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Interest in Jesus has been growing in my slum.  Right now there is one full family and a handful of women who seem very interested in Jesus and who would likely want to learn more if we had some kind of meeting.  But how should that look here?  How do we as foreigners help Buddhists connect to the true God?  How do we facilitate an experience and relationship with Jesus that makes sense to Thais and not just Americans?

Over the 2 years I’ve lived in the community (not counting the 5 months I was on furlough) I’ve definitely seen changes in the spiritual environment of that place.  Not that there haven’t been moments when I’ve really wondered if anything was happening– I’ve definitely prayed many prayers of pleading and sometimes frustration with the slowness of seeing any fruit.  But when I step back and look at the big picture, the longer-term trends, I can definitely see God’s work.

When I first arrived it was sometimes hard to even get people to smile at me.  There were a few women who were friendly from the beginning, but I would say the majority seemed fairly cold.  Their experience with outsiders was one of either pushy Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness evangelists, or else child-sponsorship program workers who gave money handouts but remained distant and only came around when their budget was in the green.  They didn’t know what to think of me.

After months of smiling and wai-ing and repeating daily that no, I was not going home now because this slum is my home, people finally began seeing me as a neighbor.  They initially called me “kru” or “teacher” since I helped run a kids’ program in my house, but now I’m just “nong”, “pii” or “nuu”– little sister, older sister, child (an affectionate term used by the older generation that literally means “mouse”).

When I would share about Jesus I generally got smiles– “oh yes, he was a good teacher, like Buddha was a good teacher”, or, “Christianity is good like all religions are good because it teaches us to be good.”  It was still often referred to as the foreigner’s religion, or as part of the Western culture and identity while to be Thai is to be Buddhist.

But in the past year or so I’ve had increasingly frequent chances to talk on a deeper level with folks about spirituality and Jesus.  People have shared with me some of their longings and fears– their desire for close relationships but how everyone is marred by selfishness and greed, their feelings of instability in this economy and how they seek their idols for properity, their fears of death and ghosts.

Lately our language partner Gop, a very practical and strong woman, has been asking me deeper questions– “Why are you here?  I get that it’s nice to help poor people, but what do you GET out of it?”  As I’ve tried to explain what it’s like to follow Jesus who loves the poor, to desire to be more like him and receive from him, she stares at me with an intensity I haven’t seen from her before.  I mentioned the possibility of starting a group for people to learn about Jesus, and while at first she didn’t seem too interested, she later asked “so… if someone wanted to come to one of those meetings, would they HAVE to convert?”  I assured her that she could come and just listen if she wanted.  More intense staring.  I think some of her assumptions and fears about faith in Jesus are breaking down.

Our team leader Kevin recently moved into the slum and has been reconnecting with a family he had invested in previously.  I once had dinner with them and Kevin and watched them listen intently to Kevin’s story of the Gospel for over an hour.  These days they still seem hungry to know more.

So Kevin, Christy and I are talking about starting some kind of “seeker-friendly” group in our slum.  We’re starting completely from scratch.  We know what doesn’t work: debating about doctrine, simple spiritual laws, trying to argue them into the Kingdom.  What seems to connect with folks is experience, community, love.  They seek their idols as a way to connect with a higher power that can offer security and peace.  How can we help Thais connect to their Creator, their wealthy and generous Father?

We are thinking about building off of the Thai practice of meditation.  Rather than try to explain Jesus, how much more powerful if he would show himself to them personally.  We will still use Scripture and prayer, but will focus more on meditating on the words, and asking for signs and wonders, healings, for an experience with the living God, that they may see for themselves the difference between him and their idols.

Pray for us as we discuss how to best do this.  Pray for God’s mercy on us as we have no Thai Christian partnership in this slum and we are well aware of our limitations in connecting to the hearts of our neighbors.  Pray that God would bring people and most importantly that his Spirit would be present.  Praise God that he is the one pursuing these people and that he knows exactly what they need in order to believe and trust him.  What an awesome privilege to be a part of this mystery!

A while ago Christy and I spent the day with neighbors at Pattaya, a nearby beach. It is a favorite Thai hangout, as well as heavily frequented by Western tourists. It was a bit surreal to see foreigners who look like me staring at the white girl hanging out with a group of lower class Thais. And to hear my Thai friends make comments about the farangs walking by and then turn to me and say “oh yeah– I forgot you’re one of them!”

I was having a bit of an identity crisis. While I look and talk like the Westerners with their sunscreen and guidebooks and cameras, in some ways I am more like my slum-dwelling, Thai-speaking, sticky rice eating neighbors. When I’m in Thailand there are things about the States that I long for, but when I’m in the States I feel a little out of place and confused by the culture. In Bangkok I long for the quiet countryside of my hometown, a good deli sandwich, and the ability to blend into the crowd; in the States I’m always craving rice, shocked by prices, and sometimes translating my thoughts from Thai into English.

It’s amazing how much this place, language and culture has become a second home. And how much my neighbors have accepted me as one of them. This tension between identities is one I kind of enjoy.

Last night my roommate Christy and I woke up because rats had waged war on us.  They had chewed through the string holding up our mosquito net in two places, causing half of it to fall on us while we were sleeping.  We then attempted to scare it out of the house, only to have it peek out from the wall, run across the wall and outside, and then run back in, over and over, as if saying “I’m not afraid of you.”

Also, the glue trap we had placed out was not only unsuccessful in trapping any of our unwanted house guests, but was covered with plastic bags, which rats must have dropped on it from our collection of them hanging on the wall a little ways away.  And my washcloth had been pulled off its hook and dragged to the corner of the bathroom.

Needless to say, it was difficult to go back to sleep with the sounds of squeaking from inside our wall and the fear of a toe getting eaten off during the night.  I would be thoroughly annoyed if it wasn’t so hilarious– I think our laughter and attempts to scare away the rat probably woke up most of our neighbors.

I wonder who is really trying to evict who from our house, and which side will be successful. 

A few days ago I went to a nearby mall and saw, I am not kidding you, a woman feeding her dog an ice cream cone.  It was sitting in her lap on a mall bench, was immaculately groomed and I’m  pretty sure it was wearing clothes.  And lapping at a McDonald’s ice cream come.

In my slum, the dogs are malnourished and nasty.  Even their owners (if they have one) won’t touch them.  They are skin and bones, often missing an eye, limb, or part of their tail.  And they are constantly trying to scratch their skin off (and sometimes succeeding) because of their mange and fleas.

Yet in nearby neighborhoods women are dressing and feeding their animals better than the children around me are dressed and fed.

Also, within a 5-minute walk from my slum a new Walmart-like store is being built.  In the complex will be a Starbucks.  I will now live closer to a Starbucks than I ever did in the States.  I could leave my mosquito-infested shack over a garbage-slash-sewage swamp, walk a few blocks and be inside the air-conditioned, coffee-scented, sterilized comfort of Starbucks.

This is the world of contrasts my neighbors live in.  Their slums are neatly hidden away from the middle and upper class eyes, but the wealth of their fellow city-dwellers is right in front of their faces.  They leave their slum and wait for their bus to arrive, amidst shiny new luxury cars and motorcycles.  They might spend 75 cents for a street-stall meal while across the street others are paying $10 for practically the same food.

And now there will be a coffee shop they’ll pass by, selling a drink for an amount that could feed their whole family. 

I, too, feel this contrast.  I sometimes think it would be easier to be a missionary to the poor somewhere in the middle of nowhere, where just about everyone is poor and there is not the temptation of upper class comfort in my backyard.  Not that these things are evil (I’m sure I’ll visit the Starbucks once in a while), but they do make it more of a challenge to choose the world of my slum-dwelling friends over the one I left behind.  Like Jesus refusing those who would make him an earthly king, I have to refuse some of these things for the sake of identifying with those I am called to, those who Jesus says are blessed, those who receive the Kingdom in ways that I need to learn from.

And I want to partner with Jesus in sharing good news to the poor, news that makes the most impoverished believer richer than the wealthiest in this city.  And I believe that as God’s kingdom comes he will heal this gap between the rich and poor, a product of the fall.  This is what I want to spend my life on, and it feels well worth the things I leave behind.

I’ve had a number of people ask me, “What is it like being a missionary in Thailand?”  Here is something I wrote to one person who asked that; I thought I’d post it here for other people who are curious.

What is it like to be a missionary in Thailand…  There are definitely some perks about serving here.  Learning the language and culture is an ongoing adventure of discovery, even though Thai is said to be one of the most difficult languages in the world, and there are so many layers to the culture that I’ll always have more to learn.  One main aspect of the culture is FOOD—which is delicious, in abundance, and cheap.  The Thais love their food and take pride in it, and every activity involves eating.  A common greeting (like our “how are you?”) is “have you eaten yet?”  So much of missionary life is sitting with people and sharing meals, developing a higher spice tolerance and learning to eat parts of animals that would never get cooked in the States.  J  There are beautiful beaches here and jungle areas to explore during retreats and time off, the streets are always teeming with open-air markets, and it is sunny for at least part of every day.  I’m glad God called me to this place.

But it’s not all easy.  It is extremely hot here, and serving the poor incarnationally means I suffer from the heat, humidity, mosquitoes right along with my neighbors.  This and other physical stressors, as well as culture shock (feeling like you have to relearn everything that once came naturally) often bring out the worst in missionaries.  This is actually a good thing—it keeps us humble, helps us to remember we need Jesus just as much as those we came to share the Gospel to.  Almost everyone here believes in Buddhism, as well as everyone they admire, from the king and prime minister down to the public school teachers.  It is infused in everything, and every other religion feels foreign.  It is difficult for Thais to believe that they can become a Christian and still remain Thai, that they will not be a traitor to their culture and upbringing.  So while we don’t face persecution or danger as missionaries, we face very stubborn walls of resistance in most Thais’ hearts.  The Gospel has made slow progress here.

But it has also been exciting to learn about Buddhism and Thai culture and see ways that God’s fingerprints are all over them.  For instance, the Buddha prophesied a man who would come to save people from their wrongdoing, who would be injured in the hands and the feet.  Thai culture has many values that God has placed there, like the high value of doing good and sacrificing for others, honoring one’s elders and showing hospitality.  It is beautiful when Thais become believers and we get to see God work at redeeming their culture, using practices that previously were part of Buddhism now used to honor Jesus.  And worship using traditional Thai forms is especially powerful.  In many ways being a missionary is about getting a bigger picture of who God is, seeing a side of Him that you miss if you stay in one culture.  I have hope that as more and more Thais express their worship and the Gospel in their heart language and their native forms, more and more Thais will understand that being a Christian is what being fully Thai means—being the Thai that God created them to be, following Him.

One of the things I’m good at is being able to identify just about every problem, obstacle, risk or difficulty in a situation. This can be helpful (especially around people who are eternal optimists), but can also be completely obnoxious both to myself and others. On my good days, this helps me keep myself and co-workers realistic, to problem-solve and anticipate problems before they happen. On my bad days, I get overwhelmed by the “what ifs” and can spiral into hopelessness.

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.

Since it’s an aspect of my life here, though not exactly glamorous or inspiring, I thought I’d share a little bit about my migraines.

When I stop to think about it (and when I’m not in the throes of one), migraines are pretty fascinating. If I didn’t have a label for what was happening to me and hadn’t learned anything about it, I’d think I was dying or going crazy.

It starts for me with what’s called a “prodrome”. This is like warning signs that let migraneurs know that an attack is coming. It seems to be different for everyone, but for me I will often get hot flashes, either depression or super high energy for about a day, sometimes sudden extreme fatigue. I usually just feel “off” and can’t explain why until I wonder “maybe I’m going to get a migraine…”

Then comes the aura phase. I’ve only had a handful of migraines preceded by visual aura, but they were quite disturbing each time. I will generally get a flashing line over one side of my line of sight, as if I had looked into a bright light and then looked away. Except it hangs on for about 15 minutes, growing, until eventually my vision goes completely dark on that one side. By this time I have probably swallowed a bunch of drugs because I know that some serious head pain is on its way.

Other times I will have a sense of mild vertigo, either hunger or nausea before the headache hits.

Then comes the pounding pain on one side (the ones on the right tend to be more painful, whereas the ones on the left make me feel more sick to my stomach). This often spreads to the whole head. If I’ve taken meds during the aura stage it usually is not too horrible or last terribly long (a few hours rather than a day or two). If I wake up with pain, though, I know I’m in for a rough day.

My absolute worst migraine of all time had me shivering, shaking, one hand gone weak and tingly, and in horrible pain. I really thought I was having a stroke. But I was able to form coherent sentences, so I figured I was okay. My blood pressure was so low when standing that I had to keep prostrate for most of the day. It was no fun.

After the headache is over (from a couple hours to 2-3 days later), then I go into “postdrome”, the recovery or “hangover” phase. This week that meant two days of fatigue, needing 10 hours of sleep each night, lack of energy or motivation to do anything. Again asking myself “what’s wrong with me?”, confused, until realizing “maybe I’m just recovering from the trauma my body just went through.”

The good news for me is that these attacks happen only about once a month rather than once a week, which was my experience at my worst, during my first term on the field. And I’ve gotten better at identifying the warning signs, the triggers (though some of these I can’t control, like weather changes), and how to best treat them. Unfortunately, I still get them far more often and more severe here in Bangkok than in the States. But I’ve done all I know to do to try to help myself and I think this is just something I have to deal with as part of my life here. It has definitely served to keep me humble, as Paul’s “thorn in the flesh” did, depending on God’s strength in the midst of my weakness.

Feeling very little control over my personal space is probably the difficulty I struggle the most with here.

For example. I love the kids in my slum, they have each found a special place in my heart, but when over a dozen of them make the main room in my house the public playroom, make as much noise as possible, and see anything in the refrigerator as obviously put there for their consumption… I start to go a little crazy.

So a major accomplishment I made before going on furlough was learning how to set boundaries with the kids. When the door is open, they can come in. When it’s closed, that means I want to be alone. If I’m disciplined to not give into their puppy-dog pouts when I really need my space, this system works well.

But children are only one imposition on my personal space. Three mornings in a row I awoke to discover rats had come into my bedroom and made off with random objects, of seemingly no use to a rodent. Mosquito coils, for instance. They swiped my stash right out of its box. Or a plastic bag from a grocery store. A visitor’s toothbrush. Come on! Sometimes I think they’re purely out to torment me.

In the States, it is a valid assumption that the things in your bedroom will be there in the morning. Not so here. You also don’t need to protect yourself from insects, or at least convince yourself that they won’t find their way into your bed tonight.

I sleep underneath a mosquito net, tucked tightly around my floor mat to keep out not just mosquitoes but bigger things too, like roaches or spiders or even rats. Well, that illusion of security was taken away as well, when I woke up the other day with a cockroach running across my hand. I proceeded to have to fight it out from under my net with a broom, and then convince my nerves to calm back down enough to go back to sleep.

I hear the details of my neighbors’ personal lives because our plywood walls do nothing to block out sound. A couple nights last week one of my neighbors was drunk and throwing up out his window into the swamp that separates his house from mine. My first week back one of the slum dogs had 7 puppies which yipped all night long, keeping me awake.

I often end up sharing more with my slum than I would like to.

In the midst of this, it struck me how truly amazing it is that Phothong has welcomed me in the way it has. Moving into a slum is more like joining a large family, moving into someone else’s living room, sharing in the joys and difficulties that family faces. I came not only as a stranger, but a complete foreigner, barely able to communicate, different not only in appearance but in mannerisms, values, lifestyle… I’ve tried to adapt as much of the culture and lifestyle as I can (and still honor God), but I will always be a foreigner.

I see and experience up close both the beauty and the shame in the slum, and yet my neighbors have welcomed me, a stranger, into that. As one of my Thai friends there said recently, I’m “part of the family now”. That is very humbling to me.

So I’m praying that I would continue to reflect Jesus in the midst of the stress this lifestyle places on me. In the ways Jesus was able to remain patient and loving while crowds pressed in on him, and at other times retreat to be alone with his Father, I long to also have that balance. Pray that I would be so tapped into God’s love and peace that the things most likely to bring out my worst would instead cause grace and compassion to flow.

Here are some more thoughts that have been accumulating since returning to the States after two+ years in Bangkok:

1. We are so isolated here in America. It is not difficult at all to go from bedroom to car to cubicle back to car and home again without really connecting with anyone. In Bangkok I could barely walk two houses down without having a conversation with someone. The food venders I frequented all knew my name, lots of the hospital employees know me (well, I might be special case in that area…), taxi drivers love to talk, I shared most of my meals with neighbors, friends or at least friendly market frequenters. Here you can even check yourself out at the grocery store without saying a word to anyone. I sometimes feel like I’m living in a bubble, breaking through it only on previously-scheduled coffee dates or movie nights.

2. Why are there 50 different types of toothpaste??

3. Maybe this is also true in Bangkok and I didn’t notice it as much, but clothing fashion here is pretty crazy. I mean, I was only gone for two years, but already I feel like someone truly catering to popular fashion would have pitched my entire wardrobe by now.

4. Thanks to genetic engineering, preservatives, and lots of other artificial devices, the grapes here have no seeds, produce doesn’t go bad in three days, certain foods taste better, and I don’t have to stick my bread in the refrigerator. I have mixed feelings about all that…

5. What is it exactly that has caused my health and energy level to improve so much in the past few months? Lots of sleep, less pollution, no mosquitos, changes in medication? Or is part of it the distance I have here from the immense suffering in the world? “…wanting to alleviate pain without sharing it is like wanting to save a child from a burning house without the risk of being hurt.”– Henri Nouwen