Loving Beyond Myself

It's been a day full of doing and being. I'm tired. Probably there were too many meetings. But here at the end of it, I'm resting in a easy sense of loving what I do, and loving and respecting who I get to do it with.

Closer to the end of the day (at one of the meetings :), I sat around a table talked with our team about what it means to live in community. We agreed, it's not always fun or nice or easy. Sometimes human beings can cause each other so much pain. But when it's all done and unpacked and put down on the table, the bottom line is still the bottom line. We need each other.

I know for sure I need the people who sat around that table, and the ones who sat at the table in the meeting that started my day, and the ones who sat in my office in the middle of the day, and who I drove home later, and who was waiting for me at home to watch the next episode of Bones with me. I need them. All of them.

You know, it always bugs me that when I do those tests I come up way heavier on the "Task" side of the chart than the "People" side. Because, really, it's all about the people. All of it. It's about friends and coworkers and family members and those you're in conflict with and those who don't agree with what you're doing or understand why. It's about the lunches and the e-mails and the coffee conversations. It's about the teams and building them. It's about the ones who haven't found out who they are yet, and you get to discover it together with them. It's about broken people who speak into my own brokenness. It's about little people who call me Gramma and own my heart. And smart people who teach me stuff. And the thoughtful people who don't park in "my" spot and help me wipe off the snow from my car. And the creative people who think of the coolest messages to send in a gift. And life long loyal friends who share their french fries and their souls with me, and aren't afraid to stay walking beside me even when it means some of the crap of my life gets on them.

Lately I've been meditating a lot on forgiveness and redemption and reconciliation and love. I've had significant opportunities to face these issues head on in ways and degrees I never dreamed I'd be forced to contend with. And it seems to me, as I read about Jesus and who he was and how he interfaced with everyone....that if I'm calling myself a follower of Christ, I'm not allowed to hate ANYBODY! Quite the contrary, I'm called to love. To respond, not out of my own agenda or opinion or inclination, but out of something beyond myself. It has to be beyond me, because this thing called community is wonderful and wild and way beyond my own ability to engage in it properly. It's way beyond me to love well.

So I call on God to give me what I need to do it. To sit around tables and in offices and in cars and love beyond myself. To hear news and respond to the confusion of others hearing the news with patience and grace. To sit with someone who's taken away some of the most precious treasures of my life, and love that person. To lead and learn and teach and follow with my community, toward all God's calling us to be, together.

Together we can.

The Mattresses Have Arrived!

Something big happened this week.



It's hard to explain, really why it seems like such a big deal to me. I mean, they're just mattresses. They arrived at Hot Springs, and Tutu has sent me the pictures, and I'm beside myself with joy. We celebrated it at church this morning. Showed the pictures to everyone. We're all in this, after all. The mattresses were purchased with the money we raised at the Christmas Bazaar last November.

But...it IS a big deal. How can I explain? Maybe the best way is to include here an excerpt from my journal last year at this time. It was my first trip to Thailand, and my very first introduction to the children who now own such a big piece of my heart.

This is rather lengthy, so if you just come in for a quick check of the blog, you'll want to come back another time. OR, you might have seen this before. I've printed this off and included it in various ways over this past year. So if that's the case, you can skip down to where I come back with the pictures of the mattresses again :).




Tuesday, January 29, 2008

The Painting Project

It’s a long hot day of colour.
Two colours, to be precise; one pail of cream, one pail of butterscotch. It was something of a spontaneous project suggested to us the day before; to paint the two rooms of the main hall in preparation for the dedication of the new nursery building. Apparently Dave A. has received word that the Japanese ambassador to
Thailand is coming. He will bring about 100 of his countrymen and colleagues for the ceremony that will officially open the nursery some Japanese businessmen across the street from the orphanage have sponsored. Suddenly, this painting project moves up in the priority list, in honour of these special guests to the orphanage. Dave asks if we’d be willing.

Most of us didn’t bring clothes for painting, but by now, who cares? If it serves the kids, then we’re on it.

We really push ourselves today. Physically, it’s taxing to work that hard and that long in this heat. By the end of it, my arms feel like they might fall off if I’m not careful. I notice that it takes two hands to lift my water bottle to my mouth. Even so, it’s a satisfying exhaustion. The place has been transformed in a matter of hours by 7 willing hearts working alongside our new Thai friends. Feels good.

Except I am disappointed when Sherrod tells us we will go straight from here to visit the Hot Springs orphan home. Right now? Without going home to shower and change? How can I possibly engage in this strategic visit looking and feeling like this? I feel so rude showing up to meet with Suradet and his wife, all sweaty and paint covered and sloppy.

The Hot Springs Visit

As we’re driving the rough and winding roads out to Hot Springs, I am thinking hard. The significance of this particular event, and its connection to the entire Asian component of Regions Beyond at Highview, may well be the most important reason we’re here. The Hot Springs orphan home is led by Pastor Suradet and his wife, Yupa. He is from the Karen tribe and she is Thai. (This is significant, as the hill tribe people are regarded as an inferior ethnic group by the Thai. For him to lead a church of most Thai people is, to him an affirmation of God’s call to this ministry. Socially speaking, he shouldn’t be accepted in a leadership role. As a female senior pastor, I instantly relate to my pastor friend in this.) They serve and shepherd a small local congregation about an hour’s drive from Chiang Mai, up in the hills.

They have two young children of their own, and have, in addition brought 11 more to live with them, so Dave tells me. An act of compassion, inspired by what Tutu and Asia’s Hope is doing at Doi Saket. Without any promise of sponsorship, these children have been taken in.

In an e-mail sent about 10 days before we left, Dave described the Hot Springs situation and asked that Highview consider whether or not this might be an opportunity to respond through a partnership with Suradet.

I am favourably leaning toward the idea from the start. Before I left I sent the e-mail on to the Elders, asked them and a few others to pray, and told Dave I’d like to meet this family when I’m there.

So now, I here am, sweaty and limp and covered in paint, physically and mentally fatigued, riding in a car up a harrowing drive dodging dogs and water buffalo, to gather important data that I will bring back to Highview. I am not bringing my best game to this. I wonder how I will be able to form intelligent questions, and work it all through an interpreter. I’m concerned about how I’ll be able to take notes for my report. None of this will matter later, but in the car I don’t know that.

As we step out into the dusk I breathe a prayer for sufficiency. Cover me, Lord. It’s all You in this moment. I have nothing to bring to this. Let me see You here. Guide my heart.

I am first impressed with the structure of the building. Built in 2005 through sponsorship of the Korean Methodist Church, there is a traditional Thai beauty and characteristic steep staircases, combined with crisp lines and Methodist simplicity.

But I’m not looking long at the building. Our arrival has been quickly noticed and we are greeted en mass by the children, with that odd mixture of respectful wai and familiar hug. This is only our second time meeting them. These children had attended our program the night before back at the Doi Saket orphanage, and afterwards, when I spoke directly to Suradet, they stood beside him and shyly giggled because of the camera. They are not so shy this time.

Tutu is here to translate, but I am amazed at how little I need her by now, with the children at least. The little ones don’t care that they can’t understand me, they just carry on the conversation regardless. The older ones simply love it that I’m speaking English to them. If it looks like I’m expecting an answer they just smile and say, in English… “My name is…..”and then something completely unrepeatable, which I try to repeat. They are very patient, but my efforts most often elicit a giggling attempt to correct my pronunciation.

We are pulled by eager little arms in to see their place.

Dave had told us that Suradet had set up space for these children in the basement of the church. I guess I thought he meant the Sunday School rooms. I guess I thought he meant there would be beds. I guess I thought there would be windows. I guess I thought he meant there might be an actual floor.

Instead, two concrete rooms, one measuring approximately 8 x 10 and the other measuring approximately 8 x 14, provide the bedrooms of the 4 boys and 9 girls respectively. Their mats are rolled up and what little personal possessions they have are stacked neatly beside. Their clothes….just that for 6 girls?….are hung in one corner on a bamboo stick attached to the wall by a leather strap.

That’s it. Oh, and the room where you make the food. Not a kitchen. Don’t think kitchen. It’s a hard packed dirt floor with a table and some baskets of vegetables I don’t recognize. A small electric fridge sits awkwardly in another general all purpose room adjoining.

There is no furniture. No beds, no chairs. There are no toys. Not that I can see. Except, I do notice the colourful cloth bags with the Teddy Bears inside them hanging from nails above their folded mats. And an anime colouring book. It’s night, so the florescent lights buzz annoyingly.

This is where these children live.

Beautiful Narisara (Thim), with her uncharacteristic curls brought into submission in those amazing braids. Sweet Pakamat (Sai), whose enchanting smile is missing teeth in the front. Laughing Yingjareun (Fruk), who looks way younger than seven.

All of them. These real human children with faces and pretty little hands pressed together in the wai, and skinny little arms wrapped around my waist….they live here! It repeats itself in my head like a crazy, manic, whispered scream.

And the really awful thing about it is, this, this is better than where they came from.

Here they have adults to care for them. Here they have food. Here they are taken to school rather than forced to work. Here they are taught songs and hymns and spiritual songs and to say please and thank you and to share. Here, someone tells them they are valued.

It hits me like a wrecking ball. I fight to keep my composure. I feel sick to my stomach from it. They live here. Thirteen of God’s sweet children. They live here.

I ask if we can see the church upstairs. Perhaps it’s a defence mechanism, a way of giving myself and the team a chance to get out of the unbelievable, up to where we can breathe. We climb the steep stair case and are welcomed into a simple but clean sanctuary, with a smooth ceramic floor, a small elevated platform with a pulpit, and folding chairs.

The children sing for us. Strong and joyful praise. I’m losing it again. I’m asked if I’d like to say a few words. I don’t know if I can.

But I do. Tutu is my interpreter. I thank them for their warm hospitality and for letting us come to visit them. I tell them that I am from the upside down country of Canada where everything is very cold and people would just be starting to wake up on this day they have already had. I tell them I am glad to have made such delightful new friends.

I tell them that I see they are well behaved children. I encourage them to keep studying hard in school. I encourage them to obey their parents and be kind to each other. I tell them I believe that God has big dreams for them, and if they do these things and cooperate with God, then they will grow up to be and do many wonderful things for Him. I tell them God loves each one of them very, very much.

As I speak to them they fix their eyes on me. Even when Tutu repeats my words in their language, their eyes look at me. I am looking into the eyes of real human children who live in the cellar of a church and call that home. The eyes of children who have known more grief and fear and confusion in their few years than I will likely ever see in my life time. Children who have been discarded, beaten, left to beg. Children who have known hunger and desperation. Brown eyes, all of them.

In English we sometimes describe experiences as having “knocked us over”. This is a wrecking ball to the gut. I said it out loud before I left, that I was willing to let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God. What a foolish naïve thought. I had no idea whatsoever what I was talking about. Tonight my heart is smashed.

I am glad that even before getting on the plane, I was inclined to present to the Elders that we take the Hot Springs home as our Asian partners. I am glad, because I fully recognize the effects of the heat and the fatigue in how I’ve experienced tonight. Without the little bit of cognitive processing that has gone on before tonight, this would run the risk of being a totally emotional knee jerk reaction. Compassion gone rogue. We will think this through together, the Team here, the Elders as we send word home, Dave Atkins and the people at Asia’s Hope. We will make a good decision and be careful not to promise what we can’t deliver. You don’t do that to desperate people.

But tonight is still a defining moment. Tonight partnering with Suradet and the Hot Springs home isn’t just an idea any more. It’s people. It’s Suradet and Yupa and thirteen children who are looking at me. And their faces, their eyes are burning into my heart.

On the way home in the car, Tutu tells us more. These children recently went with Suradet into the bamboo forest to forage for shoots to eat. His personal resources are being stretched the max. The church is trying to help, but all of the people who make up this little community of faith are of simple means themselves.

She talks about two of her friends, growing up, who were too poor to go to school. They succumbed to the despair, and committed suicide. Both of them. They were 11. She’s crying. I’m crying. We arrive back to the Guest House and everyone is very quiet.

--------------

That was last year. Last year, when I walked about that place and heard God saying, "These are my children. Do something."

So this week.....the mattresses have arrived. And I am beside myself with joy.

For Christmas I received a bit a of money from my parents and I chose to purchase the Rosetta Stone Thai computer language program. I've only got three and a half months left!!!!!!

George and Starr, I can't wait to go with you. Jen, I so wish there was some way we could go together this year, but I'm glad you get to go just the same. (You're doing an amazing job of getting there, by the way, on all fronts.)

Friends at Highview and elsewhere who have already expressed their support in my next trip...thank you so much. We have a lot to do there, mostly just simply loving these kids.

Who now get to sleep on mattresses!

One Treasure At A Time: Bee, The Little Mama

It's a game much like rock, paper, scissors. At least that's how it ends.

It's after supper and getting dark one night at Hot Springs. The meal is being cleared away and there is that general after supper lingering at the table for the adults. Yupa is enjoying a rare moment to sit, and she is doing her best to engage me in "conversation". The children are busy, being primarily responsible for clean up, except not all of them at once. That's why Bee is free to play with Bao.

She does this a lot. In fact, if I had to pick Bao's favourite among all the other little mama's she could be with, it would be Bee, hands down. They are often together. Like now, in the gathering dusk, sitting on the low wall that separates the dining area from the upward climbing jungle behind us.

The game is a song, really. There are actions and repeating sounds and at one point the players join hands and move their arms back and forth in a seesawing motion. And it all ends with a flourish, each player choosing a hand position that somehow determines who wins.

Every time, Bao laughs loud, whether she wins or loses. And then, in the predictable and apparently universal way of two year olds she says, "Eek tee!" Again! And over and over, with patience beyond most adults, Bee does it again.

This is the gentleness of Bee. She's kind and easy going, patient in other ways besides a willingness to repeat a childish game. She smiles easily, and seems calm in the midst of the happy chaos of living in a home with 15 children. She's affectionate and nurturing and talks in quiet tones. The day we broke out the playdoh, Bee stayed with Bao to help make sure she had fun. It's easy to see why Bao favours her.




Bee, like a few other of the girls, has her hair long and straight. The night she and Saiy stayed with me in the Mission Centre, they both took turns brushing each other's hair, and then played "model" with my hat (actually Debbie's hat), walking down an imaginary runway to show how grown up they were.




Even now, two months later, remembering her smile, her gentle hand slipping into mine as we would walk down the driveway....makes me smile too, and makes me miss her. A lot. When I was there, Bee drew me a picture of a Thai country scene and I put in on my fridge. In English she's written "Bee loves Ruth".

I spent some time this evening sorting through my pictures again. I always think I'm going to do this as a task, you know, as if it was something to do that I needed to get done. Sort the pictures, give them names so I can find them easier. All that.

But it always does a number on me. Truth is, I miss them so much. Two months down, four to go. I'm going back in May.

Meanwhile, we've been able to send money for mattresses! As soon as we get some pictures, I'll post those too.

Isaiah 46 verse 4

I'm going to break from my Thailand ruminations for a bit to comment on the events of the past few weeks, both for me personally and for Highview as a whole.

It's been quite a ride. Both my Mom and my Dad, having been on a waiting list for quite some time, were able to move from Scarborough to Kitchener within three days of each other. This is a good thing. The drive back and forth had become next to impossible since June of this year and the other family matters requiring time and energy. Mom and Dad are becoming more frail and require more attention, mostly emotional, so being closer seemed imperative.

If you've ever done this with loved ones, however, you'll know that it's been a mixed blessing. There's not a whole lot of notice given and you have to act on it or you lose the space. Doing the moves was and still is extremely taxing, physically, mentally, emotionally. Lots of grunt work (my husband is the BEST!), tons of paper work, and even more required to explain and calm and reassure two extremely important people in my life, that the world is not coming to an end, and yes, you will get your stewed prunes for breakfast. The settling in process takes time and there are a whole slew of new people looking after my parents that I have to get to know, and whom have to get to know us.

Overlapping all of this, a dear friend and an Elder at Highview, suffered at heart attack that led to a diagnosis that put him on a schedule for open heart surgery. Brian's role at Highview is crucial to the smooth operations of the financial and business aspects of what it takes to be a church. So as well as engaging the church community in helping to make sure his family is supported and cared for, there has been the added dimension for us as an Elders' Team of working through all the "tasks" and doing the appropriate downloads.

Needless to say, it's been a crazy way to round off a crazy year. And it's not over yet. All throughout, I have pressed hard, hard into God, seeking from Him everything I need, because, well frankly, all of this is WAY beyond my own abilities and resources.

Tuesday morning, the day after hearing that Brian was facing surgery, and having had time to start making (yet another) list of all that needed to be taken care of in light of these events, I woke up early. As my mind snapped into "problem solving mode", I realized that I very badly needed to turn my worrying into praying (Philippians 4:4-9, so that's what I did. Even as I stayed under the covers, curled around my pillow, I began to engage with God about all that was going on, asking Him to give me and give all of us clear heads and calm attitudes, great ideas and strong hearts.

As the "divine download" continued, I caught a picture in my mind that was similar to some Anne Geddes photos I've seen. You know - great big strong hands, and a tiny vulnerable baby cradled in them. I had a sense of being cupped in God's great big hand as I lay in my bed. And, as clearly as I ever hear these things, I heard in my mind, "I will sustain you."

It was a very real, very wonderful God-moment for me in the midst of incredibly demanding days (with more to come). Afterwards, as I was thinking more about what I had "heard", I said to myself, "I think that's probably in the Bible somewhere" :). So I looked it up. Here's what I found.

Isaiah 46:4
Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and and I will rescue you.

I am taking all of this very personally :). The God I know is an intimate God, eager to engage with me in the deepest places of who I am. His care and presence is as real to me and more than any I have ever known from my dearest friends.

I am also taking this as being for Highview as well. God has sustained us and carried us already through so much. He's not about to drop us now.

As I write, new developments on an entirely different front are also happening. The ride could get rougher. God is still bigger. And He is sustaining, carrying it all.

Resting,

Ruth Anne

One Treasure At A Time: Entorn (Happy Birthday)

I'm trying to imagine what it would be like to be an introvert plonked into a family of 15 kids?

Personally, I like my time alone. When the intensities of peopledom overwhelm me, as they do from time to time, I need my solitude. Just let me be quiet so that I can recharge. Even during my kid-purposed trip to Thailand last month, and even with my heart fully engaged in getting to know these amazing children better, I was glad to have a separate room, a separate space to retreat to when I needed it. I like my alone time. I need my alone time.

I'm pretty sure Entorn and I have this in common. In the picture above, Entorn is the boy in the black and yellow shirt, furthest to the left and half hidden by Somchai in front. Looking through the photos I've brought back, I notice this to be a common feature of the group shots. Entorn is often "in the background".

The oldest of all the children, Entorn is the 14 year old "older brother" to all those wonderful, but talkative siblings. He's quiet, and doesn't smile easily, to be honest. In larger groups, he seems a little at odds with himself. At Wiang Pa Pao, when the Hot Springs kids were at the retreat, I noticed he didn't join in on the singing at all, sort of kept to himself, even though there were plenty of other boys his age there.

By the time we were back at Hot Springs, though, some of that did change. The singing part, at least. During morning and evening devotions, he participated with an energy I hadn't seen in the larger group. And throughout the week while I was there, I certainly did observe him interacting in big brother kinds of ways with the other boys. He seemed to be really into the balsa wood airplanes I'd brought to assemble and paint.

I'm not sure what he made of me. Who was this lady from Canada with the markers and wood crafts and random candy? What's with the crying that day she arrived? Why is she taking so many pictures of our chickens? I'm sure he wondered. I wish I could have known for sure what his questions would be, talked more, kibbitz'd more. I wanted to know him as much as the others, so I tried.

At home, I confess, I am sometimes at a loss to know how to express my friendly intentions towards boys Entorn's age. Already there's a culture difference, even in my own world. But here, with the language and the culture being so out of my league, how on earth would a 51 year old white woman be able to make friends with this northern Thai adolescent?

I'm not sure I did. Eventually, I did learn to ask for Entorn's assistance any time there was a task that required some physical strength. That helped. I remember one time in particular when a candy bag was being stubborn, and I caught his eye, showed him I couldn't open it, and handed it to him.

With one two fisted tug he got the bag open, handed back to me....smiling! It was the only time I was able to sustain eye contact with him. He was so pleased to have done something I was too weak to do. And I don't think he minded the candy either.

I had such a short time there, really. I realize that more and more now that I'm back. There's so much more I would want to do and learn and know; so much further I would hope to go in making connections with each and every child. But I didn't push. Certainly not with Entorn.

Here's a sobering consideration. If Hot Springs as an orphan home is barely 2 years old, and Entorn is 14, what was happening for him for the first 12 years of his life that could make him reluctant? His bio explains that both his parents are dead and that for a time he lived with his grandmother, until she was no longer able to care for him. He's from the Karen tribe, a minority with little status in Thai culture. How much living has gone on before this to make him wary of me, I wonder? Wary of everyone?

It's part of the knowing that bothers me. I expose my heart to so much sadness when I love them. Entorn is a reclaimed life because of Asia's Hope, and for all the future potential, we can celebrate and be hopeful.

But there is a life already lived that informs the one being played out now. And it's not a nice story. Not for Entorn. Not for any of our kids.

We have no idea.

Entorn's birthday is December 6th. To be honest, because I didn't ask for birth years, I'm actually not sure if he's turning 14 or 15 on Sunday. I'm going to ask Suradet. Either way....Happy Birthday Entorn. May every birthday from here on be a celebration of all you will become, and all God will reclaim from where you've been.

I miss him. I miss them all.

One Treasure At A Time: Dtor

She's 12 but she seems older. That's unusual, at least in my experience. The Thai are not large people. I'm 5 foot 3 inches and most of the time I tower over everyone, every female for sure. And it's not that Dtor is tall or even looks older. She just seems older.

It might be her subtlty. Even in a culture of gentleness, her quiet grace stands out from the other children. She's not pushy. Not giggly. Not somber, by any means, but just a bit more serious than the other girls.

It might be her confidence. Right from the beginning, Dtor made good eye contact with me, and seemed concerned about my well being, how I was feeling, how I was experiencing things. She was the one who took the best care of me during the day at the Zoo, making sure I knew the names of the animals, making sure I got water to drink. She stayed quietly by my side, even when all the others would take off to get a better look at the pandas, or the lion.

Maybe she seems older because of her more advanced English. Still not conversational, but good enough that she would at times attempt to talk to me about concepts, not just vocabulary. While the other children made helpful attempts to teach me the words of things....cat, flower, colours......Dtor would often search for words that were more abstract. That ability, and how it lead to one conversation in particular, will always be a moment of gold for me.

We were in the main room where I was staying at Hot Springs. This is a separate building, built by the Korean Methodist denomination and meant to be a place for people to stay on "retreat" at Hot Springs. As I've described before, my room was fairly large, probably 20 by 15, and with only my one mattress on the floor, there was lots of room for visiting and playing and dancing.

It was in the middle of one of these happy, noisy times that Dtor stopped and sat beside me. She indicated that she wanted to look at my Thai/English dictionary, and she spent a fair bit of time searching through it. I could understand. Often the words I needed, or at least I thought would best express my ideas, weren't there. Probably because the same ideas in English don't translate exactly into Thai. Language is tricky like that.

Dtor persisted though, because eventually she found what she was looking for, kept her finger in the page and tapped on my arm. I turned away from the rest of the commotion and said simply "Ka." It's an all purpose, non-translatable female tense word that, in that moment told her I was listening.

In a mixture of Thai and English, referring to the dictionary, she started by showing me the word for "bridge", and then...."You, bridge, me. You bridge my heart. Canada. Sponsor. You bridge." Throughout she kept indicating her heart, pointing to it, tapping on it, then open palm on her chest. It's where her hand rested when she was finished, her dark and beautiful eyes relentlessly locked on mine. And then a quick, slightly embarrassed smile.

For a moment everything else that was going on in that room pushed back and faded out. It was just me and this girl. And I was undone. There was no question as to what she was trying to tell me. She was clearly understanding that my being there, in Thailand, from Canada, bringing gifts from our church, our sponsors, was connecting her to just a whole lot of love. And that she felt it, she got it, and she wanted me to know.

I took her hand from her own chest and placed it on mine. Then I held it there with my hand, and I took my other hand and rested it carefully, gently on hers. Instinctively, she laid her hand on top of mine, and the connection was completed. We kept looking at each other for a moment, not wanting to ruin, by our clumsy attempt at words in each other's language, all that was being said so eloquently without words. The sound of that silent, wordless conversation of simple love was certainly the most unique song my soul has ever heard. No one has ever spoken to me so clearly without words before, not like this.

It didn't last long. It was strong enough in its brevity. But even in those fleeting moments, Dtor gave me a such a gift.
They're children. Dtor is only 12. But I wonder sometimes, if the harshness of the life she was rescued from, has been cultivated by God already into something deep and unusual. It's hard to tell. I was only with them for two short weeks. I hope to find out more when I go back. But I do know this. That I am changed. That if indeed I have been a bridge between Canada and Thailand, between Highview and Hot Springs, between the Sponsors and the children, then that has been an enormous privilege.

But more. The way they loved me was simple, uncluttered, and honest. And that changes my soul.

It's crazy, but there seems to be things God wants to teach me that He needs to take me half a world a way to learn.

One More Thing About Bao....and Abby

There was one more thing I meant to include in the last blog. It's the connection between my own granddaughter Abby, and my "adopted" granddaughter Bao.

In all of the adventure that has been Thailand, what has struck me over and over is the mystery that two groups of people who need each other, for very different reasons, could have been brought together from two completely opposite sides of the planet. It boggles my mind. That God would answer prayer, connect the needs and the resources, in such an unexpected, unplanned (by us) way..... It makes me love Him more and worship Him with wider eyes.

The other night I sat with Abby and we painted a Dora picture to send to Bao. Abby has been included in Gramma's trip to Thailand as much as possible for her little two year old brain to process. Before leaving I told her I was flying in a plane to go to Thailand to play with some very special children. Abby got right into it. Through the blog, Mommy was able to show her pictures that kept her in the loop of all Gramma's crazy adventures. And while I was gone, she talked about my absence in ways that made it clear that she knew I was away, what I was doing, and that I would be back soon.

Of course, now that my heart has been so captivated by the beautiful faces of our Thai family, I am eager to help Abby make some meaningful connections. So, in a packet I'll be sending in the next week or so, I'm going to include Abby's picture to Bao. Look carefully and you'll see that she requested some airplanes to be painted on her picture. She knows this painting is on it's way to Thailand. I will include this picture of Abby and a short note to make sure Bao knows who painted it.

Aren't they cute? Two two year olds, one in Canada, one in Thailand, connected. I wonder what God might do with that?

Anyways....just an addendum to the last blog, and another reason to be amazed again at the ways of a God whose heart is for the children.