photographer, but I can do something. In the 1988 uprising, mostly Westerners came and took photos inside Rangoon. In 2007, this was my time. Also, I saw that in Norway, some people were protesting Burma’s government because they were shooting and killing the monks. A few countries went to protest before the Burmese Embassy, and they were using the photo I took. I thought,  Yeah, this is wonderful!  That’s my picture!  I was very proud of it.” (p.407-408)

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“On March 18, I had to leave Thailand. I reached America on March 19, 2008. It was my birthday. Before the plane landed at JFK airport, I was still thinking about how I spent those two months in a remote area in Burma, and then now, I could see the Statue of Liberty. It was a wonderful moment. But the very simple thing was that my mom wanted to see me. My mother had been resettled in Buffalo in 2005, with my youngest brother. It had been almost six years since the last time I saw her. Like many people in Karen State, my family was suspected of supporting the KNU. Because of this, my mother and brother had to flee to the Nu Po refugee camp. My other brother fled even earlier and was resettled in 2000.

I had to sleep one night in New York. It was like another planet. But the thing is, it wasn’t a big culture shock for me because I read the newspaper and magazines, and I watch TV. I thought, So now I’m in the land of opportunities.

When I was in Burma, I’d never been cold. But here I’ve been in the cold many times. In Buffalo, I worked in a communication product company for a month. After only one month there, the refugee agency came and said, ‘We need you.’ So that’s why I went to work with them, and I’ve been there for almost nine months already. Working as an interpreter is a wonderful experience. I’ve been to schools, the hospital, the clinic, police stations–several places. I interpret for people from Burma: Karen, Burmese, Chin, and Arakanese. Also, I’m going to college now. I’m studying social sciences in Buffalo. Classes are wonderful, but I hate math. It’s awful for me and I’m not interested in it. I started writing some essays that I sent in to a Burmese website.

I’m living with my mother, my two younger brothers, their wives, and my niece. Buffalo is like the unofficial capital of refugees in New York. Resettled refugees have a wonderful life here. In every place, every corner of the world, they have different kinds of opportunities. But at the same time, there are challenges. For older people, the language barrier is a challenge. Also, culture shock. Young people adapt easily and quickly–it’s both a good thing and a bad thing.

Sometimes it makes me sad. One day, I went with a refugee woman to the clinic. While we were waiting at the clinic, we had a conversation. She said, ‘Yeah, we have a good life. Good social services. But the thing is, I miss my mountains, my river.’ She just said it simply, you know. But it made me sad. Nothing is like home–for me too. But in life, almost 75 percent of what happens, you never expect. The thing is how you deal with the challenges. You can see the cup is half empty, or you can have a half full cup. I always see it as half full.

I want to stay low profile, so I don’t usually want to do interviews. But a journalist came from Buffalo News to interview me, and they published an article about me. So that’s why when I go to the store or the clinic, they know that I’m a journalist. I think the people should know, so that the next generation knows what we have come through.

In America, I get $10 an hour. In a month, that’s 2,000-something dollars. Maybe for American people, it’s very little money. For me, it’s more than enough. I have a wonderful life. I just share my payment with my mom, and buy food. I only save some money to buy books. People told me I should go to the library, but although I love to read, I love to underline books too. I want to set up a library One day when I go back to Burma, I will ship all my English books to Burma and I will leave the Burmese books here.

So many Karen people are stateless, but at least now I can apply for permanent residence. At least here we belong to some country. I love Buffalo–we are already Buffalonian. My mom has a wonderful life here, after suffering for almost thirty years.

But just a month ago, my mother was diagnosed with colon cancer. She is going to have a major operation on July 22. It’s like God’s timing because she kept praying to see me, and now I’m by her side, you know? She’ll have her operation in a few days.

The thing is, life is like that. Nothing is permanent under the sun, my friend. I feel sad sometimes to have left Burma, but now I’m beside my mom. I’m very close to her, you know, so she is very happy that I am here. I have two brothers who are both married and have families now. But I’ve stayed single, so I can be beside my mom. She’s very happy. It’s God’s timing. Simple faith is the most important thing I’ve learned from my mother.” (p.409-411)

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“As Mother Teresa said, ‘We cannot do great things. We can only do little things with great love.’ When I was a teenager until I was twenty-three or twenty-four, I admired Che Guevera. And now in my thirties, I admire Mahatma Gandhi and Mother Teresa and the way they see the world. They live very simply. They act very simply. And also they did great things with big hearts. It’s wonderful.” (p.412-413)

We visited Dr. Simon’s bible school outside of Mae La today.  The school began in 1983 in Burma and was moved into Thailand, right outside Mae La camp, in 1990 to flee the Burmese government.

“We came to Thailand in 1990. Our motto was ‘God can do anything.’ And we believed it is true. We prayed and we studied.  Then we are here one year. Two years, then five years, and now twenty-one years. And now our motto is ‘God can do anything in His time.'”

We’re here, busy with a new team in town!

And we have a request.

Please pray for health. After one day of good hearing, Kelli came down with a cold-like something. It led to her hearing going out again, plus a sore throat that has stolen her voice. This is quite a challenge when dealing with a team, where we spend a lot of time conversing and answering questions.

And this team has a lot of questions.

Stephen, also, has recently had some pain in one tooth. And we can safely say now that we don’t have the funds, energy, or desire to go back to Chiang Mai for legitimate doctors.

So we’re just praying it will all go away.

Will you pray for this, too?

We had an all staff meeting in our Mae Sot office yesterday.  In the morning our boss was sharing about the rice crisis in an area of Karen State. She described that they were eating “rice porridge” for most meals, which consists of a small bit of rice, a large bit of water, and some “vegetables” that are foraged in the nearby brush. It has relatively no nutritional value.

It was her last sentence, though, that stuck out to me: “It’s the lucky ones who have regular rice for one meal a day.”

How often would we consider a bowl of “regular rice” to amount to our good fortune? And how amazingly blessed am I for the vegetables, rice, spices, and bread that I’ve consumed today?

And isn’t it funny how one sentence can remain with you, as if its simply hanging in the air; reminding me to be thankful, reminding me to pray, reminding me to hope.

My ear has been popping pretty consistently for the past week or so.  When it pops, I can hear for around four seconds before it all goes fuzzy again. And it’s been a little bit of a cruel trick.

Until just now. My ear popped, and I can hear! I can hear all the glorious sounds around me, like the air conditioner and the hum of the laptop. And it’s been about four minutes now.

And I’m excited.

generosity |ˌjenəˈräsitē|:  liberality, openhandedness, unselfishness, benevolence, altruism, big-heartedness, bounteousness; the act of being kind and generous.

In the first week of each month we receive a report from the Partners US office that details the donations that were made into our account. In seeking to be responsible adults with adequate records, we save these files as well as post them into our database.

And with time, I have grown to love the time it takes to repost all of the donations into the database. It creates a moment to take each month’s donation, each person, each dollar; and be thankful for it.  And without fail, each month I am amazed–genuinely awed–at the generosity. In a world of so much heartache and sin and selfishness, I have a record sent to me each month of selfless people sacrificing for the Kingdom.

It generates a heart of gratefulness and hope while bringing me back to my knees. The Lord is using people from different sides of the world, different ethnicities, different stories to provide for us. To provide for our rent, our vegetables at the market, the eight trips to the doctor to have my ear looked at, a delicious Western meal in Chiang Mai, internet to Skype our families, and the lemonade we can serve to the neighbor children.

I was a big fan of Ray Boltz as a child, and I’m actually still recovering from missing his concert in Peoria due to a miscommunication on who was Ray Boltz, who was Accapella, and who I actually liked. But all that aside, Ray Boltz’s song comes to mind–with my dad singing it for special music at Eureka Bible Church, “Thank you for giving to the Lord; I am a life that was changed.”

So cheesy. But so true. How many people will be able to sing that as a result of each dollar given–to us, to different families and non-profits around the world?

The words “it is well, it is well with my soul” were written into song in 1873; and as the story goes, it was written as a man sailed over the area where his four daughters had recently drowned.

I don’t know about you, but often when I sing this hymn, my mind goes to the challenges I’m currently facing, seeking to find peace within those challenges.  But Stephen & I began talking last night of how limiting this is. Finding peace amongst sorrows seems to still be a battle, a struggle, an effort. But what if its simply peace; simply a soul. Resting.

In staff meeting last week we were discussing Psalm 46:10 and what actually is to “be still”. Is it physical? Mental? Spiritual? To me, it connected to Psalm 23, “He leads me beside still waters.”  And still waters, to me, mean they aren’t going anywhere. There isn’t a goal or aim; they just are.

These are similar to me. A soul–still, resting, peaceful. It just is.

I often find myself really wanting everyone pleased with me. I want them to agree with what I do or support me. My sister often tells me to just let this go, but I haven’t found it that simple yet.  Too often wanting someone to be pleased with the way I’m doing things leads into criticism of others, defensiveness, or judgment.

It seems its been happening more recently: both with relationships here in Mae Sot and on the other side of the world. I place far to much energy and effort into presenting myself well and defending every step I take while criticizing the person next to me doing it all differently.

I’ve been praying through these things for quite some time.

Sometimes its praying for grace and patience with situations I disagree with; sometimes its praying for specific people or offenses. Sometimes its just praying for one meeting, that for just that moment in time I won’t be defensive; that I don’t have to be understood; that I don’t need approval.

This will probably continue, well, always.

But, as I laid in bed the other night, the words to “It is well” played through my head.

And my soul rested.

It didn’t matter–for that moment–what anyone else thought. I was at peace with myself. With how I spent time, with how I spent money, with how I spent words; with mistakes that were made as well as efforts. I could go to sleep with my life and how I lived; I could rest.

And to me, that was far deeper rest than a struggle to find the peaceful attributes in the challenges around me; another way of simply looking for the fingerprints of God in the challenges.  Instead, it was a holistically peaceful moment for my soul; it was meeting with God to simply be.