Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover him,
and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

Then shall your light break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up speedily;
your righteousness shall go before you;
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’

If you take away the yoke from your midst,
the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness,
if you pour yourself out for the hungry
and satisfy the desire of the afflicted,
then shall your light rise in the darkness
and your gloom be as the noonday.

And the Lord will guide you continually
and satisfy your desire in scorched places
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water,
whose waters do not fail.

And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to dwell in.

Isaiah 58:6-12

Sometimes I am so tempted to bail on the whole blogging game.

I started to write out a post earlier this week, but I determined it was too pessimistic and deleted the draft. However, I am back to square one.

I made many trips to the hospital last Monday. One in particular was to a clinic near the border. Some of you may be familiar with Mae Tao, but if not, it’s a clinic in Thailand but for Burmese migrants. The actual land it is on is Burmese land, so illegals cannot be arrested while there; but they can be arrested on the way to or from the clinic, on Thai soil, where plenty of police wait.

There is one particular stretch where all the shops of town end and fields lie on both sides; there always seem to be groups of police waiting. For this hospital visit, I had a man with me, who are generally shown less grace than sick women or children. We were also on the motorbike, which are generally pulled over more than cars. I suddenly felt very vulnerable and fearful; so I began to pray.

This sounds like a very holy response, but take it as less. Trust me.

Immediately a Matt Redman song came to mind that I haven’t heard in ages. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I won’t turn back I know you are near…” At first I kind of chuckled that this came to mind, envisioning this little stretch of road in Mae Sot as the valley of death.

Then as I thought about it, I feel like sometimes Mae Sot is the valley of death.

Bear with me for a minute, because I do love this little town, and we are truly thankful to be here. I also realize the dramatic nature of that statement, and the sheer drama isn’t my point or intent.

But here, sometimes it feels like we are all dying. So many people are dying in so many different ways. So many are dying physically, in poverty or malnourishment or untreated sickness. So many are dying in their souls–their freedom, their personal dignity and pride; all dying on a daily basis when they live in a land they are not from, not welcomed in, and not at home in. Others are dying spiritually.

I mulled on this thought for a few days, however depressing it was. I began to wonder if I was crazy, or becoming depressed.  (All possibilities, still.)  I decided to talk to Stephen about it, kind of prepared for him to respond that it was a really depressing thought. Instead, when I said that song came to mind, he replied that it reminded him of Mae Sot–we are in a valley and so many are dying.

After some discussion, we really couldn’t think of anyone who isn’t dying in some way.

We discussed other places where death is present–other cities in Thailand, places in America, even other places of poverty–and it doesn’t feel the same to us. The death doesn’t feel as tangible, to us at least, in those places.

But, it still exists.

And, thus, I’m back to square one: we are all dying and surrounded by death. And I have written post after post that seem to echo that.  Likewise, I am back to the fact that I cannot explain how tangible Scripture has felt to me in the past couple years of us being here. I never thought that I could apply Scripture so literally, with little girls who are hungry, visiting people who are sick, and caring for women & children. I never thought I could feel the valley of death so close on my neck and the groans of all creation.

And now what?

If I keep coming back to the same themes, a blog doesn’t seem worth having. I feel redundant, and I seriously doubt any of you want to hear the same depressing themes day after day.

I am trying to sort out how to carry this and what God is doing in us and through us. I am trying to determine where we should be and how to spend our time. I am trying to determine when these groans and aches are so true with Scripture, and when I just need counseling because I’m spiraling into insanity.

A friend was at our home the other night, joining us in playing with the kiddos. She kept telling me we were saints and it was amazing what we do in the community; and I just felt nauseous. Sometimes I hate writing on a blog, because I know it seems so ideal. I can guess how it appears to take people to the hospital, love on poor children, and let them sleep in our home.

And really, it’s not any of that. It’s a lot of confusion and hurt and ache. It’s frustration at language, struggles with what is sustainable, desperation to balance work, marriage, and community. It is heartbreakingly depressing, leading me to redundant posts that cause everyone to question if we are really doing okay; or it is stories of daily encounters that appear much more glorious than the questions and fears and tears they are filled with.

At risk of scaring everyone or letting everyone down, I have never been more lost in my entire life. I am sure of very few things, most of which include Truth, my marriage, and the fact that today we are called primarily to our neighbors. God has confirmed our lives here, but hasn’t made many other details clear.

And outside of these basics, I feel truly lost. I feel like every turn is reminding me how little I know and how many mistakes I am making–even in these things I know! Even in Truth, marriage, and the community I am so confident I am to love, I have no idea how to do any of it and mistakes are being made regularly.

With these honesties exposed, I’ll try to cut back on the pessimism. I will still try to share stories, but perhaps less for a little while. Maybe I’ll focus on photos, where you can infer your own stories.

And there will be prayer, much prayer, when there is little else left to seek.

Sunday, 23 June, about 8pm.

I was making pizza in the kitchen and working on a few photo blogs that will now come later due to coming surprises. Stephen had run to the store for a Coke and soda water.

We were taking a date night, something we’re trying to do more regularly, but were running behind schedule. I had let some of the girls come in to play with the magnets in the afternoon, and it turned into quite the party. One of my little favorites had a shirt quite covered with holes, so I offered to sew it up for her. She ended up in my shirt while I tried to hand-sew a large portion of a shirt in record time, all while magnets covered the floor and a few kids feasted on yogurt and raisins. While we had loads of fun, our pizza dinner was just going into to the oven about 8:30pm.

9pm.

I heard the usual, “Kelli! Stephen!” at the door. There are three or four kids that usually come to our house later in the evenings to play, but when I came around the corner I could see four little girls faces that weren’t the usuals. I grabbed the cards anyway and went to the door, only to find a large pile of blankets and mats on the porch. I was now in view of about fifteen children and mothers, all with blankets and mats and pillows and bags in hand.

One of the girls speaks decent-ish English, so I asked if everything was okay. She said no, and gave me a motion of someone banging on something, saying, “Boom, boom, boom.”  I asked if it was a father, thinking maybe someone had drank too much and started hitting things or people. “No father,” she said, “Police…no, not police…”

Then a Karen man showed up to translate. Quietly he said, “The [insert word I don’t understand] are coming, and they are afraid. Can they sleep here for one night?”

The word he had used was the vocabulary I know for “adopted.” I assumed that I remembered it wrong or it was a pronunciation difficulty. Either way, I didn’t really feel like there were many options to be had. When women and children show up at your door afraid, looking for a place to stay, there are very few Bible verses that will tell you to turn them away, if any.

So I let them in. It was a bit like a flood of people and blankets.

I called Stephen to tell him that some of our neighbors were joining us for the night. When he came into the kitchen he informed me, “This isn’t what I imagined from your call. This is a lot of people.”

9:30pm.

By now most kids are happily playing on the floor, but quite a few adults are still coming in and out. Dinner is ready, and we are about to eat when Stephen comes in, “I think we need to get more information. One of the women just asked me if we had a gun. When I said no, she asked if I had a bow and arrow. What is going on?”

We walked out to the Karen family that usually translates for us. Due to the fact that this entire conversation isn’t within my typical conversation vocabulary, my understanding was broken. However, I gathered this:

The soldiers (a word very close to the word for “adopted”) were coming tonight because of something that happened to one man. There is some confusion on if he was hurt or killed, and who he was. For some reason the soldiers, not the police, were coming. The men and boys had all already left, and the women and children were fearful to stay in their homes alone. It was only one side of the neighborhood, the other side that is in more substantial houses, were not fearful. The Karen family we know very well was not fearful, seemingly out of stubbornness, and they would be sleeping in their home. It was for one night, and we were to lock the gate and door, turn out the lights, and it would be no problem.

Right. Okay.

There were about twelve bicycles in our driveway and about thirty pairs of shoes outside the door. When we asked if we should pull those inside or hide them, they looked at us like that would be ridiculous. It seemed to me that the “soldiers” might know exactly where to find everyone from the vacant homes…

At this point, we were slightly more fearful, but felt like we should still continue the same way. So we went to have dinner on our kitchen floor, where Stephen said, “This is more people than I anticipated on our date, but the pizza is great!”

10pm. 

We locked the gate and doors, and said our goodnights. We counted twenty-six people all lined out on the floor.

And then we prayed. We really didn’t know to expect, and there were definitely some fears. However, there were twenty-six fearful women and children seeking safety in our home, and we simply prayed that they would find that–safety, peace; and even on a ridiculously hard tile floor, we prayed they would have a better night sleep than ever before.

Monday, 24 June, 5:30am.

After waking multiple times in the night with no significant drama, we heard everyone leaving. The sun had barely started to rise, and they exited quickly. We told them they could stay longer, but smiled and let them choose, returning to find a little more sleep.

Then I remembered that we had locked the gate. So even if they made it out of our house, could they get out of the gate?

Nope.

Stephen went outside to find all twenty-six people standing in our driveway, not sure what to do next. If we had been on top of our game at the break of dawn, it would have been a great photo.

Stephen opened the gate, and yet again there was a flood of folks returning to their homes. And again, a great photo op if we weren’t so far from being on top of our game.

And then we went to the office, admittedly recognizing our life is chaos and we can’t expect or hope for anything different.