Stranger Things (at a Thai Market and Everywhere Else)

We made a quick stop at the Thursday morning market today.  Our ultimate destination was Pao Pao, a large discount store I've previously compared to Dollarama on steroids.   But first, I needed a blouse to go with a Thai skirt I had received as a gift.  

Honestly, I don't need any more Thai tops or clothes at all.  Except, in my determination to only bring one checked bag this time, I find I have left behind some key components of my summer wardrobe.  This has limited my desire to look 'presentable' on a Sunday morning.  Fortunately, I was able to find what I was looking for quite quickly.

I'm pleased with the find.  Even had fun joking a little with the vendor, a local lady with an easy laugh.  Besides the simple fun of sharing a humorous moment, I always find it reassuring when strangers understand me.

This was not the stranger things part, though. 

How would you fancy buying chunks of fish from an open cart on a hot day, with the intact head keeping watch?  

Or maybe whole, seasoned roasted frogs, internal organs and intestines included and on display to entice you to buy one and take it home for lunch?

Too much?  Okay, sorry.  I'll post more normal pictures.

Some wild honey combs!  That looks amazing.  But, wait.  What's that simmering in the pot?

Bee larva, which are considered a bonus treat.

Okay, I'll stop.

And actually, I haven't taken pictures at the Thursday morning market in a long time.  Because I'm actually used to seeing these things now.  I can walk past barely noticing, until I think it might make a good blog post or something.  

I always ask permission when I do stop for a picture.  "I'm from Canada," I explain.  "In Canada we don't have this."  [Unless...if anyone's ever seen this sort of thing at the St. Jacob's Market, I'd like to hear about it.]

The thing is, today, any time I identified myself as being from Canada, I couldn't help but think how very glad I am for that.  The news being what it is right now, Canada has a 'thing' going on.  We have a 'thing' that I am a much a part of here as if I was there.  In fact, being so far away has had a magnifying effect for me.  I am feeling the global-ness of all that's going on in a way I might not if I was all tucked into my Canadian life, not seeing fish and frogs and bee larva at the market.

Canada doesn't have stranger things (to me) at the market.  But stranger things are certainly happening for us all in my home and native land.  Next time I go grocery shopping, will I feel like what I'm used to?  Not sure.  Will the rest of the year hold strange and unusual challenges?  Yup, I'm thinking pretty much it will.  

But I am confident, as I feel the morning sun becoming warmer on the market street, that all these things - my time here, the challenges of caring for our kids here, the world of weirdness we're watching unfold before our eyes - are not being wasted in terms of advancing the ultimate and lasting peace God's moving us all toward in the end.  

And in the spirit of Micah 4:4, and everyone having their own fig tree and vine to sit under, and no one being afraid, I'll include one last picture.  Of flowers.  

Because, they're right outside my door.  And that seems to mean something for me right now.

The Long Lost Ones

Chenlung 2014

A true part of our experience at New Family Foundation is the children wo do not remain with us through to the end of their high school education.  This is our intention and hope, communicated clearly with living family members when any child is entrusted into our care.  The statistics just bear this out too convincingly; that the cycle of poverty is adversely affected the higher level of education an individual receives.  This is especially true when we are receiving children from remote hill tribe villages where there is no school.

Enter Chenlung as a 7 year old arriving to us without any schooling as of yet.  He begins grade one, already a year behind his age-peers.  But he's small enough that no one really notices.  Not for the first year.  

He does not do well.  His grade one teacher, reportedly somewhat negatively inclined towards children from the hill tribes (it's actually a thing here, this kind of prejudice), says she cannot pass him.  In our Canadian education system, Chenlung would likely have been moved along with his peers and given extra support.  Not here.  So he repeats grade one.  And then, it seems he needs to do it again.

It's the language thing that's hardest for him.  Most if not all our kids come to us not speaking Thai, but their tribal language.  For Chenlung it's Karen.  The Thai reading thing just escapes him.

By the time it is suggested he repeats grade one for the third time, his family is embarrassed.  They'd rather him come home and save face, than shame the family in such a way.

The Thai government gives full say to biological parents for the decisions made on behalf of their children.  (There are good reasons for this in a country with numerous organizations coming in to care for at-risk children, not all of whom have honest intentions.)  Even though we offer to continue with remedial support, Chenlung's family is adamant.  We are so sad to see him go.  I do that awful thing I have to do, my least favourite part of this job, and inform his Sponsors.  Because we encourage that real connections are made, this is very hard to hear.

We lose touch with him.  It's about 50/50 when a child leaves us before ending high school whether or not we'll be able to keep tabs on what's happening.  In this case, we have absolutely no idea.

Fast forward to several months ago when Pastors Suradet and Yupa were up in a remote village attending a funeral.  And who should approach them but a tall and well spoken young man who asked if they remembered him.  Chenlung!

Chenlung 2014

He tells them that when he got back to his village, some friends his own age took it upon themselves to teach him to read in Thai, succeeding where his previous teacher could not.  Through other connections, he was put in touch with a small Bible School in his region, and he is well into his second year of study.  He's not quite sure how God might use him, but he says he wants to be a pastor.

Well, who knew!

Yupa shows me the picture, and I am overwhelmed.  Ten years!  And the story comes around to this.  And we rejoice.  And we marvel at God's careful hand in guiding this eager heart.

It's not always that we see these kinds of results or get this kind of closure for some of our children.  Most of the Sponsors who have had this unfortunate experience never get an email from me with the before and after pictures, story attached.  We just trust.  

There's always hope.  And whatever we can offer a child for however long he or she is with us, we will do it with love and compassion and joy.   

Can't wait to see what God's got in mind for Chenlung!

 

All on a Saturday Morning

It's probably not too far off to suggest that most of us fondly remember our childhood Saturday mornings being all about watching cartoons while eating ridiculously named cereal, and letting our parents sleep in a little.

Fun times.

Here, though, it's not like that.  

First, the sleep in thing is that we begin the day at 6:00 a.m. not 5:30, all adults included.  Chores are next, because it's just so much more pleasant to do them when the air is still cool.  Then breakfast, which will consist of rice and protein and some fruit or vegetable.  Thais don't seem to distinguish between meals as much as I think we do.

Chores may spill a over into the after breakfast morning on a Saturday, because we have to get everything ready for Sunday.  Having church, and the meeting room for church attached to where we live means at least once a week we have everyone over.

But after all that.  When we're done all that, we paint.

Or draw.  Or make cards.  Or string beads.  Or any other creative project we can produce with the wondrous supplies held within the mystical realms of the grey bins that live under the table in the guest house.

At the beginning, I tried to convince Yupa to keep these in a more available space so that the children can have at them whenever they like.  But she insisted they stay safe between visits, and I now understand why.  It's a bit of a crazy creative chaos deal.  Especially when you think they won't remember, oh let's say, all the beads we have in stock, so you don't put that out, but Lukmee, who's not shy about these things, politely but persistently points with her mouth to that particular bin.  

So I relent, and together we dig out those particular containers from their ever-so-neatly stored spaces, and add them to the mess.

Chaotic, but not noisy.  There's ten of them gathered around the tables and sprawled on the floor.  They are all quite focused, quite used to having to wait their turn for one of the five pair of scissors, easily moving between each other to reach for something they need.  Still, repeated snipping leaves snippets, and experimental use of paint leaves globs.  Da has even discovered the pleasing results of splaying small portions of white paint over a final project for a snow effect.  And the beads, well, they spill a lot.  Clean up will be tedious, to say the least.

Da's painting.  Snow effect is rather lost in the picture, and against white background.

Here she has recreated the art project Abby introduced when she was here last July.

I don't mind.  No one is on a device.  We don't have them here.  Everyone is focused on self expression.  They are thinking of their Sponsors, creating gifts for them for me to bring back in the large manilla envelopes with their names on them.  Beautiful, true masterpieces of childish love.  Offered as exactly what they wanted to do with their Saturday morning.  

I move among them quietly.  Cutting lengths of thread for beading.  Refilling paint cups.  Finding more paper.  Finding the glue stick.  Helping to spell out a word for writing or beading.   Receiving the finished works and gushing over them, telling them how much their Sponsor, by name, will love it.  And in the midst of it, I realize there's really no other way I'd like to spend a Saturday morning either.

At the end of the morning the paint all washes off easily.  With only the slightest of suggestion, they all pitch in to clean things up.  Even all the beads.

We operate on a shoe string budget around here.  You might think we're poor, except...for Saturday mornings.  You can't buy what happened here in the main room of the guest how this morning.  

Not for all the money in the world.

And yet....Saturdays aren't even my favourite of all the week.

Tomorrow's Sunday!!!!!!!!!!