Right Here. Right Now

Two significant milestones happened this week.

One.  I passed the half way point.  Six weeks in and six weeks to go, as of Thursday, October 29th.  Seems surreal; like it's been forever since I've been home, but, wait, what?  That just might have been the fastest six weeks of my life that just blurred by!  And if the first six went so quickly, how will it go for this last half?  And how will I ever accomplish all that I've come to do with so little time left?

And by accomplish I mean....well, what do I mean?  I do have assignments to complete, learning objectives to fulfill, books to read.  But I think it's more the immersion thing I mean.  I feel I'm just now barely beginning to 'get' this.  Barely.  Just beginning.  So much more to know about these fascinating, still-mysterious-to-me people, even though this time has seen the deepening of relationships that I thought were already deep.   Still so much more to learn in order to hear and be heard, understand and be understood, even though I see some painfully slow improvement in language learning. 

As with every day, I am trying to release the march of time to the Creator of it; trying to be fully present in every moment.  Mark every moment, and not overthink the half way moment Thursday brought.

Another milestone.  As of today, November 1, 2015, I have been serving as Highview's Senior Pastor for ten years.  My ministry among this crazy-wonderful community goes back much further.  But in terms of the role I now have, that happened exactly ten years ago today when Highview made some significant changes and set a new course in a new way.  And even though I was part of the decision- making back then, it was not at that time my heart's preference, not at all.  The decision involved something I experienced as a deep loss, and a time of faltering uncertainty in my own competencies to lead in this new way. 

The months and even years between now and then have been buckets-full of surprises; some delightful, some excruciating.   There have been challenges and celebrations and horrors and wonders, and in it I have done a whole lot of clinging and praying and crying and growing and failing and getting back up again.  All the while marveling at the grace I'm offered in being allowed to serve my church the way I do.

And ten years ago I would never have made that defining decision myself, if left to my own devices.  But God knew what was needed, what else needed to happen instead of my small and selfish ideas about how my life should go.  He knew what was best for me, for Highview, and how it would spill over into something I never in a thousand decades would have imagined on my own.

Because it's a direct result of the changes made 10 years ago that I am here today.  There's a long and somewhat complicated story behind it, but it's true.  Without the changes that happened ten years ago, Highview would not have been put in contact with the sacred place of healing and truth and love that is Hot Springs. 

And I would not be here, marking the half way point in a three month stay.  And I would not have been exposed to one of my heart's most effective renovation plans, plans that are ongoing as God continues the work in me, and at Hot Springs, and at Highview that He's promised to complete.

It's Sunday morning as I write.  I hear the worship band rehearsing.  The boys just came to the kitchen to carry over the gigantic pot of soup that will be part of our community lunch later on.  I can hear Pi Dao giving some more instructions to set up lunch.  And I hear likely the earth's best sound; children's laughter, children who not that long ago didn't have very much to make them laugh. 

And somewhere between the house where I sit and the church building, I can hear Suradet singing a song of blessing, not knowing anyone in particular is listening.  But I am.  And I am blessed by it, accidentally as it were. Except nothing's an accident, is it? 

I mark these moments, right here, right now, happening as I type the words into the computer.  And it is worship to me.  To see God, glimpse Him like this.  To see it come together, like this.  I have to stop everything, for just a second.  Breathing even.  And just let my heart beat in utter confusion and wonder and joy-almost-painful, that somehow He would be so God for me, for my church, for this place -- all the time, but all these past ten years in particular.

I am full of love and fully loved this day.  No better place.  No better time.  Just right here.  Right now.
 

The Difference

This morning there was poop on my flip flop.  Ginko poop would be my best guess.  Washed it off and headed over to Hot Springs, forming a list of 'not in Canada' in my brain.

You know you're not in Canada when....

• There's ginko poop on your flip flop.
• Wild boars cross the road in front of your car.
• Cow heart, complete with pieces of coronary artery, is served for breakfast.
• A haircut takes all day for reasons completely unexplainable unless you were there.
• You get to eat mangoes, bananas, papaya and dragon fruit picked fresh right in front of you, and you're ruined for life now.
• The shrimp also ruins you.
• The lines on the roads are treated merely as a 'suggestion' as to where you might drive.
• A morning that breaks fresh and cool is 23C and climbing fast.
• Most of the day you would like to just go wash your face.
• You measure the temperature more in terms of 'showers per day' than in actual degrees.
• You start to believe that 80 baht ($1.20 CD) is way too much to pay for a smoothie.
• There are baskets of bugs for sale at the market intended for consumption.
• The wiring looks like large groups of people could get electrocuted simultaneously with the next lightening storm.
• Everybody smiles and acknowledges your presence no matter how many times you've just walked by.
• No one is in much of a rush, which is sometimes wonderful and sometimes crazy-making.
• There's a jellyfish or a poisonous centipede floating leisurely right where you want to swim, which is both really frightening and totally fascinating all at the same time.
• You get THE most authentic Thai food served to you for every meal!  (Yupa's kitchen rocks!)
• The signs in the bathrooms are hilarious, but only to you.
• The morning mountain mist takes your breath away.
• You're taking pictures of much of the above even though everyone else thinks is perfectly normal, providing them with no end of amusement while you explain "Canada mai mee."  (Literally, Canada no have.)

And while some of these experiences feel less novel to me on this, my 15th visit to this incredible country, it seems every day there's something new, something unusual, something fascinating that, in the midst of my growing sense of comfort and orientation here, reminds me, "Oh yeah.  I'm somewhere 'different'." 

But the biggest 'difference' for me isn't so much about the strange experiences.  It's more about how very 'different', so very 'other' I am in this environment.   And this in spite of my valiant attempts otherwise.

One of the goals I set for myself in these three months was to insert myself as much as possible into Thai life and culture.  I wanted to 'become Thai' in manners, speech, attitude; to adopt the customs and demeanor of my host family and culture, and to function in this environment as if I were Thai.

Anthropologically speaking, and with sound missilogy in place, I of course know that my identity as a Western person is good gift, part of who I am, and actually part of what I bring to the table in this partnership with Suradet and Yupa and the children.

Even so, I had hopes.


I am working hard on the language.  I have slowed my walking pace and lowered my productivity expectations.  I have learned how to express respect in the wai and lowering of the eyes, and how to duck my head when walking past someone.  I speak gently and wait patiently and hold back from expressing my opinion until asked.  I hold hands with Yupa in public, but refrain from offering Suradet a hug, except on hellos and goodbyes when my Western self just has to say something I haven't yet learned the Thai words for.   I eat everything put in front of me, even when I'm not sure what it is and might not want to know, actually.  (Well, I draw the line at food that's moving.)

But I am finding that to think I could actually be Thai, at least for a three month experiment, has been a rather lofty and naive idea.  The reason?  I am farang. 

Farang.  Foreigner, specifically Western or European foreigner.   Someone, in other words, very different.  And I can't escape it.

At the small village market, heads turn and comments (that I understand) are made at the surprise of the presence of a farang in their midst.  At the large mall, when shopping for shoes for Pi Dao, we get a discount because a farang is 'paying', even though I specifically handed the money to Yupa before we got out of the car.  Note: This was a tourist-incentive discount initiated after the bombing in Bangkok last July to encourage more foreign spending in Chiang Mai.  Usually, farangs get a higher price, which only reinforces my point.

At the wedding reception held on the guest house property, I am the only farang and everybody knows it.  The woman who cuts my hair is nervous because she's never cut the hair of a farang before and she doesn't want to make a mistake. 

Even here at Hot Springs, Suradet explains to me just the other night that some of the children I have found to be so very shy at the beginning were actually afraid of me the first time we met, because I was the first farang they had ever laid eyes on.  He lists Cheunlung, Da, Nok Gaew and May.  

I'm only here for three months, so clearly that's not long enough to have a fully informed opinion.  But it strikes me that even if I lived here for 10 years, my face would forever give me away.

And sometimes that would work toward my advantage, like getting a farang discount or a more precise haircut.  And sometimes that would work against my advantage, like whatever impression I inadvertently gave being the 'white woman buying the Thai woman new shoes', and however that felt to Yupa and/or Pi Dao. 

So, my experience of 'different' bothers me.  Out in public, I mean.  Out in public Thais who only see my face would likely lay on me a whole set of ideas and attitudes that may or may not be correct about me, simply because of the way I look.

And in that way, things are just like at home.  Except at home my face isn't very often in the minority.

"Are You A Banana?" And Other Linguistic Riddles

Some language learning craziness at Highview to Thailand.

New Territory

Tomorrow marks three weeks.  Never been here longer than that before.  Some thoughts about this next part of the adventure at  Highview to Thailand.