Another Thing I Take For Granted

Early in our marriage, Ken and I bought the plots that would receive our remains once we were finished with them.  It was a practical move, fairly easily paid off, and something that we both have been glad is taken care of with such little fuss.  Just "one little thing less" to worry about when the day comes that would be made more difficult by such details.  Just one little thing, like where to be buried when we die.  

Haven't given it much thought really, until now.

The tragic loss of Suradet and Yupa's son Bee last September has opened my eyes to yet another level of harshness that is living and dying in a country far less resourced than my own.  This basic need of a place to lay loved ones to rest isn't so basic or even expected here.  Due largely to the vast majority of those who choose cremation in a Buddhist country, burial plots are hard to come by and extremely expensive.  The few cemeteries available for Christians who desire to to be buried are crowded, awkward and barely available to folks without their own or donated funds.  No one who attends Hot Springs Church could afford such a thing.

 Bee is laid to rest in a space about 10 minutes from Hot Springs that is rustic in all the ways this country can be.  Everything is quickly overgrown in a tropical climate, and the cemetery itself does not resemble anything I've seen at home.  It was a mad scramble and a step of faith to acquire Bee's space, not knowing for sure if the donations from those who attended the visitation and funeral, and those of us who love them from half a world away, would be enough.  And it was only one of many expenses putting pressure on already anguished souls.

Suradet and Yupa are servants to the core of their beings.  One thing they realized from their own wretched experience is that that those they love and lead in their church do not have access to the same connections or resources that they do.  As pastors, they wanted to turn their own grief into something redemptive.  And out of that came the idea that Hot Springs Church should purchase land to become their own cemetery.

A secure box was made and put at the back of the church.  This would receive donations over time, coming from the church members themselves.  I have noted before, when explaining this to Highview, that not once did Suradet and Yupa ask or expect that any significant portion of this project would come from us.  It truly was something they wanted to provide for one another from their own resources.

That was ten months ago.

With an influx of population coming from the south to the north over the past five years or so (for reasons both political and economic), land in this area has increased in price quite drastically.  That is why a suitable property about 10 minutes from the church was far out of reach when they inquired last month.  However, after the first conversation, the owner of the land reconsidered his price given the purpose, and out of his own desire to be generous for a good cause, he came back with a counter offer of half the original amount.  What was 3 million baht was now 1 million, 500 thousand! [NOTE:  3 million baht = $113,000.00 CAD, 1.5 million baht = $57,000.00]

A group of us went out to view the property.  Honestly, it was lovely.  Easy access.  Much clearer and open and beautiful than the one other cemetery I have visited here.  The sun was happy there.  There were trees.   Suradet tells me he would move Bee here if they can buy the land.  I like that thought.  I like the idea of Bee being here instead of there, at least the thought of having this place to come to instead.

With excitement, it was decided to go back to Hot Springs and open the box to see how much had been collected thus far.  We did this in the same group so that the counting could be verified.

First problem was the key.  It had been so long since the box was locked, no one could remember exactly where it was.  Suradet tried a few random keys with no success.  Then he broke out the tool box.  One particular screwdriver did the trick, and the lid was pulled off and the contents spilled out onto the tiles of the porch where we were.  It was not an impressive pile to be honest.  However, who knew what was in those envelopes?  We began with a fair degree of optimism.  The 1000 baht bills brought little noises of hope.  But most were basically pocket change notes of 20 and 50 and 100 baht.  We set to work.

However, the final count proved rather demoralizing.  A grand total of 16,000 baht had been collected.  Over ten months.  Not even a spit enough for a down payment. [NOTE:  16,000 baht = $600.00 CAD]

Everyone was quiet for a moment.   My own disappointment was huge.  I wondered if they were thinking the same thing I was.  If this was the result of 10 months of collection, and land prices were only increasing, and this particular offer had been an amazing, and maybe one time deal, was the vision for a cemetery of their own even remotely realistic?

Suradet broke the silence.  "Prajao roo took yung", he stated simply but with absolute confidence.  God knows everything.  From what I could tell no further discussion ensued.  No re-evaluating of the process or the project.  I'm not even sure if the box will be there again on Sunday and if they simply will wait it out, trusting God to provide.  But I bet that's just what they'll do.  Because I've seen them do it over and again, just like this.

In fact that's our story.  Ten years ago it was exactly the same thing.  Suradet and Yupa took in 11 at risk children not knowing how they would feed or clothe them.  But they prayed.  And they fasted.  And half way around the world God was preparing a small but mighty community of faith to come be their partners in this bold and gentle redemptive work.  They didn't know us then.  We didn't even know each other existed.  But God did.  Because God knows everything.  Yes.  He does.

I struggle with the implications of my writing this here.  Yes, I would gladly accept any amount that would bring these beautiful people closer to the sad and delicate purpose this project represents.  That common dignity.  That 'little one thing less' I haven't ever worried about myself.

But my intentions are less pragmatic today, I think.  Instead, I just find myself wanting to feel it with them.  Understand this more deeply in my psyche first before trying to fix anything.   If there's anything to fix anyways.

The "Just Being Here" Thing

Just now I have returned from the meeting room where I have mapped out tonight's half English and half Bible lesson on the white board and set up for my props.  Earlier today I rehearsed with Bell (my interpreter) for tomorrow's sermon.  Both Andrea and Esther have something in mind for what they've been asked to do in the service.  Later tonight, after worship time and the ESL and Bible lessons, I will have a short meeting with Ahjahn Suradet and Yupa about Team Trip finances since today we were able to go exchange our money.

These are just snips of the things we 'do' when we're here, to serve and encourage and support both the children and their parents, as well at Hot Springs Church, through practical tasks and hands on ministry.

But really, that's not so much what it's about.  Actually, maybe it's not at all what it's about.

This wallops me on the way back from the chicken house.

It's Saturday so there is a special kind of happy hanging in the misty air.  I wonder if this isn't light rain at all, but joy shimmering down on us, because the whole place is lush and green with it.  We are walking the sloppy path alongside the newly planted rice crop, being weeded by the older girls under Dtu's knowledgeable guidance.  This is muddy work,  a fact which seems to increase the amusement of the workers who show us their red-brown hands and clumped up shoes as evidence of the fun they are having.

Suradet walks in front of me, and I am at first struck by the beauty of the mountains being cloaked with clouds in front of him.  When I leave Thailand, I always miss the mountains.  And this particular morning these deep white clouds against the dark green backdrop just seem severely and suddenly  magnificent and worthy of my full attention. 

But it's Suradet that captures the moment.  And he's just walking.  And singing.  And it's been longer than I care to count, with more sadness between that I care to think about, since I've heard this.  And the simplicity and depth of that particular joy on this particular day in this particular moment focuses like a lovely laser.  A breath-catcher, it is.  Being here, in this, like this.

Later in the car on the way to exchange our money, Suradet will break a spell of driving silence just to say, "Ahjahn Ruth, thank you so much for coming.  For everyone at Highview."  And then a pause.  "For loving me, like you were my mother."  Perhaps he's having just a moment of being here too.  This just.  Being.  Here.                                                       
                                                       

 

Likely I will always get asked the question about spending the money on the plane tickets.  Wouldn't it be so much better, they say, if we just sent that same amount to the cause?  I get the question.  I really do, but my answer is this.  No.  It wouldn't.  It wouldn't at all.  And I dare you to come and find out why.

Fully present in the moment, just being here, like this.
This is today's wonder.

Wordless Explanations

Hot Springs, here we come.  Let me try to explain.

Tomorrow morning these two strong and honest women will be my traveling companions.  We are off once again to a destination half way around the world to visit 25 treasures and their remarkable parents in a place so many of us at Highview have come to regard as a second family, a second home.  There's something deeply good afoot for this particular trip, at least that's been my 'hunch' since last January when, sitting at Suradet and Yupa's table, I first wrote the email inviting them to come back with me in July.

Both Andrea and Esther have been to Thailand before, Andrea with YWAM during her DTS in South East Asia, and Esther to Hot Springs for two visits already.  Both these women are exemplary students working on degrees in nursing and music, respectively.  And they are both faithful leaders in our Children's Ministry.  Their faith is solid and demonstrable, and they are keen to be learning more about who they are in the big picture of God's kingdom come.  So you can already guess with me that this will be a trip with lots of soul-ish work AND tons of adventurous fun.  Honestly, how is it I get to do this?

Of course personally there is the anticipation of again simply being with this unique and astonishing family that has so captured my heart.  I miss them every single day.  Six months is too long.  But on Thursday, if all goes according to the good-things-afoot-Planner, I won't have to ache for them for 21 whole days. 

Again I ask, how is it I get to do this?

In all my life, there have been these rare points of connection when everything else seems to be distilled and attached and explained by one single fact, one focused reality, one redeeming moment in the story.  Thailand, for me, is one of those points.  Not Thailand necessarily, but those kids, and Suradet and Yupa, all of whom have become family in a way family not often manifests itself.  These courageous, kind, generous, genuine, gutsy people, and the way they've allowed me to know and be known among them make everything else that hasn't gone right in my life up to this point, be alright after all.  Or not matter so much.  Or be transformed into the beautiful transitional thing it was to get me to here.  And if that doesn't make much sense it's because the more I try to explain what's happened, the more wordless it becomes. 

Oh my.  I will be a wreck at the airport.

It is our hope to tell our stories as we go along. 
Send the pictures. 
Share the adventure. 
So stay tuned. 

This should be good.

This Is Where I Am

Where the rock is the resonate constant

And the sky’s hue is unfathomable blue

To remind me how much bigger than me my life is.

Where turtles tutor in the benefits of basking,

And beavers do what they do best

Because, of course, it’s what they were made for.

Where waters heal with stillness

And shores restore

And silence becomes the sound of a soul consoled.

Here I breathe

And seethe with solace

Fasting and lasting for a long time alone

Except for You

My Rock, My Resonate Constant

Unfathomable in every possible measure

To remind me how much bigger than me my life is

You tutor in the benefits of basking

And that it’s okay to be me and love what I do

Because, yes, it’s what You made me to do.

Beside the waters with You I heal

Restored and more

Consoled in soul again by the food of silence

And the joy of weedy-wading, critter-collecting, wild-hood reclaiming wonders

And the in-spite-of-me mutual positive regard of their parents

And the long love of a very good man.

Here I breathe

And receive Your solace

Feasting and rising again to love and maybe even lead

Your people, Our people -

That wasabi community of faith who owns my heart -

Once again.

One more time.

In this between with You

Is where I am

Those Five Days - Reflections on Summer Solitude 2017

Waking to stillness.

                No wind yet moves the water, the trees.  Just silent golden  sunrise tipping over so slowly 

                 into the bay.  My soul smiles itself awake, stretching.

Then the birds.

                So glad, always, for a new day.  The jenny wren lets me know how beautiful this one is      

                already.

Maybe a beaver.

By now I am outside, trying to pretend I’m not intruding.  As if I was invited.  Making no sound.  On the deck, drinking my tea.  Drinking the hush and holy of this moment.  But one movement, ever so slight, and down he goes, slapping.  

Dawn gives way to full out morning.

And the breeze flirts with the water’s surface, and on my skin.  And nothing’s pressing.  I can stay here, like this, all day.  And I know it in the morning, and that true thing shapes everything all day.  And mostly, because it’s still season-early, the only noises made by a human are made by me.  And I’m careful about things like that.  And so much rest and grace can be breathed in when it’s quiet like that.

Joy-Work is what you call it.

When it’s meaningful and fascinating, and it still counts somewhere (back in that other life).  Reading and considering and writing things down and ideas and a mapping out of those ideas.  Joy-Work is what you call it when it can’t be interrupted, and when, upon it becoming even the least bit tedious or when the ideas stop flowing, you just put it away.  But if they don’t you can be engrossed – for a long time – and it’s okay.  Like that.

Humility is what you call it.

When the nap is taken seriously, as something holy.  And upon waking the needs of a ‘seasoned’ body are also addressed with the on-purpose engagement of muscle and beating heart; in the water, on the water.  And oh the luxury of the late afternoon shower.  And the ritual of meals easily observed in the privacy of this little table beside my chair, where there’s no convenient drive-through or awkward luncheon or forgotten salad to sabotage my good intentions.

And stillness circles back.

The sun in no hurry, hangs low above the trees.  The bullfrogs are all for it now, and the loon, haunting and beautiful, declares the day a huge success without having checked off one thing on a list.

Enough-ness is what you call it.

When in the cycle of days, maybe five in a row, that begin and end with stillness, there is the awareness of a Presence that makes everything enough again.  Every failure, emptiness, disappointment, criticism, dismissive conversation, real or imagined --  every way the whole wide world does not seem to want to accommodate my ‘agenda’ to be validated – it’s still there, it still happened, but it doesn’t matter anymore.  .

Because in this kind of stillness I can hear another Voice at last,

whispering divine affirmations, and a longing for this time, as much as I have longed for it too.

And He is Enough.

Scrapings

 ‘Search me, God, and know my heart,

Test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

And lead me in the way everlasting.”

Psalm 139:23-24 

It is a perfect day for this; cool and breezy.   I am unbothered by either too much sun or even just one biting bug.   For the first time in fourteen days I have actually put on socks and shoes, long pants and long sleeves.  I am out to the south side of our cottage, setting myself to the task of scraping off the last layers of paint so a new fresh coat can be applied when Ken comes back next weekend. 

“It doesn’t have to be perfect”, he said before leaving today.  But I find as I scrape the flat tool along all that’s been blistered and lifted by the elements, more and more of the bare wood is exposed.  And telling a perfectionist that it doesn’t have to be perfect comes across as more of a challenge than anything else.  So there is vigour and precision and great effort put to the wood.   With varying results.

And this is me.

Peeling back the layers is an annual ritual of what otherwise would be my activity-protected soul.  It’s what the ‘away-ness’ is for.  It’s what the solitude accomplishes.  A time for resting in nothing but being a beloved daughter, and letting that be the way all the paint comes off, flying free and gone in the wind, revealing, for better or for worse, what lays beneath.

It’s a messy, highly unattractive process, to be honest.  I wish I could say that the original wood, when I can get down to it, is all smooth and warm and lovely to look at.  But the plain unvarnished truth is that, during this stage, it’s all quite a mess.    Resentments revealed, jealousies uncovered, sin exposed, like knot holes rotted through, plugged with putty that doesn’t stay put. 

Remarkably, this is not as harsh as it sounds.  This is a safe place, encircled by breath-snatching love and grace that amazes again and again, often communicated in an excruciatingly beautiful sunset, or a close encounter with a blue heron.  Yes, there is weeping.  Always there is weeping.  But it’s the kind that brings cleansing, and makes you feel stronger when it’s done. 

And anyways, it doesn’t have to be perfect.

For two hours I scrape, losing all sense of time, only being disturbed in my task by an increasing awareness that I’m hungry, and my arm is getting really tired.  It’s hard work, but engrossing, and rewarding.

 And of course, badly needed.

What Really Matters: Reflections on Turning 60

I’ve made it no secret that turning 60 has been a big deal for me.  To be clear, I was more than adequately celebrated, and I had loads of freedom, on that day, to spend it in ways that were fun and meaningful and happy.  

The big deal, then, has been more about the opportunity to reflect on my life and recognize, with excited anticipation, how everything up until now will most definitely define everything that happens next.

Because, I am just getting started!   

Are you kidding?  What a gift sixty years of living can bring in terms of focus and clarity for what’s important.  Maybe it’s just taken me this long and other folks ‘get it’ way sooner than this, but in earlier years I was still figuring myself out, still trying things out, still sorting it all out.  Now, with still so much more to learn, of course , I am quietly certain of what really matters.  At least, what really matters to me.

As an imperfect follower of Jesus who also happens to be, among other things, a leader of a spiritual community, a cross-cultural partner in work with at-risk children, a woman, wife, mom and gramma, here’s what I would say really matters to me now, as I embrace this next decade.

First, it matters that I am a good steward of myself.  This has taken me a long time to believe and then practice, but it matters more now than ever because everything else will hinge on this.  Being a good steward of myself includes a way of looking after my physical body that is different than before, more like the kind of extra TLC required to keep a classic car running.  I find I have to be patient with what my body needs, how I respond to stress, and what kind of fuel I can run on.  Being a good steward of myself also has a lot to do with emotional energy.  At this point in my life I am not so quick to spend myself recklessly.  That doesn’t mean I don’t recklessly love, only that I refuse to invest in relationships or situations when it becomes obvious my emotional outlay is not helpful to the other and perhaps even damaging to myself, taking away energies better spent on family and those who can benefit.  Being a good steward also means that I pay attention to the abilities and gifts I've been given, and channel my energies accordingly.  And all of this requires the hard but necessary work of self awareness. 

Second, it matters that I find and maintain that delicate space that holds in balance equal measures of firm conviction, earnest curiosity, and humble possibility to be wrong.  I believe what I believe very strongly, and I have studied and explored and lived out my beliefs to the best of my ability.  My faith is of paramount importance to my life, and has brought goodness and stability and strength all through my lifetime.  But I have experienced within and outside the circles of my own faith, a kind of dogma that prevents an openness to new ideas and experiences.  I don’t want that.   And as sure as I am about some things, I want to hold on to the understanding that I might be wrong.  How arrogant for me to get to a place where I think I know everything and know it perfectly. 

Third, it matters to welcome and embrace ‘the other’ and let that, not other seductive metrics, guide my desire for leadership or personal success.  According to Jesus’ criteria for success as laid out in Matthew 25, ‘the other’ is anyone unlike ourselves and who is often initially perceived as having nothing to offer, but always seem to surprise us otherwise.  Usually ‘the other’ is not in our ‘demographic’; someone we would not have naturally sat with at the same table in our high school cafeteria.  Most often ‘the other’ needs something we have in excess, for which they will never be able to repay in kind, but will in actuality repay in ways that enrich us beyond our imagining. I tie this concept of ‘the other’ with my reflections on turning 60 because, as the leader of a community of faith looking back on a lifetime of ministry, I am subject to  severe and relentless temptations to measure my success quite differently.   In this, both Matthew 25 and Isaiah 58 have become guiding texts.

Fourth and finally, it matters that I be the person my grandchildren apparently believe me to be.  By the sheer enthusiasm with which I’m greeted every time, it would seem that my grandchildren think I’m a superstar.  At least someone worthy of wild hugs and lavish kisses and being dragged up to their room to be shown the latest drawing or Lego creation.  To my great delight and honour, I am thoroughly invited into their lives.   I do not take this responsibility lightly.  With grandchildren comes the opportunity to influence another generation, one that will outlast me by decades.  What legacy can I leave these most precious of human beings?  What memories can we make that will benefit their lives long after I’m gone?  Turning 60 has given me a deeper desire to hone in on who these little Beloveds are growing to be, because it matters how I live out the rest of my life with them.

I guess Paul the Apostle summed it up very nicely in this letter to the church in Galatia.  

 “The only thing that counts is faith showing itself in love.”   

Galatians 5:5  

 Love this.  It’s been the banner text across this blog since the beginning, and I think it will stay there for quite some time.   

 Maybe even, Lord willing, until I’m reflecting on what matters at 70.