Bibles and Broccoli Stems and Bai Teos.

One of my first mentors in cross cultural ministry told me that just like I'll always speak Thai with an accent, I will also 'do culture' with an accent. I am finding this to be true.

And one of the more 'accented' bits is the difference between the perspectives of privilege and poverty.

A trip to Niagara Falls can really bring this forward.

In Thai 'bai teo' means 'out for fun,' or more simply, 'an outing'. Saturday was that for a group of us from Highview, and we had a great day. Ken and I were responsible for the cost for eight of us (ourselves, our guests, and three of our grandchildren), which we'd budgeted for, of course. But it's no surprise that this adds up.

Suradet often asks how much something costs. This is not impolite, just a matter of curiosity and comparison, and trying to understand Canadian economics. And inevitably, when told, his response is one of shock.

The shock is more than just that between the value of the Canadian dollar and the Thai baht. Much more.

Anyone who was with us on October 15 for Suradet's sermon knows that, when he was a child, one can of tuna was the entire portion of protein for a family of six for the entire day. And not every day did they have that luxury.

When I was a child, my parents brought me to Niagara Falls. Often.

New topic, same point. Broccoli stems.

Usually Ken and I eat them. Peel off the outer layer, then chop into cubes and throw them in with the tree tops. But on the day we had the reception for Sponsors and Supporters, there was so much going on in the kitchen, that in preparing the veggie tray, I just threw the stems into the compost.

Yupa fished them out. She very respectfully explained that you can eat these too, then wrapped them up and put them back in the fridge for later.

Like my Thai Bible.

A few years back, when my Thai/English Bible was falling apart, I asked if we could visit the Christian Bookstore in Chiang Mai so I could buy a new one. Yupa had another idea and brought out some duct tape, which she very artistically used to put my Bible back together again.

She, too, was raised in a very different environment than me.

And I am brought to that humble place again.
I don't like it.
Being reminded simply by example and contrast, how very privileged my life has been and how this permeates everything, hurts my heart.
But I'm glad for it.

Back to the day trip to Niagara Falls. When we talked about it afterwards, after they had stopped trying to add up how much the day has cost, I asked them.

"In 16 years of caring for the children, and all the personal sacrifices you have made, how many times have you had a holiday?"

Reluctant nods of, 'oh okay, we get it, sort of.' Because they never do, not really.

I have no problem budgeting for a one day outing to one of the seven wonders of the world to bless these incredible heroes of faith and tenacity and compassion. And to include my grandchildren and other friends in the experience of making memories together with them. No problem at all.

But I am also deeply grateful for the ways our connection presses me into places of my soul that need some attention. For how it makes me think twice about spending money on something I could do without. How it makes me realize just how much God has given me, and how much He wants to make sure hungry children have food, and what that has to do very directly with me.

It Goes Both Ways (And So Do We)

Yupa, Bell, Suradet

The great anticipation is almost over.  

Soon, God-willing, they'll be here.

It doesn't happen very often, Suradet, Yupa and Bell coming this way.  Mostly it's us heading there.  Seems to be our first default when we think of partnerships in far away places.  We are the ones that 'go'.  

And yes, in November a Team from Highview will do exactly that.  To visit and encourage and help with English learning and go out and have some fun with the kids.  We'll take a few out trips as well, just to get a better feel for the culture.  And we'll share with each other what we've learned about following Jesus and how God's Word speaks into our Thai lives.  That's what a short-term missions trip in the context of a long-term relationship looks like.

And when that's a true partnership, and when in reality so many on this side of the planet might never get to the other, it's also a deeply good thing to bring them here.  To visit and encourage and meet the Sponsors, and help us with our understanding of what it means to be raising a family of 22.  We'll do a few out trips as well, because Niagara Falls is actually one of the seven wonders of the world.  And we'll share with each other what we've learned about following Jesus and how God's Word speak into our Canadian lives.  And they will teach us so much about living by faith.  

Over the past 15 years as we have been walking this adventure together, the development of a true reciprocity has become a hallmark of this partnership.  We have so much to learn from and give to each other.  

Anticipated arrival is October 7.  That's this Saturday!!

And then the next weekend, that's when a lot happens.

Saturday, October 14 is our night of music and market and dessert at Highview (295 Highview Drive, Kitchener ON N2N 2K7) from 7 to 9 p.m.  "A New Home for Our New Family" where they will tell us first hand what's happening on the property in preparation for the next steps in development.

Sunday, October 15 is when Suradet will tell his own story of childhood poverty in a Sunday service dedicated to highlighting the work of New Family Foundation.  "One Can of Tuna" is the title of his sermon.  And we'll hear from Yupa as well.  All this also at Highview of course.

Anyone who's met them feels it.  

Their lives are inspiring.  

Their faith is powerful.  

Can't wait to share that with everyone again.

“The mission of New Family Foundation is to provide a loving home 

for at-risk and orphaned children in in Northern Thailand 

to help them achieve their best potential in education, 

vocation and service to society.”

 

Plans and Plans and God's Good Grace

 

And we're off!

Not getting on the plane yet....just catching that wave now of planning, planning, planning.

After the 'travel drought' brought on by the pandemic, it does indeed feel rather 'abundant' for me to have three trips in the works.  Yes, three.  As Missionary in Residence I most certainly have my work cut out for me!

July 

Ken and I will celebrate 45 years of partnership on August 19.  This trip will just be the two of us, and will mark a stage in our lives together that very much centres around all that is the goodness of our Thai family.  We are doubly blessed.  Our "DNA" family is close at hand, and we enjoy the happy presence of all five of our grandchildren in our lives on a regular basis.  The Thai part of our family is quite literally as far away as possible, making our visits with them that much more cherished.  Especially for Ken who normally cares for things at home while I'm gone.  Even though this trip will just involve two people, Ken and myself, there's still a lot to get ready for in terms of sermons, Bible Lessons, ESL and gathering up the packets from Sponsors.  

October

Suradet, Yupa and Bell will come this way.  We are inching closer to purchasing the tickets.  That's when any trip feels 'confirmed' to me, so I'm hoping that can happen in the next week or so.  Meanwhile, plans for their time here are shaping up.  It will include a fun night of music and dessert with a mini 'Thai market' all towards raising funds for New Family Foundation.  Yes, lots of plans underway for this as well.  (And if you'd be interested in contributing to the cost of their ride here, your donation would be most appreciated.  Email me at rabreithaupt@hcckw.ca.

November

Had a first meeting last night with potential Team Members for a trip to Hot Springs in November.  Oh the logistics of gathering seven for such an undertaking.  LOVED the energy and curiosity of everyone at the meeting, and the excitement of those who've been before.  Again, plans are coming together.

For how far out all that sounds, I am reminded again of our dependence on God's loving direction in all our planning. 

"In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps."  Proverbs 16:9

And that's exactly how we prayed last night, and how we're approaching all of these trips.  With diligence and surrender both.

Looking forward to reporting on all of these adventures.  

Grateful for all of you who 'go with' me, even when your stay put.

When You Can See It and (Honestly) When You Can't

 In 2008 we were timidly getting to know each other.  They were just children, at-risk but now gathered under the roof of a ridiculously compassionate couple who had suffered poverty themselves as children; people I was also just getting to know.

And now.

Miki is married.

Entorn is married.

Both stepping into this next responsibility of adult life with hope and optimism that comes from having been well fed, well loved and well educated in the context of a stable, grace-filled family.  A solid platform on which they can each build their own families now.

Gotta love it when this happens!!!  And we celebrate and congratulate and praise the God of sparrow-focused compassion Who gifted us with their care when they were so vulnerable.  

"These are my children.  Do something!"  I heard it as clearly as we ever hear these things we claim God spoke to us.  "Feed my sheep."  That's how Suradet says he heard it.  

So we did.

And on wedding days full of joy and flowers and sunshine, it feels so good to have followed those leadings.  It's all worth it when you can see the clear fruit of your investments.

And also.

I won't, but I could list you names of children that left our care prematurely.  We didn't get to see them to that place of strength where you can launch with confidence into a future that isn't determined by poverty.  Children who's living family members don't have the capacity to understand the need for education and take them back to send them to work to make money for the household.  Children who's living family members got too terrified of COVID and were convinced the safest place was to stay isolated in the mountains.  True orphans who's elder siblings made things more complex.  Children who's academic struggles brought their living relatives 'shame', hindering our attempts to find special education opportunities.  I could go on.  Each of these premature goodbyes still stings.  

I have friends who are foster parents in Canada, in a system way more structured and legal than anything we work with in Thailand, who say the same things are in play for them.  We don't call these  children 'vulnerable' for nothing.  Life everywhere, life there, is so complex.  And generational poverty does its damnedest (bad word intended).  We make agreements with living family members, but we do not override the authority of blood relatives.  We are in no way like a 'residential school.'  

So we do what we can do.

And sometimes they grow up and leave to go to university or solid jobs, and keep coming 'home' for holidays and family meals, and find life partners and marry them, and we are so happy and quick to say "yay God" for this!!!  And we should.

But my heart is often drawn back to the other ones.  I still pray for them by name.

Love like you won't get hurt, but you do.

And I write these things today because you really can't have one and ignore the other.  Because it's really a thing to be authentic and tell both kinds of stories.  Because we are entrusted with so much, and absolutely must be honest about it all.  To our supporters.  To ourselves.  

And a huge, huge thank you to Sponsors and Supporters who get it, who stick with us when it's complicated.  Without you, we couldn't be there for any of them.  

Touch Points and Tech: A Mini Report on Highview's Thailand Sunday January 22

 

One of the most challenging learnings for me as a shepherd-leader during the pandemic has been how to counter the necessity to employ "high-tech" methods with the need to remain "high-touch" shepherds.(1)  During the height of the lockdowns this was especially difficult.  As we all navigated our way through online services, taped messages, and virtual meetings, there were times when it all felt so distanced, so impersonal, so sterile.  As one frustrated person said to me, "It feels like church is being 'done to' me."

The lack of warmth from in-person, high-touch interactions was made even more chilly for us at New Family Foundation when it meant we couldn't travel.  A normal touch point year would include three visits.  For almost three years, nothing.

Well, not quite.  

They say that passion-driven learning is best, and I would add maybe even the only way some things can be mastered.  Zoom for instance.  The fact that I now have a Zoom account AND that I actually know how to use it (for the most part anyway) is only because it was intolerable for my heart not to connect, face and voice, with Suradet and Yupa and the children during the travel restrictions.

All this to say that on Sunday we invited Pastors Suradet and Yupa to bring to us a message (via recorded Zoom interview) of resilience and hope based on Isaiah 35:1-10 and the truths it holds that are lived out so vibrantly in their lives.

Strengthen feeble hands, steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts, "Be strong; do not fear: your God will come."  Isaiah 35:3-4a

And this profound picture of joy later in the same chapter.

Therefore the redeemed of the LORD will return and enter Zion (God's ultimate city of peace) with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads.  Gladness and joy will overtake them and sorrow and sighing will flee away.  Isaiah 35:10

I will invite you to remember that these are people who have experienced life in harsher ways than many of us in other parts of the world can properly appreciate.  And here they are, inspiring us.  

Via Zoom, no less!

Sunday was for me a high-touch moment, even though it involved so much high-tech.  For all the behind the scenes support, I absolutely must thank my good friend Dave Driver, whose own passion for Thailand and his heart for our children kept him hunched over his computer for several weeks working on the tedious subtitling/translations.  Thank you!

And also a big thanks to Derek Goupil, Highview's Music Director, who can lead our worship teams to make any request for any particular song not only sound fantastic, but be part of what brings us into those spaces where we can imagine for ourselves what it will be like to be part of that throng going through the city gates one day.

It would be important to also mention our gratitude to Pastor Erin and the Elders of Highview for their continued support of all we do, as the leaders of New Family Foundation's 'umbrella' church.

And of course.  Always.  To all our Sponsors and Supporters.  There is no possible way to bring enough gratitude, in any way it might be communicated, to adequately express how much we see you as our heroes.   Thank you, thank you, thank you.  And may God bless you in accordance to the measure that you have blessed us.

And if you ever want to 'touch base' with me about anything at all to do with our incredible family in Thailand, please reach out (via tech) at rabreithaupt@hcckw.ca.

(1)  This was just one of three counterpoints in my thesis for a directed reading and research academic study of preaching for spiritual formation during disorienting times, undertaken in the winter of 2021.  Fascinating opportunity and I learned so much!!!

Cascades of Shalom

The exact date of this photo escapes me.  It was taken on a trip to Thailand fairly early in our partnership with Suradet and Yupa.  We went on an outing, escaping the oppressive humidity, driving up in the mountains a little bit, where this gently cascading waterfall provided no end of refreshing fun.  

I remember the children's uninhibited laughter; their squeals and happy shouts, playing in the rushing water with the forest leaning in, all green and misty and lush.  

I had a profound moment in the midst of that.  Sitting there (I'm kind of off to the right under a tree branch with a pinkish shirt on), letting the cool water and the children's joy wash over me, there was an undeniable, breath-snatching sense of God's presence, and His voice, bell-clear, saying:

"This!"

Because laughter and joy and wild-abandon fun is NOT where these kids came from.  It was NOT where they were headed either, had they not found their way into the nourishing care of this unique and incredible family.  And somehow, some-unbelievable-totally-unlikely-but-it-happened-anyway-how, I get to be part of it.

"This!"  

"Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?  When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"  The King will reply, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."   Matthew 25:37-40

"This!"

"And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed....You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail."  Isaiah 58:10-11

 "This!"

"In the last days....(God's end game for humanity)...Everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid."  Micah 4:4

"This!"

Yes, this!

And the cascades of shalom, of God's ultimate love-driven destination of peace, keep tumbling over our children, over their hearts, over their lives, over their futures.  And it all spills back to us.

I leave in less than two weeks (October 31), so the countdown is really on now.

Sponsors' packets are all in, bulging pouches of this exact kind of least-of-these-shalom, ready for opening on the first day I arrive.  And it all tumbles down and around and waters this garden of peace.

Thank you for joining this piece of the mission of God!

May everyone who's given any part of themselves towards this cascade be washed over with blessing and strength and joy, and exactly the kind of peace you need right now.

A Word from Micah and The Double "Hoo Boy!" of Having My Tickets

A tiny delicate flower (not a fig) that grows on the property we hope to develop as a future home of peace for our children.

I have my tickets!

The exclamation mark at the end of this sentence expresses two ways one can say "hoo boy!"

Hoo Boy! 

Yay and hooray, it's finally happening!

After almost two years and nine months away (February 2020 to November 2022), this feels like an unbearable longing fulfilled.  

My heart lives on both sides of the world.  This is a painful kind of love, as anyone who has been distanced from beloveds knows.  Between our two churches, between Sponsors and children, between Suradet and Yupa and myself....our is a very relational kind of connection.  And the on-the-ground feature of my role, three times a year for a month at a time, has become an essential component in the partnership and reciprocity that has been so carefully cultivated over the past fourteen years.  

Of course, the dangers and anxieties related to the reason for being away, that being of course a global pandemic, only add to the sense of distress at being separated.  

So, to now have my tickets for a visit scheduled from October 31 to November 22 feels like something incredible.  And something solid, hopeful to hold on to, to work toward, to hang on for, in the easing of my longing to simply be with them.

Hoo Boy! 

Yikes!  COVID is still circulating around the globe.  Travel news reports much chaos at airports.  The politics of that part of the world are also making news, and I am paying extra attention to that, given my transfer point is Taipei, Taiwan. Yeah, I know.  Besides all that, I hope I still have my travel 'stamina'.  The flights are long and demanding.  Hope I'm up to the demands.   

Hoo Boy!!!

It's okay.

I find these "hoo boy!" exclamation marks force better thinking about who I am and why I do what I do.  More to the point, I find I am reflecting about the whole 'mission of God' thing at perhaps deeper levels.

The Mission of God.  Missio Dei.

Lest that sound too lofty, it's not really.  It's something God has been quite up front about since He started to guide the process by which His heart (His Words) would be written down.  It's everywhere in the Bible.  But for a long lately I've been lingering in Micah, and especially chapter 4.

Emphasizing His passion for equity, and all peoples having what they need, He paints a picture through the prophet of what it will look like when His mission is fulfilled.

"Everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree; and no one will make them afraid."  Micah 4:4

Invoking the symbols of agricultural security, Micah describes a scenario where everyone has exactly what they need for safety, health and well being, in the most spiritually riches of ways.  And not being afraid....that's everyone living in peace.

I think of our kids.  How well fed and nourished and supported and protected they are.....now.  

So, okay.  Yes!

This is something I can 'hoo boy!' about!! This is worth moving out of my COVID and politically-safe comfort zone for!  Something this important, this deeply true, is worth taking some risks.  

So.  Okay!  HOO BOY!

The day of my departure is technically Sunday, October 30, since the flight is technically scheduled for 1 a.m. October 31st.  On that Sunday at Highview, I have been invited to reflect even more on what God's been doing with our Thai family, and give something of a pre-trip report.

It's a way off, but for now, what I think is formulating for that report is this:  "A three-year absence from being on site at Hot Springs has re-emphasized important understandings about the mission of God.

One, God's mission is not bound by time.

Two, God's mission cannot be thwarted.

Three, God's mission requires I give myself fully.

So much more to unpack on this, and between now and then, who knows what else may surface?  For now I am happy, excited to be sitting in between the exclamation marks of this next journey with God to the other side of the world.

Mountain Carols

 

It happened again on Sunday.  This time it was the second line of  the first verse of the traditional French Carol we know in English as "Angels We Have Heart On High" (1862, unknown composer).

"And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strain."

I have a different relationship with mountains, now that I've spent time in Thailand.  More respect.  More affection.  Like for folks who grow up by the sea, or on the prairies, or in any distinctive geological place, the terrain and ruggedness and unique and often misty beauty of the rising hilltops holds its own sense of wonder and security for me.  Even though I did not grow up there, my heart has found another home.

If you get the chance, like I have, to visit a mountain village, the vistas become fascinating, contrasted with the layers and shadows and depths of it all receding into the, unbelievable, far-as-the-eye-can-see distance.  

Closer to the city, if you stand in the middle of the property that houses our family at Hot Springs, you'll still see sheer hills all around.  We're nestled in.  Surrounded.

It's an image of the protection and presence of God the psalmist uses in Psalm 125:1.

"Those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever.  As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the LORD surrounds his people both now and forever more."

I needed that on Sunday.  Even more today.  Another COVID Christmas doesn't register well at all, and as I write, dire predictions are again the steady diet of our newscasts.  

The mountains, however, echo back joy at the angels' announcement.  Peace on earth!  Yes, this pandemic-ravaged earth!  Because this crazy, insidious disease is exactly why He had to come.  Because sickness and dying and death and fear and confusion and despair and separation and disorientation and everything dark had to be dealt with.  So He did.  In the most astonishing of ways.

He came.

The LORD of the mountains came.  And that's why they were singing with the angels, echoing that joy.

This is why we do what we do with our beautiful, precious mountain kids.  This is their home.  This is their hope.  I miss their voices singing, so much.  

Can almost hear them echoing with the angels and the mountains.  

Where You Stay, I'll Stay

 "Paul and his companions traveled throughout the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been prevented by the Holy Spirit from preaching the word in the province of Asia." (emphasis added)  Acts 16:6

I'll get back to this.

The little white salt shaker on my mantle is lonely for it's little red partner, the one that fits so well that, when you bring them together, they hug.  White for Canadian snow; red for Thai earth.  

I bought the first pair at a market in Chiang Mai, back in the day when language was still choppy and matters of the heart near impossible to articulate.  The idea was and is that the white one comes home with me and the red one stays with them.  And when we are together, they come together in this symbol of something just not being 'complete' when we're not.

We can speak each other's tongue easier now.  But this still says more than any words, Thai or English, could possibly describe.

It's already been almost two years since I was there.  And any thoughts of making the trip this January have been squashed by new news of even more deadly variants, and the absence of connecting flights between here and there until at least April 2022.

I'll be raw here and just say this hurts like hell.  And not to offend, but if hell represents everything that God isn't, that good isn't, that the way it should be isn't, then it's the right word.

It's an odd place to be when you're wired for 'go'.  To 'stay' instead - by what I truly believe is my best understanding of the wisdom and guidance of the Holy Spirit right now - is not sitting well.  To have the 'right thing' feel so 'wrong'...it has a degree of what I'm okay to call suffering.  

Surrender and surrender and palms turned upward to help my heart make it so.  As the song says, "Where You go, I'll go.  Where You stay, I'll stay." **

And this wonderful humility to realize that God is at work in all the weird and wild ways of it either way.  When I go, when I stay, He's just always 'there'.

Miki helps remind me.  She's one of our graduates who is now involved in an innovating, gentle and respectful mission in Bangkok where a church community has been intentionally built around a coffee shop

35 Church Home Cafe is worth a curious look.  I love this concept.  I love that she's serving like this.  I love that she's surrounded by such an intelligent, faith-oriented community.  Ironically, Miki had to 'go' all the way down to Bangkok, a move that took her away from much that is familiar in the north where, to be honest, a lot of Thais are flocking to, to be away from some of the unrest and unpleasantness in the south.  

Paul couldn't always go or be where he wanted to go or be either.  And not to make a lot of it, but it's of particular interest to me that at least on one occasion, it was to Asia that he was blocked from going.  He writes so much in his letters of the anguish of not being with people he loves.  

Yup, Paul, I get that now.

** I Will Follow by Chris Tomlin

Collusions and Collisions of the Remarkable Kind

Ken and Bill "After All These Years"

With the fog of jet lag and general recovery from the trip, it's always a trick to figure out what day it is in the first week here.  Tuesday?  Yes, I think so. 

It's been a big day, too.  Our long time friends, Bill and Celine Hamade have been on their own wild adventure through Asia, and we made it happen that a stop over in Thailand would overlap Ken's time here this month.  And we're making the best of it by taking some out trips.  Today we stopped in for the Elephant Show at the Measa Camp, and then went on up the mountain to a spectacular garden with a worth-the-crazy-drive view.  Between the two, we ate lunch by a small cascading river, on a bamboo platform with a very low table; very Thai style.

Ken mentioned how 'worlds colliding' it is to be all the way here in Thailand with Bill.  These two guys have been friends since kindergarten.  Not kidding.  (That's 57 years...do the math!)  Lots of times at school, in each other's homes, at the cottage.....but a first for Thailand.

Both Bill and Celine have been incredibly supportive of the work being done with the children here at Hot Springs, sponsoring a child, and Bill having visited once before in January 2018.  That they would make a point of staying here with us these days means so much.  Their generosity and humour encourage Suradet and Yupa in ways hard to explain.

Catching the rainbow after a spray

While the purpose of this posting today is mostly just to share with you some shots of our first few days (and also to shameless show off some of the shots I was able to get with my new-to-me camera), it's also been a moment to once again marvel at the 'long story' of God who writes fascinating chapters into our lives.  No way these two guys, first hanging out at the sand station and having recess snacks together, could ever have imagined a life time of friendship that would have them hanging out with the elephants and enjoying Thai shrimp all these years later.

It's so cool when Sponsors get to visit, always.  This one just has that extra level of goodness to it.

Girls choosing their books

Celine is a natural.

A picture can't possibly...

So many flowers!

A quick run around the hoped-for property before the storm hits.

The M Word and Things Not Mattering Anymore

The moment when it doesn't matter any more, I am jumping.

For probably 25 years this one praise song has had me bounding three times right, three times left, lifting hands higher than the sky, and dropping down deeper than the sea.  I've declared God's everlasting love like this with countless kids, back at my home church in Kitchener, up at our cottage church in Cognashene, in Thailand and Cambodia that first trip 11 years ago, at Day Camps over the years both sides of the planet, and now here at Hot Springs for, oh I don't know how long.  It's an exuberant explosion of music and joy and, based on the repeated requests from the kids, it never gets old.

I do.  And I feel it when the song is done, I'll just be honest and - heaving breath - say so.  But.  So. Much.  Energy fills the room!  Every time!  It's as if we just get lost in the joyful mystery of His everlasting love.   Every time.  And it's happy and wonderful and good and fun and beautiful and ridiculously satisfying.

And I am jumping three times right and three times left when suddenly it doesn't matter any more.

So now I have to get all transparent and admit that no small amount of my challenge in this past year has been adjusting to a perceived 'loss' of status.   Yes.  That.

Everyone totally knows that it's not in the best interest of our overall mental health if we identify too closely with the work we do and any titles or status that comes with.  And we might all just shrug it off as not being a thing, not affecting us, as long as we're doing our work and - let's face it - enjoying the titles or status that come with.  But when that work is gone and the titles are gone and the status is gone, it kinda turns out that it mattered after all.  It's not supposed to.  But it kinda does. 

It's not like being Pastor has such a huge standing in the general world anyways.  That part I got used to long ago.  But at least it seemed to help in my ministry world.  And even somewhat cynical extended family members seemed to allow me a tad more respect when I was ordained and actually received the title Reverend.  (A credential I still hold but rarely use, but feel necessary to mention here only because you knowing that still matters somehow -- even when it shouldn't.)

When I came back from my initial time away, I noticed something had changed.  It became obvious that much of what I had previously taken for granted in terms of a general respect and regard was attached to the role, not the person.  Not with my closest friends, of course.  And I was amply loved through the entire process, without question.  But in terms of some of the subtle ways these things are played out, it was clear.  I just wasn't as important now.  Being a missionary didn't have the same clout, clearly.

I was even told I might not want to call myself that, because....well there's lots of negative stuff around the title.   There was that weird guy last November who got shot by arrows, remember?

Except around here, no one calls me Pastor anymore, so what am I left with?

And it's not supposed to matter but....it does.

Until it doesn't.  Because....jumping.

And it's the middle of the song when I am overwhelmed by a Presence of shalom in the most unexpected and breath-snatching of ways.  And I realize that this - what I'm doing right now - is exactly what I want to be doing - right now - in this moment of it not mattering.  Because you can call me anything you like or nothing at all if this is where I get to be.  Here right now in the circle of treasures of immeasurable value that poverty said should not be here.  But they are here, thriving and shining, and in the throes of joyful worship, no less.

And somehow, by some appointment not orchestrated by me, I have been invited into the best of the best.  So it doesn't matter.  Call me what you want.  Or nothing at all.

Just let me jump with the kids.

A Very Special Thank You

As I post this blog, Highview is in the happy throes of our annual Haiti Dinner and Silent Auction.  This has been an 11 year effort, raising funds for badly needed building projects to support the amazing people of Haiti and our partners there.  I find it ironic that there is something of a bookend thing happening here.   I was not at the very first Haiti Dinner because I was here, in Thailand, leading that now historic first trip to Southeast Asia.  

It is hard to express how overwhelming it is to watch God do this kind of stuff!!!!!!!
Oh the richness of what has happened in hearts at Highview, at Hot Springs and in Haiti over this past decade.  I can hardly wait to see what He's going to do next!

______________


We marked an important moment at Hot Springs today.  All the official documents and releases have now been signed, transferring the care of the children here from our previous umbrella agency,  Asia’s Hope, to the newly formed New Family Foundation.

This is the result of a long and careful process that included a sincere desire to end our time with Asia’s Hope well.  That could not happen without a proper acknowledgement of the support and care we have been provided over the past ten years, and all that we have learned from Thailand’s National Director, Tutu.

I could write pages about the work and legacy of this woman.  She has literally helped to change the lives of thousands of children in locations all around this country, in various circumstances and through different, creative means.  She’s been dubbed the “Mother Teresa” of Thailand, and it fits her well.

She was the one who connected Hot Springs with Asia’s Hope, and with then Highview in the first place some 11 years ago.  So we wanted to say thank you in the best of ways possible.

We’ve been planning since I arrived (and before), but today was the flurry of activity to make sure all the details were in place.  Flowers and fronds and magnificent archways decorated the church sanctuary.  More flowers were gathered into bouquets for presentation later on.   Food was specially purchased and prepared. 

Tutu, her son David and his wife, and a friend from France, were our honoured guests who arrived around 4:30 p.m. and we enjoyed an early supper together.   We then moved over to the church for our time of thanks.

Songs and thank yous and presentations.

 

For my own tribute, I could not think of a better way to acknowledge this remarkable woman than by recounting something that happened the first time I came to Thailand.

I struggled a lot that first trip.   The heat, the jet lag, the lack of control over when things happened, the crazy way all I thought I was ‘bringing’ to these people ended up in a heap of debilitating culture shock and slippery ego.  The day we went up to Wang Pa Pao to set up a clinic for the villagers there, I was still licking my wounds from the fiasco that was our supposedly sensational children’s program that had bombed the night before. 

I wasn’t expecting to take blood pressures.  I was a pastor and a leader and a preacher, not a nurse.  I felt useless in my areas of competence already.  And now they wanted me to pretend to be a medic?  My comfort zone was way back there somewhere, and as simple as it sounds to me now, at that moment I felt pushed to my limits.

But after the first few attempts, and once I got the hang of what I was doing, the afternoon settled into a gentler rhythm of greeting each person with a wai and a smile, wrapping the cuff around a thin brown arm, writing down the numbers and sending each person to the next line for treatment.   My heart began to settle somewhat into the physicality of it all.  These beautiful strangers and I were, for a brief moment, connected by touch and proximity.  Their blood coursed past the stethoscope and their heartbeat  echoed in my ears.

But it was Tutu that truly anchored me that afternoon. 

At one point she came to just sit with me as I took the blood pressures.   Quietly, unassumingly, as is her entire life and demeanour.    And at one point she said to me simply, “Thank you for loving my people.”

Oh.  Yes.  That.

I cannot tell you how much I needed to be reminded in that moment that love was the most important thing.  That love does not need language.  Love does not need to know everything about culture.  Love does not need to have a fancy program that goes well.  It doesn’t even need to be particularly competent in the ways I like to be competent.  Love is just sitting quietly all afternoon with beautiful people and showing them that you care.

This I learned from Tutu that long and gentle afternoon.

We move into a new era now.  But we do not forget what we have learned from astonishing people along the way.  How grateful I am to have been taught by such a woman, from the depths of her spiritual wealth.

So many pictures and hugs later, our time together was over and Tutu and our guest left.  Because it was still so early, the children asked if please could we still have our normal time of worship together.  So that’s what we did.  And with the last 30 minutes of the day we celebrated again with an impromptu dance party. 

We kind of couldn’t help it.

It had been that kind of amazing day.   

Scorpion on the Threshold

It's the first night of our visit last November.

I've just settled Evangeline into her guest house next door, making sure that, as a first time visitor, for her first ever night in Thailand, she has everything she needs.   Now I'm back in my own room trying to think.

It's always a tricky bit of time, this arrival-and-straight-to-bed-thing.  It's approximately 30 hours door to door; 30 hours since we left our own beds; 30 hours since we had a place to stretch right out and lay down.  Jet lag is definitely in play and for us it's really only lunch time.  But the fatigue and general sense of disorientation makes it hard to unpack the barest of things we'll need for the morning, before collapsing into a desperately needed sleep.

Maybe that's why I don't see it on my way out to put something in the garbage can on the porch.

With bare feet - of course, it's Thailand - I open my door to the warm night outside to get rid of the plastic wrap around the toilet paper.  I do have a garbage indoors, but it's small and I'd rather not fill it up with this one thing.

Only on the way back do I see a mostly-legs, small-plum-sized spider poised smack in the middle of the threshold I had just crossed.  In bare feet.  At least I think it's a spider.  And I think it's alive.  Not really sure because it's not moving, and it's a little dark in the doorway.  Never mind.  It's big enough that I'd rather be certain of its demise before I climb into bed.

No one else is around.  Suradet and Yupa have gone back to Hot Springs.  And I'm certainly not calling them back to squish a spider, even the size that it is.  I do not see any tell-tale bright colours to warn me that it's particularly poisonous.  So I take my flip flop and smack it dead.

It takes two smacks.

And then.

It's not squished down as a spider.  In its eviscerated state, it's all spread out and elongated and not a spider at all.

It's a scorpion.

I've seen four scorpions, total, in all my visits to Thailand.  One in the shower just as I was finishing.  One running out from between my feet as I sat on the bench under the dining shelter.  One very large and very dead, being devoured by about 7 million fire ants.  And this one.

So, yeah.  There are scorpions here.  Not an every day occurrence, but still.  And this one.  This one I should have stepped on.  In my bare feet.

The reason I thought it was a spider was because it was actually curled up over itself in striking pose.  Clearly I had come close.  Did I mention I was in bare feet?

A deep breath-sigh escapes from me involuntarily.  I pause for some somber reflection.  And then a thank You.  Again, thank You.

I mention to God that this was a rather disconcerting thing to happen on the very first night, flick away the remains of my close encounter using my flip flop, roll up a towel under the door, and go to bed.

There's a song we sing at Highview by the Robbie Seay Band.  It's titled "Rise" and it's a call to give ourselves away for love.  The song itself is full of contrasts, starting with an invitation to just be in the moment, be still, be here, be now.  But it builds to this reckless declaration that takes the worshiper to a defiant statement of truth for anyone who dares to give themselves away like this.

"We're not safe!  We're not safe!  But we will rise!"

Before the scorpion on my threshold, almost a year before, for some insane reason, I chose Perpetua as the subject of a research assignment in my History of Christianity course.  It was insane because Perpetua was a martyr, a nursing mother who chose to be gored and torn to pieces by a mad bull rather than disown her Jesus.

Researching martyrs is a grim business.  When I was finished the assignment I knew I was done with the subject for some time.  Let's talk about the something happier pa-lease!  But I also took away a new respect for the fact that those who first called themselves Christians did so in the face of certain persecution, the likes of which make a scorpion encounter just an interesting story.

Even so, we all face the dangers, those determined enough to follow wherever God would lead us.  Whether to a far away place with dangerous vermin, or into virus-infected epidemic zones, or the classroom of  a violence-prone school, or a group therapy gathering of sexual offenders, or the bedside of a dying friend, or behind the pulpit of a trusting congregation, or into the lives of teenagers with chaotic homes, or alongside the darkness of depression, or around the table of hostile family, or within the circle of warriors brave enough to pray against the enemy.

We subject our bare feet and bare hearts to no end of harm.

We do.  Or else we just stay home.

We're not safe.  Safety is an illusion.  That is, if we're willing to rise and give ourselves away in any capacity whatsoever.

I head back to the scarce-but-still-there scorpions on February 6th.  But I also head back to 26 incredible children and their heroic parents and caregivers, to rise with them and give and receive the love that makes it all make sense.

Of course I'll be careful.  I'll make sure all my vaccinations are up to date, take my Dukoral, travel with my ID and wallet close to my body.  When I get there I will wear copious amounts of insect repellent, put on my seat belt, only drink bottled water, keep my eyes out for the vermin, and listen to the cautions of Yupa when she tells me the coffee is dangerous (that's another, lighter-side story though).

But climbing into bed that night that the scorpion was on my threshold, I knew again without question, safe or not, this is what God has called me to do for this time of my life.

I don't think that I'm particularly brave.  I just know there's no other place I'd rather be than where God has compelled me to go.

The Long Green Snake of Deliberate Knowing

A cobra is about as knowing as they come.

The one in question shows up one afternoon about mid way through my three month stay that fall of 2015.  I've only done it once, stay three months like that.  It was a special investment that not only helped  with the completion of two credits towards my academic goals, but also offered a richness of incarnational knowing beyond any expectation. And that's what this whole thing is all about.

Except, I really could have done without the snake.

That first time we see it, it skulks its way behind the dining shelter's half wall at the back near the kitchen, surprising Pi Dao (our cook and nanny at the time) who is minding her own business chopping vegetables for supper.  I am a little bit removed, up under the porch by Suradet and Yupa's house, working on a school report.  It's quiet just before, all the children at school, sunny and hot, even in the shade, with a fan taking care of that.  We're out in the country a little bit, and the space and pace of a Thai afternoon is quite agreeable.  Peaceful.  Restorative.

Pi Dao's terrified screams changes everything in an instant.  I stand up, alarmed not just by my understanding of what she's screaming  - "Ngu!  Ngu!"  Snake! Snake! - but by the sheer terror in her voice.   I am told very firmly to keep my distance, which I am more than happy to do.

Thai's don't like snakes, not at all.  Since most of them are poisonous, and well, they're just creepy (sorry to all you reptile lovers out there), it doesn't even take a big one to get a reaction.  But Pi Dao's terror and urgency gives me a hint that this one is probably a respectable size.

There is more screaming, and long sticks are brought out, and there's some fishing around in a nearby bush.  But the thing gets away from us.  I ask how big was it?  Where we might stretch out our arms, Thais indicate by holding their hands in a circle to demonstrate circumference.  About as wide in the middle as a good sized-orange.  O-kay. 

So now I have a riddle.  What's worse that sighting a cobra on your property?
Losing sight of the cobra on your property.

He lurks around like that, unseen, for two weeks.

I had never thought of what it means to snake-proof a room before, but Suradet reminds the children of all their snake safety that night at evening worship.  All the screens are checked over.  Towels are wrapped up and put at the bottom of the doors.  Everyone is extra cautious for days.  I find myself giving a wider birth to the bushes than I had before.

And then, to be honest, I forgot about it.  I was sure it must have gone on its slithery way by now, back up the steep hill and into the jungley forest.  But again in the afternoon about two weeks later, everyone quietly doing their own thing, soaking in the gentleness of the place, and quite without any invitation or notice, he shows up under the cabinet.

More screaming this time, louder and angrier.  There is now a fierceness in both Yupa and Pi Dao that rivals any she-warrior image one might conjure.  This snake has had it's last day threatening our kids!  I am up with my camera now, quite happy again to keep my distance, but close enough to watch.  Yupa has it pinned against the wall with a long piece of wood, about half way down its length, leaving a vicious top half spitting and hissing and striking.  Pi Dao has another long pole and is taking aim at the gyrating monster's flailing head.  I hear the 'deng, deng, deng' of her attempts against the cement, and then, finally the fatal blow.  Spontaneous cheering!  Danger is done.  The creature is dead.

I am unsure of this, however, as I approach.  The long thin green body still writhes in slow motion, even though I can see the skull is crushed.  Pi Dao smiles at my apprehension, takes her pole one last time and strikes the head again.  There.  See?  Dead.

I take pictures.  When the kids come home they all have a look.  A neighbour drops by later and asks if we're going to eat it, and is offered to take it home himself for supper.

Yes, a cobra is about as knowing as you can get.

My husband Ken asks me why I tell these stories.  "You want people to come, don't you?" he asks.

But that's the thing.  We don't know anything if we don't live it real time with them.  We can't begin to pretend to come alongside in any kind of honest way, any kind of authentic partnership if we have no idea about the cobras.  Until we've felt the fear ourselves, or the heat, or the long discomfort of waiting six hours to see a doctor for less than a minute, or the agony of losing a son because road safety and policies are just that lax.  Unless we know this by living it with them, incarnationally, we don't know anything.

 Not everyone will stay three months.  Likely I won't be able to do that again even in the new reality that will be my more-Thai-connected life very soon.  Three months is a longer time.  Not nearly as long as the years some actual missionaries have invested, for sure. But for most of us, it's more likely to be three weeks.  I'm hoping for two six week stints in a year.  We'll see.

My point is, we need to be there.  Yup, it's expensive.  And yes, there are some risks involved, cobras being only one variety.  But it's real.

And if you can, please come.  We would be so happy, Suradet, Yupa, the kids and I, to have you visit us.  I can't promise any cobras.  But I will predict that it will change you in ways you couldn't imagine....mostly because you just showed up in person.  Which makes all the difference in the world.

To find out about the next two trips being planned contact me at rabreithaupt@hcckw,ca