Mai Pen Rai

Such a gentle culture, this.

It's almost as if the easy, flowing rolling of the foothills rolls right on down into each Thai soul, green and rich and giving way to whatever swaying the breeze might bring to the day.

It's not a laziness. Even though the heat makes me lazy, these people are certainly industrious enough. Always doing something, perhaps not with the same intensity as Western workaholics, but certainly productive, and efficient to supply for their needs. It's not a fatalism either, at least not for the believing friends we've made here. It's much more about grace and forgiveness and letting small things be small things. In a way, this gentle forgiveness is reflected in a common response phrase - "Mai pen rai" - "Never mind."

It's said in response to "Thank you". We'd say, "your welcome", they say "never mind", and it means "don't sweat it", "that's okay", "no problem" - mai pen rai.

Yupa said it to me when, through Debbie as my interpreter (last October) I expressed a concern that while I was there on my own, with no interpreter, if things got quiet, not to think I was unhappy or upset. That I was okay with the predictable silences that were sure to be part of the language limitations. And Yupa smiled her wide gentle smile and said, "Mai pen rai."

The girls said it to me, just a few days ago, after bringing it to my attention that I had left a fan running in our room. This is obviously not a good thing, probably very much against the "house rules", and they wanted me to know. But almost immediately, even before I could offer my apology, they told me, "Mai pen rai."

Suradat offered this phrase over and over, as we struggled to understand each other. Most often we would achieve the intended communication in one way or another. But sometimes the conversation would end with both of us shrugging our shoulders and smiling a "we're trying but it's not happening kind of smile". And he would say, "Mai pen rai." Or if I couldn't eat something or bumped into someone, or did anything that was not exactly Thai-polite, there was so much grace for me, and for the whole team this time around, the assumption being that we would not purposely offend. There was so much "Mai pen rai" available, and it eased the space between us.

And I think I'm so aware of this because of how much everything can matter to me in such a un-mai pen rai kind of way back home.

I get cut off on the express way and I'm not thinking, "mai pen rai". Someone stands me up for a lunch date, and I'm not thinking, "mai pen rai". Unreturned e-mails, an undone assignment from one of my team members, a forgotten favour left undone sending me out to to the store on an errand I thought I had delegated. Under my breath I am growling, but I'm not growling grace.

Take "mai pen rai" to the next level and it gets even harder. The offer of a gracious response to life's more damaging offenses, the woundings, the neglects, the betrayals. Do I have a spirit of "mai pen rai" then?

I know this is tricky because the journey through such complicated relational territory certainly requires that healthy boundaries be put into place. There is no place in grace for abuse, and no sense that God is in favour of participating in relational patterns that perpetually violate.

Still, it seems to me that the giant cosmic bottom line of it all is that we come to God loaded with desperate debt and no hope of ever buying our way out. We, each one of us, are broken and have offended God by our human proclivity to turn our backs on His offer of unconditional love and chase after other things. We break our our own codes of morality. We lie, we steal, we cheat. We say spiteful, hurtful things. Sometimes we stoop to the lowest of the low and commit unspeakable acts of emotional, psychological and even physical violence.

And in our tragic state, we stumble our way toward God, knowing what we deserve, expecting the worst. And because He sees us through the cross, He says, "Never mind." "Mai pen rai". It's taken care of already, by the sacrifice of My Son and the pervasive Spirit of unthinkable grace that is lovely, and flowing down out of the foothills of heaven onto every soul willing to give way and give over and give in to it.

Tomorrow I will leave this culture of gentle grace and dive headlong into my real life of missed appointments and dreadful crimes. There will continue to be opportunity after opportunity to extend big and little "mai pen rai's" to those in my life. And, I hope, because I need it so, experiences of "mai pen rai" being extended to me.

To ease the space between me and those I love and live with.

To give back out what's been given to me.
Over and abundantly
Like the rains on the mountains
Like the love of orphans
Like the gentle grace of a lovely people
Who are teaching me so much.

Simple Rest

I'm back in Chiang Mai! The 10 day stay at Hot Springs is done and George, Starr and I are gathering ourselves emotionally and physically for the long trip home. Meanwhile, there seems so much to get caught up on. I think I'll invent something called "Retro-Blogging" :).

In that spirit, and in no particular order, here are some of my rambling reflections over the past few days.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

I realized sometime yesterday, I think, that I was waking up feeling well rested.

It’s not like I’ve been sleeping perfectly. The hard mattress on ceramic tile floor combined with the random rooster in residence at Hot Springs, plus the intense humidity of the end of rainy season in northern Thailand can give enough cause for a few moments of wakefulness throughout the night.

Still, I lay for a moment in those first wakeful thoughts and think about getting up. I think about putting on some clothes, making sure I have my Thai-English dictionary and my Bible and my glasses, and heading down the red-muddy hill with Starr and George for morning devotions. I think, without any alarm or stress, about what I might try to say to 15 used to be orphans if Suradet ends the worship time by looking up at me, smiling and asking if I’d like to teach the lesson. I do not worry about what I will eat or drink, or what I will put on, because here in this slice of life, my breakfast of rice (and my lunch and supper for that matter) will be provided by humble, generous-with-little hands. And I’m just wearing the coolest, loosest, most comfortable clothes I’ve brought (all I have to do is find the baby power for strategic shaking).

Throughout the day I will wait and see what happens and do it when it does. If it gets too hot I’ll have another shower (who’s counting anyways) and lay down for half an hour, which will be easy to do because not only do I know by now the words I need to say that in Thai, but when I say that in Thai, I am immediately obeyed – an eerie feeling when it first happens, but I find it frighteningly easy to get used to.

There will be “conversations” with Yupa and Suradet, each side of the language equation equipped with dictionaries and phrase books and a blank piece of paper and a pen, ready to wait for each other and stumble through together to reach the best possible understanding. These will, remarkably enough, be enriching and deep and binding, in a strange “how can I feel I know you this well when we can barely speak to each other?” kind of way. We will teach each other new vocabulary, and tell our stories, and express our admiration for each other in the ministries God has called us to, deepen our understandings and respect. We will even begin to share our humour with one another, a new feature of this trip as each of us edges closer to knowing more about the cultural framework of the other.

After breakfast, or after lunch, which ever seems good at the time, we will play chess or string beads or play Dutch Blitz or paint pictures, or any other of the various activities we have brought with us. Confession: These activities actually serve two purposes. One, of course, they are for the children’s pleasure, and a little bit of ESL. It has been wonderful to see them bring out the games that I brought with me last October, and actually we haven’t noticed any other “new” games or activities in the mix that they bring to the table. But the other reason, the other purpose for the activities….It gives you a chance to just be close, and to interact, and to see into their lives and eyes just a little bit, without having to know the language. This morning it was stringing beads. There was a quiet breeze, and gentle humming, and concentrated quiet murmurings around the table as we all worked together to make our beautiful pieces.

A sudden and violent thunderstorm might blow across the mountain. If it does, we’ll gathering everything up real quick, stack the blue plastic chairs, and head for cover. It will shake, rattle and roll around the mountain, rain coming across sideways, kids squealing in delight for each crack and bang. And then, when the storm is spent, the clouds will just as suddenly part and a freshness will blow around….for about half an hour, until the humidity starts to build again.

George might show the boys, and some of the interested girls, how to make strong knots in a rope. He’ll take them to the back of the carport, near to where the new tadpoles are housed (destined for a future as frog soup), and show them how to use their new found roping skills to drag a large log from point at to point B.

Starr might break out the nail polish and give mini manicures, each girl choosing their colour and giggling at the oddity of having one of the esteemed farang sponsors wash their hands and tend to their needs this way. They will call her Miss Dao (the Thai word for “star”) and marvel at her white skin and curly hair, which they love. Bee might walk by and give her a little poke to make her jump, and that will make them both laugh.

And I will take out my computer to write down a few words about how restful it all is, and quietly, gently I will be encircled by used to be orphans watching me, and telling me how fast I type. They will secretly be hoping that I will close this page and open the videos from my last trip here, but that’s not the plan for this moment.

This moment I am resting.

I know that when I get home there will be a new household, a new family to adjust to. I know there will be a strategic plan to unfold and bring to the people to cast the vision for a strong future. I know there will be left over business to care for, some of it unpleasant, but most of it, most of all of it, what I love to do with all my heart. Who I am and what I do when I’m NOT in Thailand is a full and abundant life for me. I am grateful from the deepest places of me for it, and for the privilege of being allowed to serve, and the honour to who I get to serve with.

But this last little while…..

In the car at home, I’ve been listening to a song by Steve Bell. It’s a blessing.

May the Lord bless and keep you.
May His face shine upon you.
May His graciousness be like an endless stream.
May the Lord show His favour
To your house and you neighbour
Til the last remaining strains of striving cease.
May He grant you peace.

In my heart there’s a sadness building up.
Every turn adds to the cup.
As the losses match the measure of my gains.
And in the shadow of this curse,
Where the best implies the worst
If you’re like me you need to hear somebody say.

May the Lord bless and keep you.
May His face shine upon you.
May His graciousness be like an endless stream.
May the Lord show His favour
To your house and you neighbour
Til the last remaining strains of striving cease.
May He grant you peace.

I don’t know why, but this song started running through my mind as we were headed back from a 2 k walk with the kids this morning. Just a short jaunt, George and I and about 7 of our new best friends, in the cooler part of the morning.

I got to the part about the “best implies the worst” and it struck me. This best, these kids, coming to live here, the hospitality on steroids of Yupa and Suradet to bring these discarded treasures under their roof. The best – this supernaturally motivated love – implying the worst – that someone, somewhere didn’t want them.

It screams over and over in my brain. I am offended in the worst way. I am angered, I am horrified. And I remember the first night here, that first night not so long ago really, when we were first introduced to the mystery that is Hot Springs. And on that night, how I heard it as clearly as ever I hear these things. “These are My kids. Do something.”

So here I am, walking and playing and stringing beads and waking up to morning devotions……. and resting. I am resting here in this place. I am resting in the loveliness of the hearts here. I am resting in the open hearted welcome of my presence here. I am resting in the simplicity of just being where God has asked me to be. And I am rested.

And I don’t get it. I don’t know why God would bring me all the way here just to lay me down and pour into me. But He has. Like last time. I am poured into.

By the touching of tactile Sai who like to stroke my arm when we’re sitting side by side. By the painfully stunning smile of Miki whom I’ve missed so much! By Thim’s sweet aspirations to be a teacher and Teh’s hope to be a missionary. By Bao being three. By Entorn having come out of his sullen disposition and become a very agreeable young man. By Saiy having settled down and showing a truly beautiful kind side. By the saying of grace by the children, one at a time each meal. By the sunrise coming over the mountains as little Asian voices lift high and strong to praise the God who created it. By the bouncing joy in Suradet as he leads his congregation in enormous worship.

Poured into, filled up, refreshed. Rested.

Undeserved.

Here I am again.

And it strikes me, on this Mother's Day way on the other side of the world, how grateful I am to my family, for letting me come and be here this day. It is a good gift.

Brokering the Sweetness

We've brought Werthers with us.

I confess that in my own weakness for sweets, anything butterscotchy is right up there, and therefore Werthers would not surprisingly be something easily thought of to bring to treat orphans. I had purchased a large bag, thinking it would be something to take to Doi Saket.

For the sake of those not knowing, Doi Saket is a small community, sort of like a suburb of Chiang Mai. Asia's Hope's first orphan home in the area is located there, a larger home with approximately 100 children and the feel of summer camp on steriods. Within the past 18 months, in a surge of growth, made possible by the addition of three more sponsoring churches, Doi Saket 2 and Doi Saket 3, along with Hot Springs (Highview's partnership), have been added. That means about 50 to 60 more orphans have been gathered under the shelter of the amazing people who bring the love of Jesus to desperate children.

In these two days of recovery and adjustment here in Chiang Mai, before we even get to Hot Springs and the 15 kids we're actually here to see, and can't wait to see, we have had the chance to drop in at Doi Saket.

We brought the Werthers.

It's a wonderfully "regular" thing for the kids at Doi Saket 1. Farang visitors have been bringing gifts and treats here for some time now, and while any child there would never be rude or pushy, there is still an aura of delighted expectancy whenever Tutu or any other Asia's Hope personnel shows up with someone new.

Our time there was wonderful for me, and seemed happy for George and Starr as well. We stepped out of the car and were greeted by an immediate dozen of hugs. Some faces I recognized and even could call by name. Birdie was there and we said a happy hello and I showed her the beaded bracelet I was wearing, the one she made for me on my first trip to Asia.

I gave Starr the bag of candy and she immediately had just that extra edge of connectiveness with the kids. I loved watching them approach her, wai, receive the candy with joy, and then run off to go tell 99 of their best friends. One by one, Starr dispensed a tiny, wrapped package of afternoon sweetness to children who certainly don't get it every day.


It was at Doi Saket 3, however, that the candy became something more.


These are Asia's Hope's newest kids here in Thailand. Two to three months ago, these children were in desperate situations, without enough food, no one to provide care, or at least with adults so desperate themselves that adequate care of their children was an impossible dream. And they look it. Some are fairly rough around the edges still, with rashes and markings showing evidence of disease and lack of basic needs.

When Starr began handing out the Werthers here, it almost seemed as if some of the kids had never seen candy before. They struggled to get the wrapping off. They looked at it and held it in their hands for a second. One little guy popped his candy in his mouth, his face becoming wide with happy surprise. He spit it back into his hand to look at this wonderful little piece of heaven, and then popped it right back in his mouth, half squealing, half giggling with wonder.

Over a Werthers.

It seems to me, in a very simple way, that's why we're here. To show to the ones who have nothing the wonders of a God who longs to give them all the wonder heaven has to offer. A God Who by virtue of laying Himself down to be hammered to a cross, has indeed already given them everything He's got. A God who is so incensed by poverty and oppression, He repeatedly and with great clarity and intensity, compells those who call Him Father to broker for Him the sweetness of heaven.

It was the same screaming whisper I heard 18 months ago on my first trip out to Hot Springs. The fierce tenderness of a God, who brought me half way around the world to see first hand what was breaking His heart here. That first night at Hot Springs, meeting our kids, I heard God say, as clearly as I ever hear these things, "These are My kids. Do something."

So yesterday, in the happy excitement of one small package of butterscotchy sweetness, there it was again. That sense of being here for way bigger reasons than I could possibly understand, humbled and profoundly grateful that we get to broker the sweetness of God's pounding love for His kids.

Strange New Kind of Normal

I woke up this morning completely surprised.

It wasn't that I'd slept for 9 hours straight. That was a gift, but not surprising given the combination of painting/moving stress plus travel/flying fatigue.

It wasn't that I wasn't that I was so hot already. I expected that this trip, being at the tail end of the hottest season in Northern Thailand.

It wasn't even that I was in a different bedroom than my own, although it was that realization and the lack of the surprise of it that was surprising. All that's familiar is surprising me.

Familiar faces were waiting for us on the other side of the customs barrier, and it was warm and wonderful to wai and embrace and kiss lovely little faces. There were about 16, all Thais but one, only 8 of whom were our Hot Springs orphans (the others had school or other reasons, not sure yet but we'll see them all soon). The rest of the group consisted of Suradet, Yupa, Tutu, and Ashley (Asia's Hope intern from the US you'll get to know more as we go, I'm sure) and baby Joshua and a staff person who's name I asked but didn't write down, and one other teenage girl who I don't know. But mostly, mostly familiar faces. Faces of people I love. What's up with that? Half way around the world, Thai faces, a culture and people so strange to me, yet so familiar so much part of me. When did that happen?

Tutu took us first to the home of Mike and Debbie Flinchum, long time missionaries in Thailand now serving with Asia's Hope at Doi Saket. Remarkably, they have opened their home to us even while they are back in the US welcoming the arrival of another grandchild. It's where I stayed when not at Hot Spring while I was here last fall. It's a beautiful home, clean and bright in typical Thai-modern style. But more beautiful is the open handed spirit of these two kingdom servant-warriors, who have left us everything we need for a few days of rest and refreshment while we recover from the journey and adapt to the culture and climate.

Not daring to nap, at least for long, we only gave ourselves about two hours to settle in, shower, unpack and get oriented. Then we headed off to "big Lotus" (think Walmart on steriods with a complete grocery section) to get our money exchanged. It was strange to realize how familiar I am with baht and with being able to do simple exchanges at the store. In fact, at one point Tutu left the three of us with our own cart and the list of what we would need for breakfast and snacks and other basic survival items (like toilet paper) at Hot Springs. And there we were, just us Canadians surrounded by Thais speaking Thai, surrounded by strange signage and unusual fruit and sticky rice on your ice cream.....and it was fine. More than fine. It was fun and wild and strange and familiar all at the same time.

And then this morning, when I woke up in a room I knew and immediately realized where I was and it all felt so normal even though I am literally half way around the world.....that's what surprised me.

My first time here I was so out of my element. No, really. Completely and totally out of whack with my self, feeling so disoriented and lost and uncomfortable, so hopelessly homesick I was barely good for anything. The first time here I was all about me and how I was experiencing everything. The first time here I felt anything but normal.

And now? This is strange and normal all at once. It's a strange new kind of normal where what I know overlaps with what is new in a way that makes me wonder what God has for me to discover in that overlapping space.

Whatever it is, I have a feeling that it will completely surprise me.

On Our Way

The Team is on its way!

At the time of this writing it's 2 a.m. our time. Except you're not supposed to do that, keep checking your watch and translating the time back. Here in LA it's only 11 p.m. But, hey, that's still late, and I'm still tired.

But happy. Really happy. Almost Skittles happy without the Skittles. Poor George and Starr. They've been very tolerant, even to the point of pulling themselves out of their sleepy slump to pose for this picture. We are waiting at Gate 121, the famous, long-layover gate of this (my) third time. Feels like home to me. Wait! That reminds me of a song. (See, told ya...Skittles happy.)

We have come through the all the security and customs checks with remarkable ease, had an uneventful first flight, rescued George's hat from having abandonment issues, have had a "robust" meal (my small group will understand that word) at a snappy Mexican restaurant, and have now found our wandering way around this massive labyrinth that is LAX.

I still can't believe I get to go again. I can't. What a gift this is to my astonished soul. That God would allow this, that the people in my life would let me go, shoulder my responsibilities at church and at home, that generous hearts would provide the means, thoughtful hearts would stock the snack bag, that praying hearts would cover us.

So...here we are, at Gate 121, waiting for that long, long but-numbing flight to Taipei, Skittles-happy without the Skittles...at least I am :).

We'll keep you posted.

The Anchor that Frees Me

I am particularly grateful for and humbled by the selflessness of my hero tonight.

Nothing spectacular happened, except that he sat with me, listened respectfully, and helped me figure out a tedious, last minute detail this final night before my third trip to Southeast Asia. Third trip. And he's doing it again....letting me go, not holding me back from the adventure, patiently, gently helping me figure out tedious, last minute details.

It constantly amazes me that God would know exactly who it was I would need, at 15 and at 52, neither of us being the same person today that we were then, not at all; yet being and becoming the other puzzle piece in a life long romance that anchors. I am not an easy person to live with. Yet Ken remains. This is a great gift.

So I'm the one getting on the plane, but those kids in Chiang Mai have every bit as much of Ken in every moment I spend, every hug I share, every treat given, every faltering sermon stumbled through with the gracious assistance of translation.

I am the goer but Ken is the sender, less exotic, more hidden.....quietly my hero.

Thank you, love.
I'm excited to go, can hardly wait.
But I'm anchored to your heart,
And I'll be back very soon
More me
Because you let me go.

The Wild Space In Between

Sometimes I can totally relate to those unfortunate characters on Star Trek who find themselves in a time warp continuum. It's a place where time and space kind of don't factor any more, and everything seems like forever and a second all at once. Between Asia is like that for me.

Can it really be that in just six days I'll be getting back on a plane heading to Thailand?

Flashback. I'm sitting on the runway in Chiang Mai, my gut in knots from the goodbye I have just endured. What have I done to my heart? After two weeks with the orphans at Hot Springs, I am not sure I remember where I end and they begin. And now I am about to fly as far away from them as geographically possible, to the other side of the world. I do NOT want to leave them.

The pain is physical, in my chest and stomach and arms. The engine roars and so does something deep inside of me. How is this happening? Why is this okay? When did 15 children I didn't know exist two years ago, become part of my inner sanctum? Six months. That's how long I will have to wait to see them again. And the plane lifts off and I honestly can't remember ever being so wrenched away.

Six months. On Tuesday the six months is over. How did that happen? When did it happen?

We are travelling as three this time. George Gabber, one of Highview's Elders and an odd mix of completely serious and seriously fun. Starr Bramer, year two of university under her belt, ready to be pushed out of her zone. We'll go to Hot Springs Orphan Home and love and encourage our kids. (Jen Connor will have her very own adventure in June. More on that later.)

April 28 to May 15, a little more than two weeks all included (with travel time). We're bringing gifts and treats and chess and nail polish and frisbees and open hearts to love bumblingly midst the language and cultural cross over. We're excited and anxious and ready and unprepared.

And it's Tuesday that we leave. Tuesday.

Tutu (Thailand Director of Ministry for Asia's Hope) and I have written frequently since that first visit in February of 2008. Recently we chatted about this visit, and I told her that all the sum of the events of the past 11 months have left me with a certain kind of weariness. Not sad, except very sad. Not discouraged, except bewildered some. Not in want, except empty in some places. I told her that I was so looking forward to the "filling up" of our time together. I said that I hoped she and I could have some good 'conversations' about our life and leadership as women in ministry. She wrote back and reassured me, "You will know my heart."

I'm packing. I'm driving around imagining the greeting at the airport. I am practicing how I will say my hellos. I can't wait to kiss the faces and give out candy.

I will abandon myself once again to the wild space in between the space of my life.