An Uneasy Certainty

Da and Me around the campfire.

 "I will never leave you, nor forsake you."

God to Joshua (1:6)

Trust-building is a delicate and complex thing.  But however it happens, one element must be in place or the whole thing falls apart.

You just need to keep on showing up.

Children know this.  That's why my 14 month old grandson Jayden cries when Mom goes away.  He's working on building trust, object permanence, and figuring out how the world works when it comes to the people he loves.  When Mom comes back, when his needs are met in age-appropriate, development-appropriate, love-strengthening ways, he feels secure.  And a secure infant is so much more free to take learning risks, absorb nutrients and information, sleep well, and generally grow up to be a more secure adult. 

Thai children know about trust too, except there are a tragic number of them who understand it from the wrong side of bonding.  Every one of our kids at Hot Springs has had at least one, if not both parents go away and never come back.  Death, prison, or simple abandonment - that's what they know.  People you desperately love sometimes don't stick around.  Sometimes they don't show up when they are supposed to.

Da knows this.

She came to Hot Springs at the age of six.  She was shy and sweet and not doing so well in school, as is often the case at first when you are from the mountain and have only known your tribal language (Karen) up until now.   We only really ever get a glimpse, a guess, as to what life is like before coming to Hot Springs.  They come to us skinny and in desperate need of a bath and often lethargic due to malnutrition.  By the time I met Da, she'd been with the family for three months and was just beginning to plump up a bit and come out of her shell.  She was also hungry for the quiet attention of sitting up close on the bench, holding hands, not talking.

I remember one particular nighttime camp fire, the night before I had to leave.  Since most of life is lived outdoors in rural Thailand, campfires are common, and we have a fire pit at the far end of the dining shelter.  It makes for a great place to hang out just before bed, to do homework, roast a frog or a cricket if you can catch one, and ask questions.

Lots of questions were happening that night, because we had with us Boy whose university English, availability and heart to serve had qualified him as a translator for our teams on several occasions.  Usually Boy was employed to translate at morning and evening devotions, or for Sunday sermons.  But on this evening, it was all casual.  And the children, quite on their own, were asking Boy to ask me questions.  Mostly about the magical far away place called Canada.  A lot about snow.  A few about school.  Some about my family. 

And then Da.  Squished up beside me, she directs her question to Boy who reacts with a mild expression of surprise even before he begins to translate.  "Do people ever die in Canda?"  Da wants to know.

I am taken aback.   Does Da really think there's such a place on the planet?  I reply simply, "Yes.  People die in Canada.  Everywhere, at one point, everyone's body dies."

There is silence.   I let it sit.  And then Da again.

"Ajahn Ruth.  Are you ever coming back to us?"

My heart squeezes in my chest.  That happens a lot here.  I turn her face up to mine and look into her too-wise, deep brown eyes and see something too hard for a little girl who's only six.

Aw baby, who died on you, and didn't come back?

I choose my response carefully.  There are no guarantees, ever.  But.

"As long as the Lord gives me strength, I will come back to you."  I say strongly.  Boy translates this.  Then.  "We have a saying in English.  'Wild horses couldn't keep me away.'"  Boy smiles, and then translates, and then explains, and there is a ripple of giggles around the circle.  And Da snuggles up closer.

Yes, honey.  I'll be back. 

If I have any say in it whatsoever, I absolutely will be back.

Again, I am undone in the moment.

Do you wonder why I come here so often?
This is why.

A lovely, secure, preteen Da.

And it's not just Da.  I think that trust took time to build for Suradet and Yupa as well.   Who were these far away white people, and what were they up to, really?  Would they come back?  Would they really, actually, truly care enough to keep on showing up?

That was ten years ago.   No one asks me if I'm coming back any more.  Just when.   Because showing up is how trust is built.  And trust is the foundation of all relationships, especially the ones where you learn from one anothers' hearts how to heal, how to love, and how to be better at being human, together.