For previous updates about my life and work State-side, go here.

It occurred to me this morning that right now I am in the first extended period of not being in some kind of outreach-based ministry since my freshman year in college.

I led Bible studies or evangelistic outreaches or short-term missions trips for 3 out of my 4 years in college.  I discipled people, I shared the Gospel, and somewhere tried to fit in classes and homework and tests.  Then I spent a year interning with InterVarsity, immediately after which I left for Bangkok for 5 years.  Where I not only helped plant a church and train leaders and disciple new believers, but did it all while sharing my space with rats and mosquitos and the sounds of all sorts of chaos of my slum.

And I wonder why I’m tired?

I wouldn’t trade a minute of my last 10 years.  And I hope that sometime soon God will lead me back into direct ministry, will again give me people to whom I can be his hands and to whom my voice can speak his words of love.  If it were strictly up to me, I’d have that now.  I’d choose to be full of energy; having had a couple months of rest I’d come down to L.A. and hit the ground running again, rather than feel the way I do now, like I’m moving through molasses.

So since I don’t have a choice in the matter, I’m resting a minute.  I’m taking a deep breath.  And after so many years of finding my significance in the people who became believers, or numbers in my Bible study, I’m now remembering that I was significant to God before I could take my first step.  And I’m significant now, though I feel once again like a child who needs to be carried and cared for.

I’m still playing a key role in Servant Partners, though it is much more behind-the-scenes, much less emotionally exhausting.  I have time to sleep and to read and to process things I had no energy to deal with while in Bangkok.  I can see God’s hand, now, in preparing a room for me out in a nearby middle-class suburb, though I’d hoped to live among the poor in the ghetto.  It hadn’t made sense at the time, but now I see God knew what he was doing (imagine that).

Jesus says the call is to lay down your life, to lose it in order to find it in him.  I think this is what I’m learning– that sometimes this life-surrender looks like sharing in the suffering of the least of these, of following Jesus to the margins and the marginalized.  But sometimes it looks like laying down ungodly ambition, as righteous as it may appear, to allow God to bring his Kingdom more fully into one’s own weary heart and soul.

It’s Mary kneeling at Jesus’ feet when so much could be done in the kitchen.  It’s the expensive perfume poured out on his feet, which could have been sold and given to the poor.  It’s my feet, bare and dirty, being washed by Jesus’ holy hands.

photo credit: prakhar

“Don’t listen to him, this is your decision.  Do what YOU want to do.  If he really loved you he’d love you enough to let you follow your own heart.”

“(enter name of product here)- for whenever the urge strikes.”

“It’s up to you, you have to choose your own path in life.  I will support whatever decision you make.”

“Go ahead, pamper yourself– you deserve it.”

These aren’t direct quotes from anything, but doesn’t it sound familiar?  I keep hearing things like this on TV dramas, commercials, daily conversation, and they seem to go unquestioned.  The values of being true to yourself and independent have some positive elements.  But there seems to be a widely-held ideal that we are only responsible to ourselves, we should listen to and obey every urge or desire we feel, and we should not pay too much attention to requests or desires of others or we may lose ourselves, not be “true to our hearts.”

Obviously, I’m exaggerating and generalizing some.  But not a whole lot.

On the other end of the spectrum is Thailand.  (No, literally– I saw a spectrum recently that put America and Thailand on opposite ends of the individualism/collectivism spectrum).  I think that if Thais were to make a list and rank who they believed they are responsible for and to, they would put themselves quite a ways down the list.  Family would be number one, followed by the king (though those two might be switched).  Friends, neighbors, patrons would make the list.  They would likely mention their ancestors, their country and culture, Buddha and the idols they worship.

photo credit: munir

In making decisions, it is rare to hear a Thai talk about what they want to do or their “gut instinct”.  Instead they try to balance the effect of the decision on important people in their lives.  There is a word in Thai that we don’t have in English except as a phrase: “grengjai”, or “to be afraid of imposing on someone.”  I think it’s one of the most commonly-used words in their language:

“I wanted to, but I was grengjai”

“No, please, you don’t have to be grengjai.”

“How rude– he wasn’t grengjai at all.”

At first glance this can seem much more gracious, much less selfish than the extreme our culture often goes.  But in the extreme, this aspect of collectivism can be pretty ugly, too.  People really can lose themselves and their boundaries.  Relationships stay surface-level because people don’t want to do the uncomfortable work of conflict and reconciliation.  Bitterness grows as people constantly stuff down what they want for what they feel they “should” do.  Unhealthy compromises are made and abuses suffered.  One person is treated unfairly in favor of another of higher status or closer connection.

Having now lived and adapted to both cultures, I find myself trying to reconcile these extremes.  What in each of these worldviews needs to be redeemed?  What is from God?

So what I’ve come up with is that the most important thing is that we are responsible to God, first and foremost.  Otherwise I become my own god, or people around me become gods.

Jesus does teach us to lay down our lives for others, which is something we Americans could learn a bit about from Thais.  But if this is not as a submitted act of worship to him, it becomes idolatry or moralistic duty.

God also tells us that if we are believers we have the Spirit inside us to guide us, and that sometimes, in obedience to him, we have to do things that are offensive to others.  This comes more naturally to us in the West than those in the East.  But without submission to that Spirit within us, we follow our own broken, diseased, selfish hearts and become our own gods, justifying the destruction we leave in our wake.

It seems to me that from Scripture, the correct hierarchy of responsibility should be first to God, then to others, and finally to ourselves.  After all, we are supposed to think of others as greater than ourselves.  But sometimes we must be like Mary, sitting at Jesus’ feet rather than helping her sister with the meal preparation, or like Paul, confronting those in authority.  How we relate to others and to our own desires must be submitted to God.

This challenges me to be more in prayer.  Because the Thai side of me pulls me in one direction (defer to others, don’t assert yourself too much, figure out what will keep the peace) and the American side pulls me the other (listen to yourself, ignore what others think, go your own way).  But when I’m most connected to God I sense that he is guiding me, and I can be counter-cultural, responsible to him, governed by love.  And he is a much better guide than myself or my perception of those around me.

• Six new believers and a church planted in my slum!
• The challenges of discipling the urban poor
• Signs of fruit that will outlast my time here
• Details about my return to the US
• Prayer requests and pictures!

Below is a quote– I’d encourage you to read all of it.  I’m frequently challenged by many of the blogs over at conversantlife.com– worth a place in your feed reader!

I’m increasingly convinced that our ambitions related to making an impact are misguided, nothing more than a cloak to cover our own insecurities with God’s ‘blessing’.  Instead of an impact, our ambitions ought to be related to being an aroma, as Paul says, “TO God… AMONG men.”  Aromas are a byproduct that reveal the essence of something.  They don’t set out to BE aromas, they simply are:  Pine trees smell like pine; cigarette smoke like tabacco; coffee like heaven.  That’s the way it is.

I’m leaving in October.  In THREE months.  The last few weeks of that I’ll be completely useless, trying to say goodbyes, tie up loose ends, deciding how and what to pack up or leave behind from my life for the last five years.  And in the midst of this preparing for the end, God brings new life.  Two new believers in one week (maybe five, depending on how you define it) in this place I’ve labored in for so long.  And so little time to nurture them, to lead this house church, to enjoy this new season of harvest I’ve prayed for over the years.

With things happening so quickly, with everything feeling so DIFFERENT, it’s tempting to try to figuring it out using human logic.  If only I’d shared the Gospel in THAT way earlier… if only I’d taken Yut to visit that church a year ago… if only I’d told that story or prayed in that way…

There are definitely lessons to learn (I feel like my mind is bursting with all that I’ve been learning from this).  But really it comes down to the Spirit.  We really don’t know where it’s going to blow.  Or when.  I’ve been planting seeds into dark, mysterious earth, not knowing if they were germinating or just dead, not knowing if the soil was good, if God’s Spirit was blowing over this place and causing growth.  For so long it’s been about waiting… waiting… hoping… praying…

A lot has happened in terms of developing relationships, working with people to actively choose hope and change over fatalism and resignation.  I’ve seen parts of the Kingdom advancing here.  But despite continuing to share about Jesus, it just seemed like the words about his grace, love, invitation to relationship, were falling flat as soon as I’d speak them.  The only thing that kept hope alive for me was a couple of significant prayer times when I felt like God was clearly saying I was in the right place; that despite things looking bleak, despite talk of me maybe needing to move to another slum, that I would be able to stay.

And now this just seems to be his time.  It really does FEEL spiritually different in my slum right now.  I can’t explain it.

I don’t know why it’s taken this long.  I don’t know why my main role has been planting seeds—small, seemingly insignificant, full of a power that’s largely hidden and at times hard to hope in.  It’s a role that has required faith and patience, that until recently has forced me to find joy in something other than the fruit from my labors.  Harvesting is so much more fun!  But I’ll choose to trust God even when he’s mysterious.  After seeing how carefully and lovingly he’s worked in my two friend’s lives, I know he has his reasons, that are ultimately for my good and for the good of his work here.

I’ll just really need him to help me to get on that airplane on October 21^st…

Maybe first a bit about why I’m so excited about community organizing in this context.

In September our team, along with other Servant Partners missionaries from other sites, were part of a great training on community organizing.  The week was led by Rebecca Gifford, director of Millennium Tools .  It totally changed the way I was thinking about organizing.  I had originally thought of it simply as people in a community getting together to talk about their issues and work toward solutions together.  That is part of it.  But the more I’m learning, the more I see it as a type of leadership development, assumption-challenging, paradigm-shifting, empowering process.  So much more than just cleaning up garbage or circulating a petition.

It’s been a slow process in Phothong.  In later posts I’ll probably go into more of the specific stories and processes we’ve used.  But suffice it to say, nobody who has lived for decades under a patron-client, “false generosity”, fatalistic world-view will quickly come to see themselves as capable of weilding community-transforming power.

So many of Phothong’s choices have been made for them.  So many people and groups (ourselves included) have come in and offered services or money on their own agendas, using their own decision-making processes, making their own assumptions of the community’s needs, without recognizing the capabilities of these strong and creative (though broken like the rest of us) men and women in front of them.

Most of the residents of my slum have grown to prefer this.  In many ways it is easier to wait with outstretched hands, even if that means losing the power to choose and to act which is so much a part of what it means to be human.  It is also easier when the fear of disappointment, the memories of past failures and oppression loom large.  Easier to not try anymore, easier to give up.

“Nobody wants to work together,” I would frequently hear.  “Nobody wants to put in any effort or come to anything unless they get some kind of handout.”

But the people saying that did want to do something.  And I heard that repeatedly.  So clearly not everyone wanted to sit around waiting.  But because they felt like the only ones, they assumed it was pointless to try to work toward any kind of change.

As I have talked with people individually, shared some of those stories to others, and gathered these discontented women in my house to talk together, I’ve begun to slowly see this paradigm shift happen.  We’re not there yet.  And sometimes it feels like we’re going backwards.  But people are beginning to work together.  On the king’s birthday the entire community celebrated the holiday together for the first time, as a result of this dialoguing, reflecting and acting together that has begun.  People are beginning to express creative ideas that had no outlet before.  They are beginning to tell their stories, to see the value and potential of working together rather than waiting for outside help.  It has been exciting.

The paradigm shift is also happening inside of me.  The “iron rule” has become ingrained in me : “never do for others what they can do for themselves.”  I am growing in my ability to recognize strength and capacity in the poorest of my neighbors, rather than just see their needs and problems.  I’m seeing how my neighbors, working together, are so much better at bringing about change in their community than I could ever be.  As I’m grasping these principles and watching them work, I think that wherever I live or work in the future I’ll be operating out of these concepts.  In the future I hope to pursue my long-held goal of going to law school, and hope to use those skills in organizing and public policy advocacy Stateside.

There’s still a long way to go in Phothong.  I’m praying that the trust I’ve gained in working with the community toward what they feel is important will open more doors to sharing the Gospel.  I’m praying that ultimately the people will come to see their need for spiritual transformation as well, though like the Israelites of Nehemiah’s time, it will likely be working on rebuilding the “wall” that comes first.  But I believe God desires holistic health for my community: hope rather than fatalism, unity rather than isolation, reconciliation to their Creator and empowerer.  It’s been so much fun to partner with God in this work!

My last Thanksgiving in Thailand is around the corner.

My last cold season is about to begin.

We are about to start planning for my last church Christmas party and my last church camp.

It’s a strange thing to invest deeply in a place, feel at home somewhere and as though you are adopted into a second family, and yet know that you will leave– not just to the neighboring town, but across the ocean.  I will return to visit– I’ll have to– but in a year I will move and make a new place my home.  This will be the family I will communicate with from afar.

I’ve been here four years and I have one more to go.  Really, a year is a long time.  Particularly now that I’m in full stride, with a good handle on the language and at home in the culture.  But still people keep asking, “how are you feeling to be going home soon?”  “Didn’t it go by so fast?”  “What will you do next?”

It’s hard to keep a good and healthy balance.  I don’t want to take on the attitude that I’m practically done so I can’t expect much fruit out of the time that’s left.  And yet sometime soon I will need to start planning my transition, handing off my roles, saying my good-byes.  I don’t want to get taken off guard by my departure date, nor do I want to spend a year anticipating it.

I’m excited for what’s next.  I’ve been invited to help with field administration in Pomona, California, as the assistant to our executive director.  I love the area and the community there, and I’m glad to have a continued role with this organization and mission that I believe in so deeply.  I’m excited to be back in the States where my health is stronger, where my family and friends are closer, where I can begin to plan for further education and the next steps God has.

And yet this last chapter here is bittersweet.  My teammates who left the field before me went with an expectation of return, and so I feel like the first from our team to be saying a long, final good-bye.  I don’t really know how to do this well.  This city that took so long to warm up to, these people that are at times like a dysfunctional family, have gotten under my skin.  I’ve fallen in love in spite of myself.  And soon I have to move on.

I guess I wouldn’t have wanted it to be too easy.

It’s on the bad days that I most need hope in God’s ability to do the impossible.

Lately I’ve had some bad days. From a human point of view, the situation in my slum, as far as our ministry is concerned, could seem hopeless. Our Thai partnership has weakened considerably, to the point where I wonder if I even have any. The group of kids coming on Sundays has grown to the point of chaos, and it seems like they are not getting anything from our program and we are lucky if we just keep them from beating each other up by the end of the evening. My efforts at spending time with the women in the community is often hindered due to the gambling addiction that keeps them bent over their dice games for hours on end. One woman who I had a great relationship with recently had a fight with her husband and left.

Into this environment we have been hoping to welcome two new teammates. I have not stopped wondering how in the world this was going to work, or even whether it was worth it to try. The other community with openings is a far better set-up in terms of Thai partnership, size (it is much larger), hospitality (more Isan culture rather than central Thai), and living environment (it is better-off financially, so housing is of higher quality). If I were a new teammate, that’s where I’d want to be.

Then throw into the mix the practical: everyone I asked in my slum recently said there was no housing available.

Tuesday night I was feeling particularly frustrated. Everything in me wanted to recommend this other slum, Samaki, to our new teammates. But that would leave me alone in my slum, something I think I can live with for only so much longer.

So I prayed what felt like a weak and maybe foolish prayer. I asked God to give me some kind of sign. This is maybe only a month after a prayer time where I had clearly heard that it was good and right for me to continue being in Phothong for now. But here I was, completely doubting everything, using my human reason to decide that the situation looked hopeless. So, okay, God– if you want this to work, you need to convince me. And the sign I’d really like is for housing to open up.

The first thing that happened is I went home Tuesday, walked by the house of the woman who had left her husband, and she had moved back in. This is someone who has been particularly welcoming of potential teammates when they have come to visit, so this meant a lot to me that she is part of the community again.

Then on Wednesday I hung out with a family I spend a lot of time with. As I was sitting there a woman came up to me. “Are you still looking for a house for your friends?” And she led me to a completely open house, being rented by its owner, plenty big enough for two new teammates, and close to friendly neighbors who I’m sure would give them a warm welcome.

We don’t know if it will be available in a month, when they come. I haven’t seen the inside yet to see what condition it’s in. But it served its purpose. Thank you, God, for this truly undeserved grace. And for teaching me to expect the unexpected. The foolishness of God truly is wiser than man’s wisdom. Who knows what God will do in this most unlikely of places? He is certainly capable of more than I can imagine.

And in the midst of this I feel very small and kind of foolish.  I have no advanced degree, very little training in urban work, my health is unpredictable at best, I am not charismatic and I’m not all that great with kids.

But I’m beginning to see that this is all not nearly as important as I tend to believe.  My experience at our house church last week taught me this in a new way.

As usual, we had dozens of children in my house, eager to worship and learn about the Creation story (our theme for the month), and also bouncing off the walls.  I felt particularly exhausted that evening (it turned out that I probably had mono, so no wonder) which made me feel even more ineffective than usual.  Getting the kids to sit and be quiet enough that I could give instructions without screaming was nearly impossible, let alone teaching about God in a way that makes sense to them and is appealing, or addressing their many emotional and physical needs.

In the midst of the chaos, and my tiredness, I felt like God was bringing a couple of the children in particular to my attention.  They were two of the smallest ones, more malnourished, dirtier, more often violent and out-of-control, clearly suffering emotional scars caused at home.

I held each one of them in my lap, and it was like all the turmoil in their little bodies melted away for awhile.  Normally they cannot sit for more than a minute, but these two each spent a good ten minutes without moving as I held them, as if they were starved for this physical touch.

And I’ve recently noticed, more than I did before, how parents and older siblings often push away these little ones when they try to get close, or pretend to not even see them when they return home from work.  The stress and despair their families live under leaves them with little ability to love their youngest members.

I’m beginning to realize that this is something I can give.  I may feel overwhelmed by the extent of the brokenness in my slum, I may feel too tired to play high-energy games with the kids, but I can hold them sometimes.  I can affirm them and pay attention to them and in that way help them to experience a kind of unconditional love that hopefully will lead them to the Source of that love.

And it reminds me this love and this Lover are the most valuable gifts I have to give to this slum.  Something I know in my mind, but which God continues to gracefully teach my heart, with experiences like these.