A Respectful Temptation

It starts with the wai, and the titles, and the being given first preference for almost anything.

That’s why they are a little shocked, perhaps amused that I am in the back of the truck. Hot sun, hot wind, hot little bodies pressed close for the ride. The deep green of the jungle and the deep red of the earth and the deep blue of the sky and the relentless beauty of childish Asian faces all press vividly into the moment.

I am vivid too, here in the back of the truck. My eyes linger vividly on the children, one at a time…..Fruk right here in front of me, Saiy to the right, Miki to the left, the rest of them, all of them, every amazing one of them, collected along the sides and in the middle. They are preoccupied with the ride themselves, so I indulge myself with just looking at them while they don’t notice. It fills me in ways that make me breathe in short little breaths, holding them in, as if to hold in the moment.

Like the promise of a cool shower at the end of a brutal midday hike, the anticipation of vivid moments like this kept me going all winter. Through the months of expected cold and unmitigated, unexpected events of stress that dominated the stretch between this and my last visit, I have so wanted to come back to these children. Ached for it, really, the impossible distance at times wrenching deep tears from my longings.

I do believe it’s the children themselves that provoke my desire. But careful introspection requires consideration of the shadow side of all of this. There may well be other motivations, and because I long to keep this Asian love affair as pure as humanly possible, for oh so many reasons, some pondering of the possibilities seems prudent.

Perhaps it’s escape. Yes, I’ll consider that. Being half way around the world from the relentless cycle of events that has hammered my life particularly stridently in the past 12 months, does afford permission to be doing something else than solving all those problems all the time.

Perhaps it’s the simplicity. These people don’t have much, and so life is clearer some how. Being the guest, I do no cooking or laundry or other chores, and even if I did, it would be so novel and different that no tedium could possibly be squeezed out of it.

But perhaps what tempts me most, if I were to be brutally honest, which I am finding more and more necessity for in my older years, is what is built into Thailand itself.

Here I am respected. I am a guest midst a people acculturated to serve, where I am the benefactor of people who need the resources I can allocate. Here, apparently, I am esteemed as Ajahn Rut and treated with deference, with respect.

Here me just being, not doing, is enough, more than enough, to be treated with respect.

Instead of always coming up short, running out, disappointing and never satisfying, like I do at home most of the time, here I am over and above, more than usual.

The contrast to my image of myself at home is startling. At home I am constantly being measured against how much I can do. At home I live in a secular culture, and even a church culture, where being pastor doesn’t really have a whole lot of clout. At home we’ve dropped the titles. We don’t wai to one another as a symbol of humility and respect. And at home I am still trying to recover significant status and credibility lost by events way out of my control but which landed me smack in the middle of something truly ugly that can’t help but tarnish my image.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself. These are my realities and within them, at home, I enjoy so many beautiful blessings and joys. Life, for the most part, is easier than it is in Thailand, and there are many benefits from living in a culture less hierarchical than Thai culture, especially as a woman. So, cognitively, I understand.

But I think, if I’m honest, I could get used to this being so “special”. Yes. It would be nice. It might be just lovely to be the first served at the table all the time (even when we went to a restaurant, how did the server know?), to have any request be immediately tended to, to say something just once and be listened to. To have letters addressed to me as "Dearest and esteemed Pastor Ruth."

The other day, here at home, I had a truly upsetting encounter with someone who is angry that Ken and I are helping our daughter through her nightmare. There was too much anger to completely be able to decipher exactly what the issues are, but, given our situation and the social implications, it doesn’t completely surprise me. Still, this was someone with whom I had previously enjoyed an easy, casual friendship; someone who had asked me in the past to engage with them in important life moments as a pastor; someone I thought might be able to respect my choices.

There was no respect in our encounter. I was clearly despised. And in sorting that out this week, I realized a fleeting thought – I wish I were back in Thailand.

But then almost as quickly another thought came. “If it was all about you, then yes. Wishing for Thailand would make sense. However, instead….why don’t you bring that piece of Thailand home?”

So I probably won’t wai you, or duck to keep my head lower than yours. But hopefully, as I keep sorting this out, I will offer my respect more easily.

The cross cultural learnings of my connection with Thailand continue to be a source of intrigue and amazement to me. I have so much more to understand. So much more God can do with my soul because of this.