The House Collective

languages schlanguages: still.

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A few pieces of evidence that I will likely be studying and learning this language forever.

Part 1.

For over a year, Thida has been teaching the toddler kids Burmese every week. She teaches fruits and vegetables, vehicles, body parts, and the Burmese alphabet. And let’s be honest, she’s teaching me loads! It’s so helpful to have toddler-level vocabulary repeated to you and reviewing your alphabet every week.

I’ve always noticed, though, that when she holds the flash card for “lips,” she points to the place just above what I would consider her lips. Where a mustache would be, in the space between your lips and nose. And since we do this every week, I’ve been observing: did I miss-see her? Did I misunderstand the word? I’ve checked the dictionary; I’ve asked later if that is the word for lips. I’ve watched and observed.

I began to guess that it was likely a cultural difference. When we talk about beauty, I can see the differences between cultures. One of the ladies in the community I find absolutely stunning–well-paid model material in America–they all find unattractive. While this still shocks me–she’s gorgeous!–I can see the many ways we see beauty differently. They prefer more curves, and we prefer more thin. They prefer “exaggerated features” in the nose and eyes–depth, if you will? I find the smooth curves of Burmese faces beautiful. I’ve heard over half of a room say they’d have surgery on the bridge of their nose to make it more defined; and all I can really deduce from that is a difference in cultural & value systems!

Anyway, I digress. After a conversation with a few women about the upper curve of lips–their commenting on thing I have never noticed nor valued–and watching Thida point just above her lip for nearly a year, I concluded that it was a cultural difference of some kind.

So then, when lips and lipstick came up in my Burmese lesson this week, I asked. Our conversation went like this:
“When you say ‘lips,’ what exactly do you mean?”
[Stare of ridiculousness. I get this a lot.]
“….Here.” [While pointing to what I–and I think most Americans? I’m doubting it now–would consider her lips.]
“Ok. That’s what I would say, too.”
[Stare of ridiculousness continues.]
“I’m asking because when Aunt Thida teaches the children every week, she points just above her lips. I thought maybe it was a cultural difference as to what part of the lips we valued or considered ‘lips.'”
“Oh! I know why she does that. It’s not a difference of what is lips. She is just shy.”
“Shy. Shy about…what?”
“Shy to touch her lips there. So she points just above them.”

Now it was my turn to give the stare of ridiculousness. Because while we had seemingly eliminated the cultural difference of defining the lip. we have now created a new cultural difference. An obvious shyness about lips? This is obvious or common enough that my teacher feels she can assume that’s why she teaches this way.

So now I’m just reeling through the possibilities. What is something that might be culturally awkward for me? Perhaps I’m shy about teaching my son breast. Would I then point just above my breast to teach him? Doesn’t that entirely miss the point, since I now have failed to actually teach him breast? And while culturally this might be understood as, “Oh! She’s just shy about that!”….wouldn’t you also be asking, “But why teach him wrong?” Wouldn’t it be better to either not teach it at all or teach correctly?

So now, we’re back to square one. It’s a cultural difference. Just a different cultural difference than I thought at the beginning. And perhaps learning language doesn’t really get you very far anyway.

Part 2.

I just learned this week that if you say, “I am unable to see (name),” it implies that you strongly dislike them.

It makes me wonder how many times I’ve said I dislike someone, when really I just couldn’t see around a pole or in the car or a billion other possible scenarios.

Part 3.

I was chatting with Thida about some recently family challenges and particularly the relationships between her kids. I wanted to ask if her oldest two daughters were close. I tried to ask literally with no avail, so then I asked if they fight. I gave an example of an argument I knew two other sisters in the family had had two weeks ago. Unfortunately, the word I know for fight is quite literal, too–so she replied that they didn’t hit each other. She said none of her kids hit each other.

Well, yes: while they don’t fight, I personally know of plenty disagreements, so I wasn’t getting to the term I was wanting. I vaguely remembered a term I’d learned in class a few months back, using the verb “connect” to refer to a close friendship.

And–per how I learn language!–I went for it. I went with the gut memory I had of it, hoping that my subconscious brain was more capable than my conscious brain racking itself for the word.

Side note: This is entirely not how Stephen learns language. He learns and thinks and waits until he knows he will speak it perfectly before saying much at all. This means he says less, but when he does, he’s usually correct. Even about abstract ideas and how to spell each word. To me, I regularly get, “Oh! You speak Burmese [like a child]!” To Stephen, once he has spoken even a few words, he has people oohing and aahing over his pronunciation, his extensive knowledge of the language, etc.

This never happens to me, but I still do most of the talking.

And in this scenario of “going for it”–I got an odd glance, and I was quite sure I’d said it wrong. I quickly backtracked, giving another example, asking if they were friends and moving on. Whoops.

A few minutes later I recalled that the same term for “connect” can be used in two ways, both in a very similar sentence structure with just one syllable different. In short, you (well, I) can quite easily say “close friendship” or “having sex.”

I asked my teacher that afternoon, and she got quite the laugh that I had asked my auntie if her two daughters were sleeping together.

Part 4.

I was working on finances for the community last week, sorting salaries and market trips and what not. I was mumbling to myself to keep it all straight, amidst the paperwork and numbers, when I realized I was mumbling to myself in Burmese.

And while for a short moment I felt I had arrived, I also very quickly decided this was unnecessarily inefficient and exhausting.

world kindness day.

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I didn’t know until yesterday that this existed, but it’s pretty much our new favorite holiday: Mister Rogers, cardigans, neighbors and kindness? We certainly hope these things describe us!

Oak loves Mister Rogers. He jumps for joy when it’s Sunday Funday, the day we watch an episode together as a family. He sings along with a few songs, including, “Be strong, be brave…” which is just the cutest thing ever.

He loves trolley and X the Owl, but his favorite might be Henrietta Pussycat, and he often requests books be read in “meow, meow”–the way Henrietta speaks {meow, meow}, with purring {meow, meow} in between every {meow, meow} few words {meow, meow}.

Really, though: Oak was so-so about cardis until we started calling it his Mister Rogers sweater a few weeks ago. And we told him today was Mister Rogers Day, so he wore it all day, buttoned down the front by his choice, in 92 degree weather. I’m not sure I could love him more.

And the buttons say “I like you a lot,” which is both fitting and lovely. (Thanks, H&M for making the world a better place with your button choices.)

the mundanity of today.

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It’s been a long minute since I’ve written here.

I wasn’t sure how this space would shift once we became a family of three, and apparently silence here might be a big part of it. I am using many more words a day and find myself ending days craving alone time, rather than a public space.

But today, there were just a few moments I don’t want to forget, more for the mundanity of it than anything else. This is what life is now: community and family very messily rolled into one.

We woke early and heard the motorbike show up outside, announcing their wares. They come every day, so Oak knows the words and goes running.

The Reinforcers came to prepare for church; the Flour ladies came to sort weekly finances.

I took Oak outside to ride his balance bike. The weather was beautiful, and he visited the neighborhood pig that we currently visit many, many times a day. Unfortunately, this is also where a few men had gathered before going to work for early morning shots, and I was left trying to convince my pajama-clad two-year-old we’d visit the pig another time. It was a dance of cultures and ages, while I tried to casually drag a two-year-old wearing slip on shoes with a balance bike through the mud away from his favorite pig.

My life is very much a dance, and I am no dancer.

We went to church today, with our car loaded with kids. Some of them shared snacks on the way and other shared snacks during church. Some of them are in very difficult places in life: one family of kids is watching their grandmother (and primary caregiver) slowly die from cancer. Another little girl acting out in school due to some challenges at home. Another little girl just removed from one home and pushed into another due to family drama.

Our church got a new LED board today, which now sits on stage with prayer requests glowing and flashing. I really have no words for this, but it is my life.

As we sang, Oak spotted Yaminoo, and began wriggling and jumping to go see her. So we sang songs over near her, as he tugged on her shirt and danced. He ran to her after the service and sat next to her at lunch. And somehow, despite only seeing her once or twice a week, it’s as though he can sense how much we love her.

And I watched her sing along to songs she now knows among a community that is loving her so well, holding my son; and a mile-long list of tear-jerking gratitude wells up in my soul.

This afternoon as Oak slept, we forfeited our usually restful Sunday afternoons to sit alongside our younger sister, Phway Phway. She hopes to attend university later this year, and just received a letter last week inviting her to register. She registers next week to study a major they decided for her and must pay an amount they haven’t told her yet. So we are working through the plans and options for her. We talked over numbers and estimates, we crossed many cultural messes, and tried to consider our options.

She’s the first in her family to graduate high school, even to make it past sixth grade. And if we can somehow manage it, we’d love to see her be the first to graduate university.

We ambled through family photos that a friend oh-so-graciously took for us this week. A whole slew of photos of the three of us, a family.

After Oak woke up, he and I went for a bike ride while daddy played guitar. I listened to my audiobook in one ear while he commented on the airport as we went by—“Grandpa!” since it’s where we picked up grandpa a few weeks ago–and held up his toy plane. He pointed out cement trucks and goats and chickens and ducks and elephant [statues] and suitcases—all of his favorites–in a mix of Burmese & English. And maybe some Thai, since I’m not sure! And I’m really pushing those colors, so we talked the blue skies and the green grass and how we’d wait at this red light until it turned green.

We had dinner as a family at our little table while we listened to street dogs fighting outside, trying to assuage this new fear.

And then we watched our weekly Mister Rogers, cuddled on the couch on Sunday nights before bed. Oak leaned against his dad and gave kisses every few minutes, because he loves this part of every week.

And now I’m left just mulling over the day: the mundanity of it.

But also the miracles buried within it. The miracles buried in Yaminoo and in Oak. The miracles buried in Oak’s bumbling words. The miracles buried in a family photo shoot. The miracles buried in a car (that runs!) and drives a carload of kids to a church we love. The miracles buried in Phway’s graduation from high school, passing her matriculation; the miracles that just might be buried in her future at university. The miracles buried in a street with pigs and ducks and bicycle rides and sunshine.

timetables.

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Often when we leave for awhile, I’ll make a weekly or monthly calendar noting the things that might be different. I’ll give one to Thida, noting the extra work she’s filling in for us.

And for The Reinforcers, I give them new calendars, what they call timetables, quite often. This is in part because they have special events each month where they’ve been hired, so their work days or hours are often changing. They also have changing schedules with school, so we might work more or different times of day when they are on holiday. And we simply change their schedules pretty often; and since they are 15 and 18, I try to make sure I’ve communicated when they are to come in hopes of them showing up on time.

Well, it’s become a bit of a joke, as I hand them another piece of paper week after week or month after month. They laugh because I explain it yet again. (To be fair, they forgot again this Wednesday, on their normal day of work every week, to come until I reminded them!) Each time Stephen makes a joke about them throwing it away, or perhaps about the thirty timetables tacked to their wall.

This week, Stephen and I have yet again re-worked our own schedules, as we try to work around each other’s schedules and make sure one of us has Oak, we can both get to our Burmese lessons, we both have some down time in the week, and someone is free to get people to the hospital. And after our plans were made, he requested a chart of “Who has Oak?” for different chunks of time that we are separate. So I made a weekly layout of when he is primarily working and when I am primarily working; and then when our family times are.

The Reinforcers arrived to work last night and saw it posted on the wall, to which they asked, “Stephen, is that your, uh…timetable?”

Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.

makro: reprise.

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I’ve been going to Makro with Thida most every week for awhile now. And she’s still singing the song.

Now, Oak joins us every week for our market & Makro trips. She’s already taught him the song, so that on the way they are singing it together.

Makro, Makro, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Makro, Makro, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

And all through the store. And on the way home. And in my dreams.

😆😆😆😆😆


bangkok.

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On the way back from Yangon, we stopped in Bangkok for the weekend. Since we were already paying the flight to go through, we thought we’d enjoy some more fun as a family!

Bangkok had more highs than lows, but still had some lows. We’re still learning how to address some discipline issues with Oak, while working toward attachment and language skills. All while learning to do life in the community with a toddler, deal with chikungunya, and manage mounds of paperwork.

Oh, and make sure he eats, sleeps, and has clothes to wear.

It’s was three months ago today we met him; and what a full three months!

Here I’ll just mention our highest highs from Bangkok.

1) Some friends in Mae Sot mentioned a free exhibit offered at one of the universities in Bangkok. It was sponsored by an eco-friendly toy company and had a variety of educational activities for kids to do.

2) We did IKEA. It’s sort of a high, sort of a low; I usually walk in loving it and leave hating it! But Oak had fun playing with all the toys. He also LOVES chairs, particularly stackable ones, so we did some re-stacking of chairs and stools.

3) The trains. Our favorite hotel is within view of the BTS line, so trains are running all day every day. They can be seen from every floor and the swimming pool and the street, so we did a lot of shouting, “TRAIN!” And of course we rode it around town, which Oak really, really loves.

4) While we were there we went to our favorite pizza place in town, of course. We’ve both decided it might be our favorite pizza in the world, so we frequent it. We’ve been known to tell friends in Mae Sot to try it; we’ve taken family members who visit.

We like it.

This time one of the waitresses came right up to us to tell us she’d seen us on the news! She recognized us when we were all in yellow for our interviews about adoption.

I’m not sure what it says about us that a pizza place nine hours from our home recognizes us, but we’ll take it. 🍕🍕🍕

5) One morning at the hotel, the staff in the hallway were speaking Burmese to one another. I heard it from the room and mentioned something to Stephen. Oak, too, heard it and pointed toward the door, so I asked if he heard the Burmese and if he wanted to go say hi. He was so excited, so we went out to tell the staff we speak Burmese! It’s so fun seeing how fast he’s picking up both Burmese & English, even able to recognize it and separate it from Thai and other languages.

6) The weekend was also Thai Mother’s Day, and my first with Oak! After a few years of being honored at church, but also wishing it wasn’t the neighbor kids giving me a flower, it was a treat to hold him.

Trying to get to my Starbucks coffee without walking the babe wrapped in my arms: first world problem.

When we checked in to fly home, the airline had a photo booth set up for Mother’s Day. As we went by, the explained they would print out a photo for free. Stephen, with three bags in tow, kept walking toward the counter, and the employee looked at me dumbfounded: “Free! I said free. He didn’t understand?” I explained we’d just check in all these and be right back. We did, and it was totally worth it.

And now we’re home. With visas! (Clearly I’m still celebrating over here.)

yangon.

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High: Yangon was so good to us! First, we were greeted with a personal sign at the hotel.

Low: These steps entering the hotel, which we had to climb multiple times a day with chikungunya and a two-year-old. Imagine your great-grandmother climbing them three times a day, and that was me. 😢

High: The hotel had a fish pond, where we could say “hi” and “bye” to the fish each time we passed! The staff also let Oak feed them, which was just so sweet (and he’d seen it on Mister Rogers 😍).

Low: He decided one day to feed the fish an orange slice as we went by. While it was sweet that he shared, Stephen had to pull it out!

High: It is so nice to speak the language of the place you are! {What a novel idea.🙄} I know it’s our odd life and choices that make it so we live in Thailand while working with and speaking to Burmese folks, but it was so fun to speak to everyone! It was so easy. It was also fun that Oak has learned a few Burmese phrases and was a big hit with everyone we encountered!

High: We got our one year visas! And since that was the goal and a miracle, it was a very big high to our trip!

High: We found some lovely restaurants and enjoyed the Burmese food so much. Almost every place also had lovely staff who would love on Oak, bringing toys or taking him for a bit. At this particular restaurant, as we paid and started to leave, Oak gave the waiter a kiss on the cheek, much to the waiter’s & our surprise 😂

High: Our hotel had a lovely view of People’s Park & Shwedagon Pagoda–even more stunning at night.

High: We were able to enjoy some really lovely historical places in the city. We visited the Secretariat, where the top eight leaders in the 1940s were assassinated. This was a huge piece of history, and having read and studied quite a lot of Burmese history, we really enjoyed seeing the restored British buildings and seeing the history captured there.



Low: Bringing a two-year-old to museums and historical sites isn’t too easy.

High: We visited the National Museum; our favorite exhibition being the history of the Burmese language. Since it has become a huge part of our lives to study this, we found it so intriguing.

Low: One of the staff members at the museum followed us for an entire wing, excited that we spoke Burmese. She was also thoroughly confused at Oak, perhaps not understanding the idea of adoption. She commented multiple times, “But he doesn’t look like either of you.”

High: The British influence on Myanmar has left some beautiful architecture in Yangon, including this cathedral!

High: It rained nearly our whole time in the city, which is a high for us! We love rainy, chilly days. It was beautiful and dreary. And if you’re going to either be wet from sweat or rain, I’d choose rain any day.

High: The tea shops! We really love Burmese culture. It feels like home, and we just enjoyed so many moments of this trip.

High: We went to a pizza place to celebrate our successful visas, and found a surprise play place! Not only did we eat delicious pizza, but Oak was able to run and play. He loved it!

High: We followed this with ice cream in the downstairs shop.

Low: We broke all three spoons they gave us.

(These lows are seeming very minor. Clearly this trip was great 😊)

High: There is a circular train around Yangon–a personal favorite of mine. We took Oak for a trip on the train, and he loved it! He was thrilled even when we were delayed for flooded tracks.


High: Rangoon Tea House is a modern, fun twist on the traditional Burmese tea shop. And it lived up to the hype! It was some of the best Burmese fare I’ve ever had, and a lovely environment.

Low: We spent one morning in search of a few promised parks. It really resulted in an hour walk, a few taxi rides, and some disappointing parks.

Low: Part of the playground equipment a drop off blocked with bamboo, while another part was held up by a ladder. 😳

High: This kid is still fun and adorable.

High: Oak has really liked watches recently, so as an incentive for good behavior he earned a watch over a few days. We made a trip to the local shop to pick out a watch for him. He was so proud! And even went back to show the hotel staff.

Overall, Myanmar isn’t always considered the comfiest place to be, but we love it. Stephen and I were both amazed at how at home we felt, how much we loved using the language, how much we loved seeing Oak with the Burmese staff. We left with new visas, a few lovely days as a family, and relatively few lows!

chikungunya.

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Chikungunya: code for THE WORST.

Really, it means “to become contorted” in a Tanzanian language where it was first identified.

If you aren’t sure what it is, chikungunya is a mosquito-transmitted virus, similar to dengue fever or Zika. The symptoms are high fever, joint pain, itchy rash, & joint swelling. And Stephen and I were lucky enough to get it (with about half of our town!) last month.

At our public hospital (used by many legal, local residents (but doesn’t include many illegal or legal immigrants) was reporting 200 new cases per day in late July, in addition to those who weren’t going to the hospital or visited other clinics or hospitals. Nearly half of our community had it. Thankfully, Oak hasn’t gotten it yet!

Of all the things Stephen & I have dealt with here in Mae Sot–dengue fever, dog bites, scabies, food poisoning, staph infections–we’d both say chikungunya has been the worst. (We both had scabies for four months before it was diagnosed. My staph infections led to two surgeries. Dengue is also called bone-crushing disease. Guys, it’s AWFUL.)

I woke up on a Sunday morning and walked out of the room wondering, “Hmm. It feels like my foot is broken. How do I not remember hitting it? Or dropping a huge piece of furniture on it?”

I limped around, until a few hours later, my other ankle suddenly weakened. It felt sprained. I was so confused: how did I not recall these injuries? I didn’t even remember bumping anything.

Within a few hours, I had a high fever and everything throbbed. I remember laying in bed that afternoon and thinking the pillow was so painful. Both of us would wake ourselves in the night to our own groaning.

I laid in bed for two days until my fever subsided and the rash came. Red bumps, all over; shockingly similar to the rash with dengue. And all so, so itchy. For me, the rash lasted for about five days. The whole week I hobbled around like I suddenly aged a hundred years, leaning over, struggling to get up, groaning in pain. Throughout the community, you could see exactly who had it: we were truly contorted.

As we left for Yangon the following Sunday it was a week after my symptoms started. Stephen’s symptoms were completely gone at eight days, so as I limped up the steps in the airports and we carted Oak and luggage together, Stephen kept telling me it was almost over.

Yangon and Bangkok were hard. We walked many miles and went up many steps. We carried Oak for days and days. And my pain really didn’t go away. Some days were worse than others, but they were all pretty bad. I was just an old lady making my way through the cities and airports with a toddler.

And then we returned, and I think that’s when it hit me: we were well past eight days. And it was still throbbing. Something different every day or two, but each morning I’d barely stumble out of bed, feeling like my right foot was broken one day, and the next day my neck didn’t move. The following day I couldn’t lift my left arm; the next I couldn’t use my right shoulder.

As it turns out, for some, chikungunya symptoms of pain and joint swelling can last anywhere from a month up to a year. A YEAR, folks. Stephen laid in bed on the first day he was sick, reading up on the CDC website and telling me about this approximately ten percent of people with long-lasting symptoms. I told him that was pessimistic: why would that be him? It will be fine.

He told me that if half the community gets it, ten percent actually becomes pretty high. And while those statistics are hard to argue, I still felt it was pessimistic.

But its looking like I’m in this ten percent. My optimism didn’t even help me.

Instead, I’m slowly–very, very slowly–stepping out of bed every morning to see which bone will feel broken that day. I’m going to sleep with swollen feet and struggling to use my swollen fingers to open water bottles. I’m still waking Stephen when I groan from pain the middle of the night.

Guys, I’m OLD all the sudden. With a two year old! Whom, I might add, really struggles to understand why one day mom can’t walk and the next she can’t pick him up.

It’s THE WORST.

So, say a prayer with us! Please pray I’m nearly done. One month comes next week, and I’m praying, praying, praying that its nearly over.

the year of paperwork.

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Sometime during our travels to France and the States last year, I looked at my passport and realized I’d need to renew it soon to allow for the six-month validity required to enter and exit most countries.

And then I glanced at all the other paperwork I held–probably on a plane headed somewhere; the perfect place to pull out all your documents and realize they are all about to expire. Many, many things would be expiring soon, hopefully just as we’d be placed in our adoption.

Taking note (and learning from when we had to rush Stephen’s passport renewal a few years ago!), I made a calendar of 2019 specifically noting all the things that needed renewals and applications. It included:
April: my American drivers license and my Thai drivers license
May: Stephen’s work permit, our current Thai visas (requiring us to cross the border for an additional 90 days)
June: our car, one year until my passport
July: our motorbike
August: our Thai visas (this time requiring a visit to a neighboring embassy)
September: Stephen’s American drivers license

Let the paperwork begin.

I started the process for renewing my American drivers license in January. After five late night calls to the Arkansas DMV, I received my new license last week, in the first week of August. That’s eight months.

Because of this, we began the process for Stephen’s American licesnse in June. Here’s too hoping.

I started the process for renewing my Thai drivers license on 15 April. Simply trying to renew my license as a housewife on Stephen’s work permit proved very, very difficult. It also revealed that we hadn’t “registered our re-entry” the last time we entered Thailand, so we had to rush across the border early, in May, to avoid significant fines and appease the angry immigration officers. I also had to wait to renew my license until immigration sent an approval letter, which took many, many weeks.

After about fifteen visits to the Thai DMV on most of the Wednesdays and Fridays of April, May, June, & July, both with and without a child in tow, I was able to renew my license on 17 July. I wore my yellow shirt & I said my red-green-yellow colors in Thai to win hearts. I watched an hour of motorbike and car crash footage that hopefully will make me a better driver. Overall, it took three months.

Stephen’s work permit, and our motorbike and car renewals all went without incident, just requiring paperwork.

And then last week, we made our trek to Yangon to apply for new visas. In order to do this, we needed a passport for Oak, which we got in Bangkok in June (another trip, another office, more paperwork). We also needed paperwork giving us permission to travel with him outside of Thailand, which we asked for in May. It was approved on Friday–three months after it was requested and just two days before we left. This wasn’t enough time for it to get to us in Mae Sot, so we took a photograph of the paperwork with us, and hoped for the best.

Just days before we left, I made a sad realization. I was filling out our visa applications and saw the notice: When applying for a one-year visa, it’s required that you have eighteen months remaining on your passport.

Eighteen months!? I had ten. And just a few days to: change plans? attempt to renew my passport in Bangkok?

After some research, it would be impossible to renew my passport in that time, as they don’t offered expedited services overseas. And changing plans would add up in cost quickly, so our boss advised us to try for it. She said it might work, and if not–well, Stephen would likely get a year and I’d be given three months, until I had to return to Yangon to apply again.

Honestly, I was pretty sad. I’ve never made a renewal calendar before; and here it wasn’t even helping! I had worked so hard to not make mistakes on our paperwork, particularly with Oak in the mix, and failed.

The trip was starting out on a stressful foot, as we boarded our first flight without Oak’s proper paperwork and with slim hopes of me getting a year visa.

At airport immigration, they stamped Stephen & I out without incident, and we were a day before our visas expired. (An accomplishment for us, unfortunately. I have two shame-inducing “LATE” stamps in my current passport.😔) Once stamping us out, the immigration officers noticed Oak’s passport was for Thailand, and seemed skeptical. They asked for all our paperwork for him; they called over supervisors and made copies and whispered among themselves for nearly half an hour, while Stephen & I held up the long immigration lines and said prayers. With us already stamped out, we couldn’t actually “return” back into Thailand if there was a problem with Oak’s paperwork! Thankfully, after thoroughly scaring us, Oak was stamped out of Thailand we gave our gracious thank yous.

As we boarded the plane, barely catching lunch at 3pm and Oak lacking a nap, trying to calm our nerves, Stephen said, “Whew! They let us all leave!”

And I pessimistically replied with, “…Now we just have to figure out how to get back in.” And that became the week’s goal.

The stressors weren’t over. We showed up to the Thai Embassy as a matching family of yellow, requesting one-year visas. While they asked us absolutely nothing about Oak, they did deny our visas three times. Each time they’d tell us a reason, we’d counter it: Wait! I have that document! and I can get that, one minute! Surprisingly, none of the denials were because of my passport! And after a very stressful morning, they accepted our visas, granted us one-year each!

And so we’re back. I’ll post more about our fun adventures in Yangon and Bangkok, but for now: thankful we are back home as a family of three. (That is more of a miracle than I could say!) Thankful for another year in the Kingdom of Thailand!

rattling.

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A few months ago at a worship night we were singing Reckless Love, about God chasing us down with a overwhelming love we don’t deserve and couldn’t earn if we tried. The bridge is:

There’s no shadow you won’t light up,
mountain you won’t climb up
coming after me
There’s no wall you won’t kick down,
lie you won’t tear down
coming after me

While this is true for me and I can sing this for me, on this particular evening, I was just aching for a few of my neighbors. With all honesty, there are some days I ache that I can’t change their story here. I can only look to eternity. And even in that, I can plant seeds and water them–for years!–but I cannot make them grow. I just cannot.

There are days I feel like I am planting and watering for days and years on end, with my hands tied.

And as we sang this together, I was sad that this is about me; and sometimes I’m sad that so many of our Western worship songs are. Because while it’s true he pursued me like this, he also pursues them like this. He pursues us like this.

All the mountains that I see; the impossible: he can and will climb them–for her. For him. For them. For us.

All the lies that are believed. The lies that destroy. The lies that take root deep: he can and will tear them down for her. For him. And for them. For us.

——-

Fast forward a few weeks. Now I’m sitting in a worship night, again, now with my son on my back. He’s wrapped up in a sling, eating chicken over my shoulder, giving me kisses in the middle of my back. He’s watching his dad and The Reinforcers run sound, giggling when they look over at him. He’s watching the band, always mesmerized by music. He’s watching the little baby learning to crawl in the corner.

We’re singing the same songs, but now, I’m praying them for our community; while holding this beautiful, redemptive answer to prayer on my back.

I’m looking at us; I’m so thankful. So thankful for Stephen, as I watch him with these young men and the life he has chosen to lead. So thankful for the relationships we have here and the things that keep us here. So thankful for this little boy that has just brought us so much joy and given us so much hope.

I remembered back to when Stephen and I were dating. We spent most of our dating relationship long distance while we finished our degrees in different states. It was hard to balance work and school and trying to see each other; it was expensive. And I’m so glad I survived all those times I tried to drive home at midnight or start my trip at 5am.

Honestly, I remember feeling like it was a bit unfair. As I watched friends dating in the same city; it just felt like it was harder than necessary.

But then we got married, and he’s just the best thing ever. We spend every day together, and that’s something so many couples can’t say: either they can’t do that for life circumstances or for sanity circumstances, but we do. And while I can only speak to ten years, most of those ten years I’ve felt like he was the best part of every day, the best part of life. Particularly once we moved to Mae Sot, marriage was the easy part. It was the breather at the end of the day.

So all that “hard”–was just for the best thing ever.

And then we started this adoption process; y’know, three long years ago. There were a lot of times in there I wondered why it was so hard. We knew people who started and completed the process stateside within our waiting period. We knew people who were placed while we waited. We knew people who got married and had kids within in that time.

And I wondered why it had to be this hard. I wondered why we had to wait this long or why it had to hold so many unknowns. I wondered if we should just have our own, because it might just be easier.

It was a very long three years, and I’ll be honest, we were wearing very thin. So many people advised us to give up or consider other options–which we had; but still, it was sad. I was heartbroken that this just might not happen.

And then Oak. He’s the best, guys. Again, I’m only speaking from two months, so who knows what’s ahead? But as I held him, I just saw how much we waited for THIS. This exactly. Him. Now. Exactly like this.

What if we had left? What if last year, when I simply didn’t want to come back and wait–what if we hadn’t? What would we be like now without him? We’re only two months in and I can’t imagine it any other way. He is us.

So all that “hard”–was just for the best thing ever.

——-

And then I thought of the community.

Again, I’m just being honest: I’ve asked many times recently if things are growing at all. If we’re supposed to stay, for how long, for what. Stephen is a visionary, and I’m…well, I feel like I’m always tired. And sometimes I can only see the tasks. The tired. (Read: Hi, I’m a pessimist introducing myself as a realist.)

Recently I’ve asked if we’re getting anywhere. I’ve asked if it matters if you give someone a job if they are still in a painful marriage. I’ve asked if it helps to provide temporary safety if they are just going to return to a dangerous situation. I’ve asked if it helps to expose them to things that are always out of reach. I’ve asked if we are helping. Or not.

But then I wondered: what if were just on the cusp of something? What if we throw in the towel, but all this is for…something? Something just around the corner?

What if that something is the best thing?

(There is some optimism in there somewhere.)

In Ezekiel 37, Ezekiel sees the valley of dry bones. This verse has been referenced, mentioned, prayed for us, & prophesied so many times in the past year or so. It just keeps coming up from different people, different sides of the world and in different contexts. So I keep coming back to it, and I’ve been reading through all of Ezekiel.

Ezekiel had a really hard, challenging life and calling. He spends chapter after chapter, season after season, telling people really hard, awful things about punishment and discipline. At one point (chapter 24), God tells him he’s going to “take the delight of your eyes away from you” and his wife dies. But he is told not to mourn, but to continue prophesying these awful, sad things.

Then he sees this valley in chapter 37, and these are the lines that have been reverberating in my mind for the past year:

“Can these bones live?”
“O Lord God, you know.”
…there was a sound, and behold, a rattling…
…bone to its bone…
…there were sinews on them…
…flesh had come upon them…
…skin had covered them…
But there was no breath in them.
…And the breath came into them, and they lived and stood on their feet,
an exceedingly great army.

Sometimes it just feels like there are dry bones.

But what if an army is coming?

What if there is a rattling: in that marriage and in her and in his future and in his life? What if his marriage takes on flesh and breath? What if their family takes on life? What if she can go to university and what if he doesn’t hit his future wife?

What if they get to see God put bone to bone, sinews and flesh and skin upon it; what if they get to feel His breath in them?

Because I don’t want my neighbors to be convinced of my faith: I want them to see what I see. I want them to see the God who makes dry bones live.

——-

It’s possible an army ins’t coming, too. Ezekiel saw so much sorrow and so much sadness, too. It’s possible that Stephen & Oak are the army, the wins. And maybe we just have to be faithful anyway.

I don’t know. I really only know that I don’t know. My theology is more broken down and foggy than ever before.

I don’t know how long we’ll be here, how long Oak will know this street or how many languages he’ll grow up using. I’m not sure if an army is coming or not.

But I think we’ll be here a bit longer in hope. The three of us, waiting for a rattling.