Easy Twelve Hour Days, and other First Week Reflections

A few random reflections to mark the end of my first week here, this trip (February 6 to March 6).

Language Leaks

I’ll blame it on a more difficult than usual first few days of adjustment.  This past week has had me dealing with more brain fog than I normally experience.  Coming this way is usually easier on the jet lag.  Two, three days tops is all it takes for me to get my appetite and sleeping turned around enough to fully engage mentally and physically in my Thai life.  But this time I notice I’m not really catching what Suradet is saying during morning worship times, and it seems a very slow process to drag my Thai vocab from the recesses of my scrambled brain to form anything close to a coherent sentence. 

It’s always a concern.  When you’re not immersed in a language on a constant basis, it leaves you.  And as much as I try to practice, and listen to Thai worship CDs, and write out my Thai verses every morning when I’m in Canada, it’s a challenge for this 61 year old grey matter to keep those new neurons firing.  I’m also coming with a longer list of ‘business’ on my mind this time out, being the new entity that we are in New Family Foundation.  There’s a ton of behind-the-scenes work to be done with writing and signing official documents, lots of emails flying around connecting all the right people at all the right times so that not one, but two, government offices will be satisfied.  So there’s that. 

Now that my head is clearer, my Thai conversation is coming back.  I’ve been making a better effort in just daily interactions.  And since I hope to read Isaiah 49:8-9 in Thai as part of the beginning of my sermon on Sunday,  I will have that to practice as well, in aid of keeping things sharp.

Sometimes I wonder what craziness prompts someone to learn a new language at the age of 51 and keep plucking away at it for ten years? 

Less Is More

It’s the end of term and the high school kids are in a heightened academic stress mode.  Exams are looming and there are many heavily-weighted end-of-school-year assignments due in the next few weeks.  As such I’ve actually been asked if we can keep the Bible and ESL lessons down to about 30 minutes each school night.  On the weekends a fuller lesson is great.  I’m told the children love the songs and activities we’re doing.  But we need more time in the evening to work on school.

Photo Credit: Evangeline Wilton

My first reaction to this request is that I am ever so delighted that Suradet communicates this to me.  In a land of gringjai where it is more common to just endure something rather than speak candidly for fear of offending, it’s another sign that I have indeed been accepted into that next level of Thai relationship where more honest opinions and requests can be made.

Of course I’m also happy to comply.  These children have come here so they can succeed in their futures, and a good education is a principle part of this.  To keep them from their school books just so I can run my ‘full program’ makes no sense. 

As an educator of one sort or another for most of my life (teaching grade one Sunday school was my first real ministry position at the age of 16) lesson plans are actually quite exciting to me.  Just like preparing a sermon or any kind of teaching, there’s so much fun to be had in presenting material in happy, creative ways that promote both learning, and love of learning.  So my tendency is, yes, to see how much goodness we can pack into the hour.  The white board is full!

But being reduced by half provides another opportunity to prioritize and press into creativity without losing the fun edge.  ( The LAST thing I want to be remembered for here is that either English, or – heaven forbid – the Bible was boring!!!) 

Easy Twelve-Hour Days

Today I felt a familiar paradox that only seems to happen when I’m here.  I’m working a minimum 12 hour day, every day, seven days a week, but it doesn’t seem onerous or terribly taxing.  I am relaxed and rested without feeling rushed.  Even in the midst of this large family, the introvert in me has enough time alone.  How is this possible?

 A big part of that reason is the split shift component.  I’m up early to begin morning worship at 5:30 a.m., on the go running errands or having meetings or working at ‘my desk’ (a table outside) for the entire morning.  Lunch normally happens around noon.    Later, when the children arrive home from school, I’m on again, making myself available for any of our kids who want to read their way through the newly donated (November 2018) set of early readers, having their cards signed so they can choose a prize when all 24 squares are filled.   Supper happens, then evening worship where all those lesson plans for ESL and Bible learning go into action.  After worship is homework time, normally done in the computer room or by the fire, where more reading usually happens.  Bed time is around 9 p.m.

And in the afternoons, unless we are in the city for something, I’m “off”.  And it’s a common rhythm here to lay low in the afternoon.  Naps are cultural.  A low expenditure of energy is wise in the heat of the day.  And generally speaking, Thais are not all wound up around the clock like we are.  There’s a gentler flow to most days, especially here out from the city.  And I like it.  This agrees with me at this stage of my life.

Valentine’s Day

Photo Credit: Megan Ogilvie

 Today is a day I particularly miss, appreciate, admire, respect and love my husband.  As we navigate the calendar in this new way of ministry for me, his ability to flex, and his selfless act of releasing me to be here continues to be the unique and remarkable hinge pin that makes it possible.  Never mind that he’s admitting on Facebook that he’s buying chocolate he intends to eat without me.  This man IS a Valentine!  So I hope the little surprise I’ve arranged arrives as planned today.  And I can’t sing his praises enough, even as we celebrate this day of Love on two different sides of the planet.

Traveling Mercies and Motivations

We love because He first loved us.   

1 John 4:19

It’s freezing rain, the dangerous kind, and very dark and rather miserable, and we are driving along the 401 at 5:30 in the morning.  How ironic, I remark to Ken, that I am now in a vocational situation where I work from home and normally I would never have to go out into this kind of weather at all.  Just stay home with the fire on and call it an ice day.  Yes, some tea would be nice too.  But here I am.  The freezing rain doesn’t stop me.

Because of the weather and our decision to give plenty of time, I’m early to the airport now and the ticket booth hasn’t even opened yet.  It will be an extra hour of waiting, standing in line, before my large bags are checked and I can get through security.  So here I am.  And the extra hour of waiting doesn’t stop me.

There’s the normal three hour stint of waiting between security check and boarding, all the while the weather outside rages.  Floor to ceiling windows reveal the lengths to which everyone is going to help make sure planes can land and take off safely.   With all the plows and salt trucks and crusty planes going back and forth across my large-widowed view, I confess, it doesn’t look safe to me.   Ice everywhere.  I get word that Ken has returned home without incident and am grateful.  Time to board now.  The worrisome view doesn’t stop me.

It takes a while to get final clearance for takeoff.  Other planes are delayed, and now so are we.  We wait an hour.  But then we are encased with ice ourselves.  It’s another hour before we can be de-iced and get clearance for departure.  I’ve now been ‘traveling’ for 8 hours and haven’t really gone anywhere. 

Never mind.  All this sitting around and waiting will be in sharp contrast to the ridiculously close connection time in Seoul. 

What was supposed to be a reasonable two and a half hour layover now becomes a mad 45 minute dash to de-board, be greeted by Korean Air ground staff asking for those going to Chiang Mai, get whisked away on a golf-cart across the multiple kilometres of Terminal 2, be rushed through security, and then literally run at least another half kilometre to my gate where, breathless, I arrive just as everyone is boarding.  No time for any freshening up, stopping for a snack, checking in online, going to the bathroom, nothing like that.  Just running.  I buckle my seat belt and prepare for takeoff still on an adrenaline rush.   The benefit will come just a little later when the corresponding dip will help me sleep for most of the five hours of this flight.    I’ll need it.

The plane arrives on time to Chiang Mai.  But.  Seems a lot of flights have arrived exactly the same time and I cannot remember being in a longer line to get through customs.  It takes another hour and a half.  I make friends with two women travelling to visit the missionary sister of one of them whose, you won’t believe this, maternal grandparents were Breithaupts.  I’m not kidding.  They’re from Kansas.  So, what are the odds?  The line-up chit chat and figuring out how we’re related (how, not if, it’s just a given with the last name Breithaupt) helps pass the time. 

I’m finally through customs and have my bags and have been appropriately and wonderfully embraced and loaded into the truck and patiently listened to as I recount the adventure to get here.  Probably one of the more challenging trips I’ve taken here in the past eleven years.   

It will provide a great story to tell the children the next day for our first time together at evening worship.  And it will be a reminder again of why I’m doing this.

I frequently hear comments about how long and difficult the trip is, even without ice storms and delays.   And I was asked not that long ago what would motivate me to take such a risk as to take on the new responsibilities that are now my work in Thailand.  In the context in which the question was asked, it was not hard to hear “You’re crazy” as an unspoken echo at the end of it. 

And I guess the truth is, I am.  Crazy in love with the kids who listen to me telling them that nothing within my control could stop me from coming to see them.  I’m more tired and stiff than usual, but truth is, I don’t mind whatever extra inconveniences might happen along the way.  As long as I can be here with them.  What a gift. 

So much love.   

Love is courage.  Love is tenacity.  Love is inconvenience and discomfort and sacrifice.  Love covers a multitude of sin.  Love motivates.  Love sacrifices and barely notices, except maybe to be able to record the particulars in a blog somewhere.

 

And I remind the children that my trip was nothing compared to the lengths God went to buy their redemption.  February is a month of celebrating love.  The greatest risk was motivated by the greatest love of all.   

Let the month of love begin.

I’m here, finally, and it was oh so worth it.

Let the love begin.

Day Before Quietly

I am resolved to stay home today.

Yesterday was the running-around-for-the-stuff-that-always-has-to-be-done-at-the-last-minute day.  No amount of advanced planning, or number of repeated times doing this seems to avoid it.  But at least I have been able to push it back by one day this time.  It looks like I can be quiet and stay at home today, this day before.

There's still some packing to do, of course.  And the final weighing of bags.  And the laying out of the traveling clothes.  Stuff like that.  But staying home, indulging in my introversion a little for this one day, being slow and methodical about all the final check lists, stopping to just think in unhurried ways, means my mind and spirit can be quiet in order to prepare for what's about to unfold.

By now I know the routine.  And with the time between these two trips being the shortest ever (two months only!), the packing and preparing is that much more familiar because it's more recent.  Perhaps it's even becoming something of a ritual, here now as I stand over the suitcases, and go over the lists. 

And because I have this day, it's a quieter ritual this time.  In the house, by myself, getting everything ready, especially and needfully, getting my soul ready.  Ready for another month away.  Another month not away.  Both at the same time.  Ready to release my Canadian life for a bit, and receive and be received in that other family, that other life that waits on the other side of the planet.

And I am here today, staying home quietly, this day before.

It's a praying day.  I ask frequently, "What else?  What else might I need to be fully available for Your good ideas this time out?  What else should I bring to be prepared for what You have in mind?  What else?"  And little things come to mind.  Like recipe cards, and an empty picture frame, and double-sided tape, and to enjoy the quiet of this day.  Just be quiet in it, this day before.

And tonight we will be quiet together, Ken and I.  This magnificent man who releases me for this, time and time again.  And I'll enjoy the warmth of the fire and our quietness, and we'll pray together to offer this again as a wonderment of grace that we get to do this together, even as we are apart for a while.

This day before quietly.  Yes.  It settles me and strengthens me in ways I've badly needed these past two months.  And I'm grateful for the space I'm in now, marking this day before quietly.

In these weeks between the two visits, I find I am quite keenly aware of the crazy amount of love I'm allowed in my life.  The scope of it.  The years of it.  The intensity of it.  It comes at me in waves, as I'm packing, as I'm shopping, as I'm driving, as I'm worshiping with my community on Sunday.   I love and am loved, know and am known in ways earlier versions of myself yearned for painfully.  But now, there is a wild excitement, that also balances and centers me in love, quite securely.  And on this day of quietly before, I am more aware of it all.

This day reminds me of words penned by a contemplative shepherd leader a very, very long time ago.

"I have calmed and quieted myself,

I am like a weaned child with its mother;

like a weaned child I am content."

Psalm 131:2

Calm.  Quiet.  Content.
Even as, like a young child, there are great adventures ahead of me.
Tomorrow.
Today is the day before.
Quietly.