From Ruth Anne
Circle standing. Feels like a lost art in my life somehow. Just that simple, casual conversation between lots of you, standing there, in a circle.
Happened yesterday between the quick run down the road to book today's elephant ride, and supper. It was a girls' thing this time. Porn, Da, Bao, Wara, Nok Gaew, Nut, Kratae, Bouy and Apple, with Megan and I. Started smaller, but others joined us. Not even sure what we were talking about, and it doesn't even really matter. What stands out was the easy, fun way of being together, laughing, gaining insights into how they think, what's important, what's funny. Just standing, together, in a circle.
We do lots of things in circles here. Morning and evening devotions, various games. (Sometimes it feels like we're running in circles, but that's alleviated by letting go of my linear and very Western mindset.) Circles are interactive. Circles are inclusive, at least they are here. Circles allow for a different kind of 'face time'.
It constantly astounds me that I have been welcomed into the circle of Hot Springs. That I'm there worshiping with them in the mornings, teaching English in the evenings. That I'm standing randomly, casually in a circle with some laughing, happy, crazy girls, feeling loved and very much welcome. It's part of the healing of this place, I think. Many who've come here from Highview have mentioned it to me. There's a deeper connection of souls because of this underlying base of welcome, of being brought into the circle.
I am mindful now of the circles in my life at home. Of allowing others to join. Of not always having to plan them. Of the welcome that each one of us so desperately needs.
It's still cool as I write. Yesterday bumped into the 40's and it's looking like the same thing for today, so we're enjoying it while we can. But.....today Megan and May get to ride the elephant!
--------
From Megan
While Ruth Anne has the eloquent and introspective posts, I tend to lean more toward the simpler side (mainly just because I have very little skill in written eloquence - haha). I think while I'm here, my posts will consist of my gratitude. I still can't believe that I get to be here, let alone this being my fourth trip! I'm thankful for:
1. Elephant rides! You'll hear more about this later, I'm sure, but May and I get to go on an elephant ride this morning (the only two at the orphanage right now who have never ridden one)! We leave in about 10 minutes actually, so my typing has never been so speedy.
2. Cool mornings. Cool is all a matter of perspective, of course, as their mornings tend to only go down to about 23 or 24, but it still feels lovely compared to the heat of the day. Of course the kids are all bundled in their long pants and hoodies in the morning, because I don't think they enjoy it quite as much as I do!
3. Impromptu lessons. Being here is constantly an ongoing English/Thai lesson. I'm learning so many new words, and so are they. We've gotten to the point where we'll have little conversations that are a mash up of English and Thai - and we get it.
4. Bakeries. Most of you will know that I have a thing for baked goods. Both making them and eating them. So when it was suggested that we stop at Ruth Anne's favourite bakery yesterday, who was I to say no (better yet, WHY would I say no)? Let me tell you, it did not disappoint. It could easily rival any Western bakery, and if I'm able, I'll be bringing some interesting but delicious snacks home for people to try! Maybe it'll even inspire my next baking creation.
5. Down time. I'm not a person who usually enjoys a lot of 'down time'. I'm constantly on the go at home, heading from one thing to next - and I like that. I don't know what to do with myself when I sit. But being here is teaching me the art of sitting and enjoying the moment. That a time of making bracelets or sitting in silence just enjoying each others company with shy smiles can be just as lovely as keeping myself on the go. There's a slower pace here, but it's contagious. They live in the moment, and appreciate each one they're given. I like that.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Sunday, March 13, 2016
So Far So Thai
From Ruth Anne
If ministry here is unpredictable at best, this trip has started out to prove that to be exceptionally true. Beginning even before we left, we were informed that the plans for English Camp, laid out last October, had changed due to the schedules at the school where it was to be held. Nothing Suradet could do about it. We just weren't going to be able to do the camp within the two weeks we're here.
Then, in the car on the way in from the airport, Suradet told us that the school had planned an outing to Chiang Mai Zoo as an end of year reward for the students. Our scheduled trip there, and the funds that we had raised for that trip, needed to be redirected. Okay then.
If my times in Thailand have taught me anything, it's how to unplan the plans. English Camp will be all ready for next year. And we're talking about taking the kids instead to Chiang Mai Night Safari, another outing they have never been on and would not be able to afford otherwise. No date set as yet, but we'll keep you posted.
Sunday was the highlight day for me so far. With considerable help from some of the girls and also Yupa, I was able to preach my second sermon in Thai. This is an act of grace on the part of my listeners, who assure me they've understood, but are mostly certainly demonstrating great patience and love in listening to my stumbling efforts to communicate. More importantly, I love Sundays at Hot Springs because of the sweet people that call this their church family, and who have remarkably adopted me into it with them. It was a delight to my Thai-parched soul to embrace and welcome and fawn over the little ladies, and to be ever so formal and yet ever so excited to say hello to some fine and strong gentlemen whom I have also missed.
Megan was all composed and relaxed giving a short 'testimony' about waiting on God's timing, handling the translation component like a pro. Later she was able to minister to one of our older girls in that beautiful big-sister kind of way that is only possible because she's been here before to make that kind of friendship possible.
While the mornings begin cool and fresh, around 23C the days are cooking up to about 36C, making us ever so grateful for the AC at the guest house and the chance every day so far to escape the heat and take the last edges off the jet lag in the afternoons.
For me, coming back after my 3 month day, this feels like home-away-from-home more than ever before. I continue to be amazed by, impressed with and totally crazy about both Suradet and Yupa, and the deeply honest work they do. If ever there was a reflection of Isaiah 58 in action, this is it.
From Megan.
Well, I've certainly missed this place. I'd already known it, but as soon as that first little face peeked around the corner at the airport, it hit me like a ton of bricks. How happy I was to be back. How much I'd been craving to be back.
This is my fourth time going over the course of six years, so I've been able to watch these kids grow up. In fact, most of the ones who were "youngins" my first time around are all now University students, and I'm meeting new little faces.
Some highlights of the trip so far:
- I tried one of their hotter peppers! Try everything once is what I *attempt* to make my motto while here (but I will admit, I draw the line on a few things - living things, for one, and quite a few types of seafood). But let me tell you, that pepper was HOT. There may have been a couple involuntary tears shed, but the actual taste was good. Suradet was both impressed and concerned for my lack of white person common sense.
- The impromptu Thai/English lessons that occur. I've spent several lovely, fresh mornings with some of the girls, teaching them English for fun girly words while they teach me the Thai form (hey, you never know when you'll need to say braid, hair, nail polish, colours, etc).
- Singing karaoke with Miki. Now in University, it's much rarer to see her, and the other University students. But she and Thim came yesterday, and I got to spend some time with my closest Thai friends. Miki LOVES to sing, and while I mostly hide in groups on the rare occasion I do sing in public, I quite enjoy it too. So we sat on that front porch in the heat of the day, and sang for all we were worth to a couple of her favourite bands - One Direction and Justin Bieber.
- Spending time with Thim. This being my fourth time around, (and thanks to Facebook and the fact that Thim is studying to be an English teacher), we've developed a nice relationship, and communication is fairly easy. On Sunday she was going through some heartache, and I was so pleased that the two of us could just sit down and talk it out, like I would with any of my friends back home. The amount of trust that we've built over the last few years warms my heart.
- The morning sunrise. I'll never get over it. Every morning, seeing the hazy orange sun break over the mountains just takes my breath away. Be prepared for multiple pictures when I get home.
All in all, though our plans have now become God's plans and no longer our own (as they should have been from the start, I suppose), I'm excited to see where these last two weeks will go!
If ministry here is unpredictable at best, this trip has started out to prove that to be exceptionally true. Beginning even before we left, we were informed that the plans for English Camp, laid out last October, had changed due to the schedules at the school where it was to be held. Nothing Suradet could do about it. We just weren't going to be able to do the camp within the two weeks we're here.
Then, in the car on the way in from the airport, Suradet told us that the school had planned an outing to Chiang Mai Zoo as an end of year reward for the students. Our scheduled trip there, and the funds that we had raised for that trip, needed to be redirected. Okay then.
If my times in Thailand have taught me anything, it's how to unplan the plans. English Camp will be all ready for next year. And we're talking about taking the kids instead to Chiang Mai Night Safari, another outing they have never been on and would not be able to afford otherwise. No date set as yet, but we'll keep you posted.
Sunday was the highlight day for me so far. With considerable help from some of the girls and also Yupa, I was able to preach my second sermon in Thai. This is an act of grace on the part of my listeners, who assure me they've understood, but are mostly certainly demonstrating great patience and love in listening to my stumbling efforts to communicate. More importantly, I love Sundays at Hot Springs because of the sweet people that call this their church family, and who have remarkably adopted me into it with them. It was a delight to my Thai-parched soul to embrace and welcome and fawn over the little ladies, and to be ever so formal and yet ever so excited to say hello to some fine and strong gentlemen whom I have also missed.
Megan was all composed and relaxed giving a short 'testimony' about waiting on God's timing, handling the translation component like a pro. Later she was able to minister to one of our older girls in that beautiful big-sister kind of way that is only possible because she's been here before to make that kind of friendship possible.
While the mornings begin cool and fresh, around 23C the days are cooking up to about 36C, making us ever so grateful for the AC at the guest house and the chance every day so far to escape the heat and take the last edges off the jet lag in the afternoons.
For me, coming back after my 3 month day, this feels like home-away-from-home more than ever before. I continue to be amazed by, impressed with and totally crazy about both Suradet and Yupa, and the deeply honest work they do. If ever there was a reflection of Isaiah 58 in action, this is it.
From Megan.
Well, I've certainly missed this place. I'd already known it, but as soon as that first little face peeked around the corner at the airport, it hit me like a ton of bricks. How happy I was to be back. How much I'd been craving to be back.
This is my fourth time going over the course of six years, so I've been able to watch these kids grow up. In fact, most of the ones who were "youngins" my first time around are all now University students, and I'm meeting new little faces.
Some highlights of the trip so far:
- I tried one of their hotter peppers! Try everything once is what I *attempt* to make my motto while here (but I will admit, I draw the line on a few things - living things, for one, and quite a few types of seafood). But let me tell you, that pepper was HOT. There may have been a couple involuntary tears shed, but the actual taste was good. Suradet was both impressed and concerned for my lack of white person common sense.
- The impromptu Thai/English lessons that occur. I've spent several lovely, fresh mornings with some of the girls, teaching them English for fun girly words while they teach me the Thai form (hey, you never know when you'll need to say braid, hair, nail polish, colours, etc).
- Singing karaoke with Miki. Now in University, it's much rarer to see her, and the other University students. But she and Thim came yesterday, and I got to spend some time with my closest Thai friends. Miki LOVES to sing, and while I mostly hide in groups on the rare occasion I do sing in public, I quite enjoy it too. So we sat on that front porch in the heat of the day, and sang for all we were worth to a couple of her favourite bands - One Direction and Justin Bieber.
- Spending time with Thim. This being my fourth time around, (and thanks to Facebook and the fact that Thim is studying to be an English teacher), we've developed a nice relationship, and communication is fairly easy. On Sunday she was going through some heartache, and I was so pleased that the two of us could just sit down and talk it out, like I would with any of my friends back home. The amount of trust that we've built over the last few years warms my heart.
- The morning sunrise. I'll never get over it. Every morning, seeing the hazy orange sun break over the mountains just takes my breath away. Be prepared for multiple pictures when I get home.
All in all, though our plans have now become God's plans and no longer our own (as they should have been from the start, I suppose), I'm excited to see where these last two weeks will go!
Friday, February 26, 2016
Heading Back
Can't believe it, but in just twelve days, Megan and I will be landing in Thailand once again!Two weeks only this time. Never mind. Experience says that it will be two weeks jam packed with new experiences, favourite foods, deep learnings and lots of love. That's just how it is at Hot Springs.
Megan and I, along with Suradet and Yupa and the children of Hot Springs will together present a four day English Camp at the same school our Team visited last year. My time last fall provided me with a lot of advanced learning in the differences between English and Thai, so our English portion of the Day Camp will focus on some of those features, helping kids in grades 4, 5, and 6 grasp more of the language their country is hungry to learn. Our Theme will be "I Love Snow", an idea born out of the fact that Thais, like many who live in tropical countries, are fascinated with snow. Should be fun. Our Bible focus for that week will be Psalm 51:2,7 "Clean away my sin. Wash me and I will be whiter than snow."
Of course the rest of the time will be spent in just being there with the kids, with our Thai family, and building on the love and respect that has come to be such a good gift of this partnership. Some of the fun we are anticipating includes the planned trip to the Chiang Mai Zoo and Aquarium ($15.00 per child if you want to help us out with that - email highview@buildingbiggerhearts.ca to donate). Neither Megan nor our newest little girl May have had a chance to ride on an elephant, so we're hoping to arrange for that as well.
And there will be morning and evening worship times, little voices singing strongly, learning eagerly, even in the sleepy mornings. There will be beading and friendship bracelets and clapping games. There will be amazing food from Yupa's kitchen. There will be just that calmer pace of life and present-in-the-moment way that is so much part of Thai culture.
I am personally looking forward to keeping up with my Thai language learning, seeing some of the changes that have happened there since I left in December (the church got a complete paint job, inside and out, totally different colour, we'll take pictures), and just being close to the souls I miss so much 'ta lot wey la' (all the time).
It wouldn't surprise me if it comes up that Hot Springs is ready to receive some new children. That's not unusual for this time of year, and there is space. So if you're not sponsoring a child right now, but have been thinking about it, let me know. You don't even have to be involved at Highview to be a Sponsor.
All your prayers and support are well used by God in this, my friends. If ever we did anything right as a church, this kind of Isaiah 58 involvement would be it.
Isaiah 58:6-8,11
Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen;
to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter
-- when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your flesh and blood?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard....
You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.
Suradet, Yupa - way to show us how to do this!
Friday, December 18, 2015
Highview, You're Just Spectacular!
Dear Phenomenal People of Highview,
H
aving just finished my first week back after a three-month absence, I couldn't be more convinced at what an amazing community of faith you are.
While I was away 'sabbaticalling' you were here being "The Church' in the midst of a fall that held some significant surprises. The surprises came in the midst of a time when we were already in a 'not normal' kind of plan in order to accommodate my time in Thailand. Almost every area of the church's ministry, already in an unusual mode, felt the impact to some degree.
But you. You stepped up. You rallied. You kept on going. You extended grace to one another.
You were 'The Church.'
You need to know that my heart for Highview is such that, had I known about the surprises ahead of time (which by the way didn't just happen at Highview but in my own family quite personally as well) I would NOT have gone away. I would NOT have removed myself from the work here. I would have stayed to shoulder it together with you.
Apparently, that wasn't what God had in mind. The timing of things seems to suggest other plans were unfolding instead; plans that needed me to be away in order for God to do what He did and allow you all to choose what you chose, which was love and grace and self-sacrifice and tenacity.
Amazing.
And wonderful. So wonderful for me to come back to such a warm welcome. So wonderful for me to come back to stories of how you've cared for one another. So wonderful for me to come back to TWO baptisms this Sunday! So wonderful for me to come back and realize again what incredible people call Highview their church.
Christmas is just one week away as I write. And with all my heart I want to thank you and bless you. My hope and prayer is that each and every one of you will have exactly the kind of Christmas your soul needs it to be. Not perfect in a stereotypical 'Hollywood' kind of way, because we all know that's just the fluff. But in a way that is exactly what needs to happen for you and your family, and for this church, in order to allow Jesus the room to bring His hope to your heart.
2016 will bring new things for Highview, at least in the first months. An unexpected fall seems to be giving way to a fresh kind of winter, and ministry morphs once again under the sway of God's good guidance by virtue of realities we can welcome with curiosity. And joy! And excitement!
Because God's like that. YOU are like that. And together we can continue being 'The Church.'
For my part, know that my time away was everything and more that I needed it to be. I promise you that this was not wasted or taken for granted, and the work God did in my heart these past three astonishing months will continue as I commit myself to cooperating with His Holy Spirit towards even more discoveries and awakenings. Thank you 'very so much' for releasing me for this.
Comfort and Joy to you, all my dear brothers and sisters. Comfort and Joy and Peace and Blessing.
You amaze me, over and over again.
Ruth Anne
H
aving just finished my first week back after a three-month absence, I couldn't be more convinced at what an amazing community of faith you are.While I was away 'sabbaticalling' you were here being "The Church' in the midst of a fall that held some significant surprises. The surprises came in the midst of a time when we were already in a 'not normal' kind of plan in order to accommodate my time in Thailand. Almost every area of the church's ministry, already in an unusual mode, felt the impact to some degree.
But you. You stepped up. You rallied. You kept on going. You extended grace to one another.
You were 'The Church.'
You need to know that my heart for Highview is such that, had I known about the surprises ahead of time (which by the way didn't just happen at Highview but in my own family quite personally as well) I would NOT have gone away. I would NOT have removed myself from the work here. I would have stayed to shoulder it together with you.
Apparently, that wasn't what God had in mind. The timing of things seems to suggest other plans were unfolding instead; plans that needed me to be away in order for God to do what He did and allow you all to choose what you chose, which was love and grace and self-sacrifice and tenacity.
Amazing.
And wonderful. So wonderful for me to come back to such a warm welcome. So wonderful for me to come back to stories of how you've cared for one another. So wonderful for me to come back to TWO baptisms this Sunday! So wonderful for me to come back and realize again what incredible people call Highview their church.
Christmas is just one week away as I write. And with all my heart I want to thank you and bless you. My hope and prayer is that each and every one of you will have exactly the kind of Christmas your soul needs it to be. Not perfect in a stereotypical 'Hollywood' kind of way, because we all know that's just the fluff. But in a way that is exactly what needs to happen for you and your family, and for this church, in order to allow Jesus the room to bring His hope to your heart.2016 will bring new things for Highview, at least in the first months. An unexpected fall seems to be giving way to a fresh kind of winter, and ministry morphs once again under the sway of God's good guidance by virtue of realities we can welcome with curiosity. And joy! And excitement!
Because God's like that. YOU are like that. And together we can continue being 'The Church.'
For my part, know that my time away was everything and more that I needed it to be. I promise you that this was not wasted or taken for granted, and the work God did in my heart these past three astonishing months will continue as I commit myself to cooperating with His Holy Spirit towards even more discoveries and awakenings. Thank you 'very so much' for releasing me for this.
Comfort and Joy to you, all my dear brothers and sisters. Comfort and Joy and Peace and Blessing.
You amaze me, over and over again.
Ruth Anne
Thursday, December 10, 2015
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.
Monday, December 7, 2015
Grangrene Joy
He's the brightest light in the little circle gathered around his hospital bed. His voice is strong and positive. His smile is wide and involves every muscle of his scarred and weathered face. He repeats his praise for a God who loves him and his hope for all good things that are ahead.
He has gangrene.
Both feet.
Can't walk.
One of the expected but still surprising gifts of this prolonged stay at Hot Springs Church, and particularly with a focus on pastoral ministry this time, has been the opportunity to know better some of the deeply faithful people who make up this simple community of faith. Yoot is one of them.
Tall for a Thai, his presence is not easily missed, and not just because of his size. He's probably one of the most positive people I know, rivaling Highview's own Colin Chandler who himself has quite a reputation for always being able to see what God's up to, and rejoicing in that. Whatever Colin has, Yoot's got it too. He's full of gratitude for his ability to walk, a part of his story that had him at one time bedridden and told he would never move on his own again. He still has a slow, stiff gait, but his faith that God has spared him, and his joy in every step is obvious. Often as not, he'll express his delight in life through song; original compositions that have an odd but intriguing mix of Western country and Thai nasal wail (the latter of which I am growing to appreciate more and more; we won't comment on the former.).
It's his former difficulties that have led to the gangrene now, however. Poor circulation, shoes that were too small, and a job that requires standing for lengths of time in the heat, all contributed to an infection that was left untreated and quickly escalated. When he arrived to the hospital he was told that had we waited one more day, amputation would have been certain.
Both feet.
Suradet asks if we can see. With enthusiasm Yoot pulls off the blanket that had been covering his feet. I fight to maintain my composure. His feet are charcoal black with patches that are covered in gauze to hold back the oozing. The skin is dull and lifeless. One section is deeply cracked and rough and looks as if it would crumble off at the slightest touch. He continues chatting enthusiastically, pointing at various locations to indicate where the infection started, how it spread, how badly curled in his toes were when he first got here.
Some of the girls that have come for the visit have had to leave the room. Later they will tell me that the sight of his feet didn't disgust them as much as it frightened them. They live in a world where these things happen to people they know. And they know the doctors can't always do anything about it. They worry that one day such feet might dangle lifeless at the ends of their own legs. I realize that in my entire life I have never worried about getting gangrene.
I ask Yoot if he feels pain. He responds with a shout of delight. "Yes! There's pain! And I'm glad for the pain. It means the medicine is working! It means life is coming back to my feet!"
Even before Yupa translates, I understand him. And for a second I am held still in a holy moment. Because it occurs to me that I am sitting at the end of the bed of someone who understands far more about life, about how it all actually works, than I might ever will.
I am feeling pain myself that day. Mom has gone, and I wasn't there, and I am still working out in my own soul what that meant and what God was thinking when He worked out that particular part of my story. Her story.
I have felt pain before, of course I have. Anyone living 58 years and counting will have experienced pain. And we never like it. We seek to avoid it, alleviate it, as much and as fast as possible. Who likes pain? Who is glad for the pain?
Yoot is. And he has taught me this night. This simple man with a job that has him standing in the heat for a good part of the day in shoes too tight and legs and circulation already weakened by pain he's known before. This joyful man who has so much life and light and joy and gratitude for every day, every stay, that it overrides the gruesome condition of his feet right now, and fills the room and spills over to the other 11 people in the beds around him. Spills out and fills up the little group who's come to encourage him, but have been encouraged instead. Challenged instead. Taught and perhaps even rebuked, instead, although that would never have been his intention. No, he's way too gringjai for that.
He's taught me though. Pain means life. Yes it does. If you never feel pain, you're probably dead. And it's in the living of life that we embrace the pain with the joy and know that life is flowing through our beings.
We pray. He's covered up his feet again, but over top of the blanket I gently lay my hands on the decaying flesh beneath. And I pray. It's woefully inadequate, and not because my Thai is still so limited. But because my soul is humbled, and I realize that I don't even know how to pray in the presence of such greatness.
We'll visit again. And it won't seem like there's been any progress. But then, on the night of the village Christmas party, he'll show up unexpectedly.....walking. I'll see his wife Pok first, and give her a hug and ask her how Yoot is doing. And she'll smile and point to the other end of the table where I see him standing. My surprise and joy will make me forget how a woman my age is supposed to behave in public in Thailand. I'll shout and run over and - almost hug him. But then I remember and wai and say about 52 "Thank you God!"s. And he'll be smiling. Whole-faced. And saying that God has helped him once again, and don't we serve such an amazing God.
We do.
And soon enough I will feel more pain. I will now take myself away from a people I have let ruin my heart. I already know it will hurt. Because it does every single time. This time, after three months, I don't know what it might be like. I don't want to think about it. Not yet anyways.
But when the pain comes, I'll remember Yoot. I'll remember that it means there is life and love and these are good, good gifts, and there's no loving and being loved without pain. No life, without the stuff that makes us realize what life is, and how this whole thing works.
He has gangrene.
Both feet.
Can't walk.
One of the expected but still surprising gifts of this prolonged stay at Hot Springs Church, and particularly with a focus on pastoral ministry this time, has been the opportunity to know better some of the deeply faithful people who make up this simple community of faith. Yoot is one of them.
Tall for a Thai, his presence is not easily missed, and not just because of his size. He's probably one of the most positive people I know, rivaling Highview's own Colin Chandler who himself has quite a reputation for always being able to see what God's up to, and rejoicing in that. Whatever Colin has, Yoot's got it too. He's full of gratitude for his ability to walk, a part of his story that had him at one time bedridden and told he would never move on his own again. He still has a slow, stiff gait, but his faith that God has spared him, and his joy in every step is obvious. Often as not, he'll express his delight in life through song; original compositions that have an odd but intriguing mix of Western country and Thai nasal wail (the latter of which I am growing to appreciate more and more; we won't comment on the former.). It's his former difficulties that have led to the gangrene now, however. Poor circulation, shoes that were too small, and a job that requires standing for lengths of time in the heat, all contributed to an infection that was left untreated and quickly escalated. When he arrived to the hospital he was told that had we waited one more day, amputation would have been certain.
Both feet.
Suradet asks if we can see. With enthusiasm Yoot pulls off the blanket that had been covering his feet. I fight to maintain my composure. His feet are charcoal black with patches that are covered in gauze to hold back the oozing. The skin is dull and lifeless. One section is deeply cracked and rough and looks as if it would crumble off at the slightest touch. He continues chatting enthusiastically, pointing at various locations to indicate where the infection started, how it spread, how badly curled in his toes were when he first got here.
Some of the girls that have come for the visit have had to leave the room. Later they will tell me that the sight of his feet didn't disgust them as much as it frightened them. They live in a world where these things happen to people they know. And they know the doctors can't always do anything about it. They worry that one day such feet might dangle lifeless at the ends of their own legs. I realize that in my entire life I have never worried about getting gangrene.
I ask Yoot if he feels pain. He responds with a shout of delight. "Yes! There's pain! And I'm glad for the pain. It means the medicine is working! It means life is coming back to my feet!"
Even before Yupa translates, I understand him. And for a second I am held still in a holy moment. Because it occurs to me that I am sitting at the end of the bed of someone who understands far more about life, about how it all actually works, than I might ever will.
I am feeling pain myself that day. Mom has gone, and I wasn't there, and I am still working out in my own soul what that meant and what God was thinking when He worked out that particular part of my story. Her story.
I have felt pain before, of course I have. Anyone living 58 years and counting will have experienced pain. And we never like it. We seek to avoid it, alleviate it, as much and as fast as possible. Who likes pain? Who is glad for the pain?
Yoot is. And he has taught me this night. This simple man with a job that has him standing in the heat for a good part of the day in shoes too tight and legs and circulation already weakened by pain he's known before. This joyful man who has so much life and light and joy and gratitude for every day, every stay, that it overrides the gruesome condition of his feet right now, and fills the room and spills over to the other 11 people in the beds around him. Spills out and fills up the little group who's come to encourage him, but have been encouraged instead. Challenged instead. Taught and perhaps even rebuked, instead, although that would never have been his intention. No, he's way too gringjai for that.He's taught me though. Pain means life. Yes it does. If you never feel pain, you're probably dead. And it's in the living of life that we embrace the pain with the joy and know that life is flowing through our beings.
We pray. He's covered up his feet again, but over top of the blanket I gently lay my hands on the decaying flesh beneath. And I pray. It's woefully inadequate, and not because my Thai is still so limited. But because my soul is humbled, and I realize that I don't even know how to pray in the presence of such greatness.
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| Last Sunday surprise! |
We do.
And soon enough I will feel more pain. I will now take myself away from a people I have let ruin my heart. I already know it will hurt. Because it does every single time. This time, after three months, I don't know what it might be like. I don't want to think about it. Not yet anyways.
But when the pain comes, I'll remember Yoot. I'll remember that it means there is life and love and these are good, good gifts, and there's no loving and being loved without pain. No life, without the stuff that makes us realize what life is, and how this whole thing works.
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Awkward
I am awake too early on the tenth last day, finding myself in an awkward space.
At first I don't know what to call it. Limbo. Transition. These are words often used to describe the place of not being exactly anywhere in any solid kind of way. These are words that float around in my sleepy but not sleeping head. Whatever it is, it's vaguely uncomfortable and somewhat annoying to wake up to.
I decide to get a head start on this awkward tenth last day, and get myself up out of bed. And when I do, I find that there is an uncharacteristic mental muttering going on as I shower and dress and prepare for the day. Normally, I love mornings, and look forward to what lies ahead for any particular day. But today, I mutter, mentally.
Ten days. Ten days! Why don't I know more Thai? I'm still so curious about how this gringjai thing works. What's it like to actually spend Christmas here? And hey! How did three months get reduced to ten days in such a short period of time? How is it possible that in ten days I will be done this once-in-a-lifetime experience, planned for, for over two years? How can it be that in ten days, this gift will run its course, and I will end something that has provided so much deep enrichment to my soul? And while I most certainly intend to come back, right now I can't see how it will ever be for this period of time, this kind of intense deal, ever again. And there's a sadness for me in that.
And then comes the awkward part. Because I want to go home too.
Three months is long enough to be away from home. Three months is too long to be away from Ken and my family. I miss Christmas, the Christmas that happens before Christmas. And I need to be home for Christmas. And then there's the hard but true fact that in three months many things can happen in a family, and they did. And I need to get home and be part of those things. And in three months so very much can happen in a church community, and they have. And to that church community I am still very clearly - in my mind for sure - called to love and lead. I want to go home. And there's a deep longing for me in that.
Awkward.
These three months, the fresh cool of the morning is my first joy each day, walking in the dark with the stars along the road between the guest house and Hot Springs. And it's in the fresh cool on this tenth last day that I decide something important.
I will embrace the awkward.
I am here, right now. I will embrace being fully here, right now. These last ten days no doubt hold the same abundance of grace and wonder and life that has lavished me the last three months of this stay. I would be a fool to miss out on any of it just because this space is awkward.
And I am going home. In ten days. And I will embrace the journey and the arrival and the "Bam! It's Christmas" and all the catching up there is to do, and, oh yes, the jet lag, and the missing of my Thai family, and the Celebration of Life for my Mom. And I will let that be wonderful and disorienting and awkward and hard and delightful. And I will be patient with myself, because coming home will be no small deal this time.
I arrive to morning devotions un-awkwarded and ready. I realize with some pleasure that I can almost sing all of the songs in Thai as Fruk leads on the guitar. And Suradet's lesson, given in Thai is also pretty much at an 80% comprehension level. This is new, and a bit of a relief after two weeks of what felt like a regression due to the serious mental distraction of first stages of grieving Mom.
Ten days. Ten whole days left. Let's see what God's saved for the last.
At first I don't know what to call it. Limbo. Transition. These are words often used to describe the place of not being exactly anywhere in any solid kind of way. These are words that float around in my sleepy but not sleeping head. Whatever it is, it's vaguely uncomfortable and somewhat annoying to wake up to.
I decide to get a head start on this awkward tenth last day, and get myself up out of bed. And when I do, I find that there is an uncharacteristic mental muttering going on as I shower and dress and prepare for the day. Normally, I love mornings, and look forward to what lies ahead for any particular day. But today, I mutter, mentally.
Ten days. Ten days! Why don't I know more Thai? I'm still so curious about how this gringjai thing works. What's it like to actually spend Christmas here? And hey! How did three months get reduced to ten days in such a short period of time? How is it possible that in ten days I will be done this once-in-a-lifetime experience, planned for, for over two years? How can it be that in ten days, this gift will run its course, and I will end something that has provided so much deep enrichment to my soul? And while I most certainly intend to come back, right now I can't see how it will ever be for this period of time, this kind of intense deal, ever again. And there's a sadness for me in that.And then comes the awkward part. Because I want to go home too.
Three months is long enough to be away from home. Three months is too long to be away from Ken and my family. I miss Christmas, the Christmas that happens before Christmas. And I need to be home for Christmas. And then there's the hard but true fact that in three months many things can happen in a family, and they did. And I need to get home and be part of those things. And in three months so very much can happen in a church community, and they have. And to that church community I am still very clearly - in my mind for sure - called to love and lead. I want to go home. And there's a deep longing for me in that.
Awkward.
These three months, the fresh cool of the morning is my first joy each day, walking in the dark with the stars along the road between the guest house and Hot Springs. And it's in the fresh cool on this tenth last day that I decide something important.
I will embrace the awkward.
I am here, right now. I will embrace being fully here, right now. These last ten days no doubt hold the same abundance of grace and wonder and life that has lavished me the last three months of this stay. I would be a fool to miss out on any of it just because this space is awkward.
And I am going home. In ten days. And I will embrace the journey and the arrival and the "Bam! It's Christmas" and all the catching up there is to do, and, oh yes, the jet lag, and the missing of my Thai family, and the Celebration of Life for my Mom. And I will let that be wonderful and disorienting and awkward and hard and delightful. And I will be patient with myself, because coming home will be no small deal this time.
I arrive to morning devotions un-awkwarded and ready. I realize with some pleasure that I can almost sing all of the songs in Thai as Fruk leads on the guitar. And Suradet's lesson, given in Thai is also pretty much at an 80% comprehension level. This is new, and a bit of a relief after two weeks of what felt like a regression due to the serious mental distraction of first stages of grieving Mom.
Ten days. Ten whole days left. Let's see what God's saved for the last.
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