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

As I’m getting ready to return to the States, I have a hard time knowing what to call it. Am I going home? Or am I leaving home? It feels the most accurate to say I’m going home December 5th and in 5 months I’ll be coming back home. Thailand is no longer a “foreign” country to me; I no longer feel like a visitor.

One of my friends who is half way through a stint abroad posted a list of things she will miss when she returns to the States, and things she is looking forward to. Here is mine.

Read the rest of this entry »

It has been a WHILE since I posted last, mainly because most of my online work has been on our team website. That nearly finished, I should have more time now to post personal thoughts here.

I recently went on a 2-week personal retreat, to rest after a series of illnesses and accompanying lack of energy for ministry. I went to Hua Hin, one of the less crowded beaches here in Thailand, and spent many hours watching the waves, reading, sleeping, eating good fresh seafood.

One of the questions that has been stirring in me is that of calling. I came here as a 23-year-old with practically no training for full-time ministry, hardly aware of who I am, longing to partner with God in his work among the poor but clueless as to how to do that. At first, I was just learning the language, so my task was fairly uncomplicated (though not exactly easy!). Now as I get my feet wet in ministry, I feel somewhat like I am trying to fit a round peg in a square hole. I am in highly extroverted roles (like youth ministry), though I am an introvert. Living in the slum offers very little privacy, and while the cultural value is “the more, the merrier”, I am realizing that I absolutely must have time to myself in order to rest and reflect. I do not exactly have the ideal personality for getting to know an entire slum community, I am not charasmatic or visionary, I seem to thrive when I am doing website design, prepping Bible studies and other detail-oriented roles. How do I fit into this ministry, especially living incarnationally in the slum?

Last December I met a woman (I can’t remember her name now) who has lived in a Bangkok slum for many, many years now. During our brief conversation, she kept saying the same thing: “Just love them. Just love them.”

When I remember that, it simplifies everything. It stops me in my tracks when I am trying to be someone I’m not, or wishing I had certain gifts or personality traits I do not. God created each one of us differently, but we are all capable of love. Extraverts are not the only ones capable of living among the poor and loving them. Though it may manifest itself in different ways, if we have the love of Jesus in us, we can share that with those around us.

Love is a fruit of the Spirit, not a spiritual gift given to a select few. It is a command, not a talent.

On my reteat I was reminded of this again as I meditated on 1 Corinthians 12 and 13. Chapter 12 is on spiritual gifts, how we are all part of the same body, that God created us the way he did ON PURPOSE to serve a special role in his mission.

Then the last sentence: “And now I will show you the most excellent way.” And that is love. Gifts are useless without love. Even giving to the poor and self-sacrifice are worthless without love. And though we may not all prophesy or teach or have gifts of healing, though the places and people we are sent to are different, we are all called to love. And love is really what the poor need. By God’s grace, that, I know, I have to give.

May God have such access to each of our hearts and wills that his redeeming love would flow from us, in the unique manifestation that we each offer. May he continue to show me what unique role he has created me for, so I can give him full access to use me in that way. But more importantly, would I be willing to love, without fear.

In my ongoing efforts to fully enter into Thai culture, I have recently begun learning the Sah Duang, a type of Thai fiddle.

I couldn’t pass up the offer for free lessons made by a regular at the coffee stand I frequent in the mornings. Tawan, a retired musician, has been teaching traditional Thai instruments to children in his neighborhood without charge for the past several years. He offered to spend two hours a week with me, whenever I was free. So we decided on Saturday mornings.

He invited me to come over any evening that week to listen to the children rehearse. That first evening I was not only treated to a really impressive performance by the young band, but Tawan and his wife also fed me and the kids dinner and then GAVE me my own sah to begin practicing with.

I get the impression that his small house is filled every evening with grade-school-aged kids practicing their instruments: string and mallet instruments, Thai flutes and percussion. On his walls hang dozens of handmade instruments, photos of performances with children, Buddha images and shrines. In conversations with Tawan he has more than once mentioned that he is growing older quickly and has little time left to make merit before he dies. His service to the children, and to me, is clearly inspired by a love for the dying art of traditional Thai music, but also by a fear of what awaits him after death. I was recently hanging out with a couple youth from my Bible study and they testified that the security of knowing they will be in heaven for eternity is one of the greatest blessings they’ve received in their conversion from Buddhism.

I have now had two lessons so far on Saturday mornings at Tawan’s house, where he teaches me along with one or two other kids who are learning the sah duang as well. From the first meeting I realized I would not only be learning a new instrument, but also a new notation system that bares little resemblance from the one I’m so familiar with. I’m finding that my Western musical background does not help me as much as I thought it would. Not only are the notes written in Thai characters, but melodies and rhythms are written out only as a reminder, an approximation of what the music should sound like. If you have not heard the tune, it’s impossible to look at the music and play it accurately.

The instrument itself is one of those that sound really bad until learned well. There are only two strings and nine possible notes, so memorizing them is not difficult. But getting a sound that doesn’t sound like a wailing cat is the tricky part. I pity my neighbors. J Also, there are no frets or other markers on the strings, so you have to use your ear and adjust your fingers in position and pressure to get the note in tune. And anything but gentle, steady motion with the bow produces painful squeals.

But I am hopeful that with some work I will be able to produce the beautiful sound the sah is capable of. I’m not sure how exactly this will fit into my ministry here, but at least I hope it will communicate to those I am serving that I value and enjoy their culture, I have not come to impose mine. Perhaps I will be able to implement the instrument in worship here, or teach others who are interested how to play it. But for now, it is a way God is allowing me to enjoy another aspect of this country, and to learn and receive, a humbling position for a missionary, but a necessary one.

This month is the peak of hot season in Thailand. At the moment, the weather in Bangkok is reported online as 100 degrees, “feels like 117″. Ugh. My little Northwest-grown body doesn’t know how to handle this.

Unfortunately for me, I have one of the hottest houses in the community. This is mainly due to the corrugated metal roof and no drop ceiling or second floor to catch the heat. And because my house is surrounded on all sides by other houses, virtually no breeze reaches me at all. Even with a fan pointed at me and the door and windows open I constantly drip sweat from about 9 a.m. until after 5 p.m.

The upside to this is that it gives me added incentive to hang out in front of the community and chat with people there. There is quite a bit of shade and a nice breeze, plus an ice cream truck or fruit seller comes by every 20 minutes or so. There’s never a shortage of people to talk with, and to commiserate about the heat together (even the Thais are suffering. At first that was comforting to know that I’m not totally a wimp, but it’s also somewhat disappointing that I’ll never fully get used to this– the human body can only adjust so much).

I am frequently sweating through my clothes on the short walk from my house to the bus stop. There have been times on the canal taxi (more aptly described as a sewer boat) where I have felt sweat running down my legs and pooling at my ankles. I’ve had to guzzle water to not feel dizzy and headachy by the end of the day. I’ve started following the Thais’ example and taking multiple showers a day, and putting on large amounts of a wonderful menthol body powder that’s popular here.

Tomorrow (a delay of one day, for those I mentioned this to) I will be heading to Kalasin, an area up-country in the Issan province where a large number of Permsup residents are from. During the 3-day Songkran holiday in April Thais in Bangkok return in droves to their home provinces to be with their families. I will be joining some of my neighbors for a week in their village. I am really excited to be able to bond with Bang and her family and to learn more about Thai and Issan culture. But pray for endurance in the heat as I will not be able to escape into air-conditioning as I am able to do here at times. Luckily, the holiday has digressed from a time of Buddhist blessing through water-pouring into a national water fight. I hear that farangs are particularly targeted and that people frequently ice their water before dousing people. So that should help some with the heat.

God has been using this time to remind me that this is a part of what it means to lay down my life here; he is teaching me how to be content no matter the circumstance; to identify with the people he has sent me to in this aspect of their life. And this season will end soon– the rainy season begins in May. So, praise God, I have found myself able to push through and endure more than I would have expected. Thank you to those whose prayers have also given me strength.

I feel a strange mix of emotions when I am in Permsup. I thankfully have not grown numb to the darkness of the place, I have not been fooled by the seemingly carefree demeanors and laughter, often alcohol-induced or a mask to hide pain. I still see the garbage and mangy dogs who have scratched off most of their hair; I still smell the sewage; I still see fathers and husbands incoherently drunk at 5 p.m.; I still feel the heat that fans cannot relieve; I still see the dirty and neglected children; I still sense the shame of the Isan people for their dark skin and imperfect Thai.

It could be easy to slip into hopelessness. After all, nearly everyone here has. Who am I to believe anything different?

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him, and he began by saying to them, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” –Luke 4:18-21

Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they say the Lord.
Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” –John 20:20-21