Last Things

Last starry predawn walk in the quiet cool that lays like misty nurture every morning between the guest house and the children.



Last sleepy worship, little Thai beloveds wrapped in blankets to warm their icy hands and feet in the drastic dip to 18C.  Last around-the-circle recitation of ancient Scriptures by same, now warmed by robust singing and being together first thing.



 




Last breakfast from Yupa who, without question, creates the best Thai food on the planet from her modestly-appointed, lizard, live-crab and chicken inhabited,Thai-style kitchen, like a magician, only without the pomp.  

Last market stroll, being the only farang in a sea of beautiful Asian faces.  Last time to surprise the vendor with my Thai, still woefully inadequate but sufficient enough by now to ask for another colour and a lower price.    Last moment of amazement walking past baskets of bugs for sale by the scoop, to have for breakfast or just a quick snack later on. 


Last conversations, all day long.  At the table, in the car, walking up the hill to the house.  Full of wonder, grace and truth,, our words; full of gratitude that goes so deep words in Thai or English just don't cut it.  Throats tight with love that spills, messy in all attempts to be controlled, as polite Thais must do, and all culturally-sensitive farangs must learn.  But this time formality gives way to the tears of family facing long separation, and stumbling words, and beautiful, honouring, holy moments I so do not deserve. 

And oh the last goodbyes.  Those wretched last goodbyes.  Seated in the centre with Thai beloveds gathered, hands laid on in prayer and singing.  And every time I lose it then.  I'm fine until they start singing that family-love song they sing to say goodbye.  And every time, every time I am undone by the way it heals me somehow.  No life-hurt, no confusion,rejection or betrayal, stands a chance against this.  "And all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory, and I realize just how beautiful You are and how great are your affections for me.  Oh! (David Crowder)." 

Last pictures at the airport.  Last, desperate jumping and waving on the other side of the window as I pass through security and immigration and I shamelessly wave like a fool in the middle of many travelers who can't help but look back to see why.  And all those hands.  All those hands.

All those hands are the last thing I see.

"Sometimes sorrow, sometimes bliss.  Every union knows of this  (Steve Bell)."  And this union knows it all too well.  Such is the love that has to be stretchy enough to reach around the world.

How remarkable!  How astonishing!  This my soul-song will ever be.  That God saw fit to take the dreams of an awkward and mostly timid 11 year old girl, the regions-beyond desires of a extraordinarily ordinary community of faith, and the vision of an obscure and poverty-imprinted mountain boy-now-a-man, along with his faith-feisty wife, and perfectly time the masterpiece He had in mind all along.  This masterpiece.  This shared ministry of justice and peace.

And there are really no last things.  Because I think, as any new starry predawn day begins, God is just getting started.