water

Nenana, my almost-three-year-old friend, often looks up at me and says, "Massum water." I know this translates to "I want some water," and I get her some.

Our bodies are 60% water. We need it to survive. And yet it's possible to take even a necessity for granted.

Until it's gone.

For 3 days last week, we had no running water in our house. We weren't the only ones. The only places in the city that did have water were the ones that had their own wells or tanks. Actually, our house recently got a tank too. It even has a pump. But the pump doesn't have access to electricity, so the water can't make it from the front patio to the house.

We keep water in basins in the bathrooms and kitchens, since this happens not infrequently. It took about 24 hours for us to use up the reserves. Still the pipes were empty.

I never realized before how often and how much we need water! Cooking, cleaning, bathing, flushing the toilet, washing hands, doing laundry. Without water, life is more complicated and stinkier. We had to use hand sanitizer, pile our dirty dishes in the sink, and shower at the office.

Thankfully, we did have plenty of drinking water. We buy that in jugs. But the lack of water for everything else reminded me that it is possible to be without good drinking water as well. Much of the world lives constantly in this dangerous predicament. And how much more acutely it must be felt in places hot enough to triple a person's daily hydration requirement. In fact, as I write this it's 94 degrees and I'm sweating. I just had to get myself a glass of water.

Perhaps it is not surprising that my week has brought some questions to mind.

Is my soul truly as thirsty for God as my body is for water?

The Psalmist says, "As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?" (Psalm 42:1-2)

And if I resonate with the Psalmist, do I take Jesus up on his response?

"On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink.'" (John 7:37)

And if I drink, am I content with my own satisfaction, or do I share it?

Jesus goes on to say, "'Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.'" (John 7:38)

Think of that! Rivers of living water. From him, through me, to others. And he never runs out.

Yesterday, I joined a truck load of friends for a trip to some waterfalls nearby. What a contrast to the empty pipes at home. I want my life to look like that.

Massum water, Lord Jesus!

stressed

I have a confession to make. I am getting stressed out about food.

I have this irrational fear that when it comes time for a meal, I won't have anything to eat.

At the risk of overanalyzing, I think this is because...

1. If I go to a restaurant, I can't communicate what I want. This is because I usually don't know what the options are since most menus don't have English. Even if I can figure out the options, I don't know how to say which one I want. You might think that a pictorial menu would solve this problem. However, once when I pointed to a soup on menu of this variety, three separate waitresses came to the table to ask me if I was sure I really wanted that dish. I was unmoved, and I later regretted it. It was super spicy and didn't fill me up at all.

2. If I eat at home, I have to think of what I'm going to make, shop for the ingredients, and assemble them successfully. This was often challenging even in my home country on familiar grocery-store and kitchen-utensil territory. Here it is more complicated. Grocery shopping involves a sweaty bike ride, at least two shops and their keepers, identifying foods that are less than self-explanatory, and bumbling through bargaining and purchases with no functional Thai or Burmese language skills. And then I come home to attempt food preparation in my kitchen, which until recently did not include an oven, mixing bowl, seasonings, or plates.

When I accomplish a delicious, inexpensive, healthy meal using either of these methods, I am so relieved. Then I remember that another meal is always on the horizon. And the stress-o-meter starts going up again.

(A caveat - breakfasts are easy, and I usually order lunch at the office on a menu that includes English.)

I was talking with a friend the other day, and I actually said the words, "I am worried about what I will eat." Matthew 6:25-27 flashed through my brain. I was arrested. Jesus has specifically told me not to worry about whether I'm going to eat. I have always had food, so I have brushed past his words, assuming they didn't apply to me. But these verses are not about whether or not I have food to eat; they are about whether or not I have worry in my heart. And I do.

It is marvelous to be thrown on God's mercy, to recognize that I need him in the most elemental way, to rely on him consciously, and to see him provide. My heavenly Father knows my needs. He knows that I need to eat, and that in order to eat in Thailand I really need his help! What an unexpected adventure in trust.

And here is the thing. In spite of my worry, I have not gone without a single meal. I have eaten rather like a queen actually - green papaya salad, banana flower with pasta, tofu cilantro curry, pumpkin lemongrass curry, taco chicken pizza, cinnamon rolls, oreo milkshakes, and plenty of pad thai. I could go on! What a twisted thing it is to doubt the Giver of such lavish gifts. I should be overflowing with gratefulness. And running after his kingdom instead of my next meal.

"So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans run after these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." (Matt 6:31-33)

the list

I sat down with Mary the other day to make a list. I asked her, "What do we need to buy for our house?" She and Jean and I will be living together for a year. Our house is unfurnished, so we are starting from scratch.

Some things on our cooperative list made sense to both of us: plates, refrigerator, fans.

Other things made less sense. Initially.

I suggested we buy a water pitcher. Mary said, "What for?" I explained. Turns out she is used to using water bottles, and in the end they do work better for cool water because the pitcher doesn't fit in the fridge. We do still use the water pitcher though. It's a handy intermediate for pouring water into glasses since the big water jug is awkward and heavy.

Mary suggested we buy kitchen shoes. I said, "What for?" She explained that it's best to put something on our feet while we cook because of all the grease and water on the floor. I wondered out loud if there needed to be grease and water on the floor. Apparently there does. Now I have kitchen shoes.

I thought we needed a stove. Mary and Jean can manage nicely using just a rice cooker and a plug-in wok. We got a stove anyway, mostly for my sake. But Mary and Jean like it too.

Mary thought we needed big water basins for the bathroom. I didn't understand until I realized that water only comes out of our taps about half the time, so the basins are a very necessary backup supply.

I bought a spatula and a whisk. Mary bought a mortar and pestle. I bought toilet paper. Mary bought dipper buckets with handles.

And so the learning begins.

Here we are having a moving-into-our-house thanksgiving dinner with friends. Mary and Jean are on the left.

tied

It was my second day with L. She is teaching me the Karen language, and as language and culture are inextricable, she is teaching me about Karen culture as well. Friday morning, we bounced along mud-puddled roads on our Mary Poppins bikes to visit a local boarding school. They were celebrating the annual Karen wrist-tying ceremony.

About 1000 people were there, mostly kids, all in Karen traditional clothes. The chairs at one end of the large hall were mostly occupied, but that left about three quarters of the crowd to mill in and out of the 10 side doors during the ceremony - taking pictures and talking and relocating for a better view.

Among the milling mass of people were a few of the dear, rambunctious, affectionate kids who live in tents across the road from the house where I had been staying. They spent some time with me and KS and SS over the last two weeks - coloring, playing with dolls, singing, folding paper cranes. At the ceremony, they recognized me, and it wasn't long before my legs were being hugged by several grinning little friends.

During the ceremonial wrist-tying itself, L translated and explained. Tradition says that the souls of children tend to wander to dark places. Respected elders then call those spirits back to the bodies of the children they belong to. They tie threads around the kids' wrists to keep their spirits bound to their bodies, to their families, to discipline, and to culture. The act of tying somehow includes round bamboo trays full of rice, bananas, and flowers, among other things - all symbolic. If you want to learn more, you can read about the tradition here: http://www.drumpublications.org/wrist.php .

The wrist-tying ceremony is controversial among Karen Christians. Some say it is merely cultural heritage and causes no harm. Others say that because their faith is in Christ alone, it would be wrong even to appear to place trust for the well-being of their children in something like wrist-tying. My conscience was clear in attending the event as an observer, but I had no intention of participating.

After a few minutes, L took me out to the open balcony to meet some of her friends. As we stood and talked, I suddenly felt little hands fumbling with my left wrist. I looked down, and there was one of the neighbor girls, intently wrapping my wrist in red thread. She finished and smiled up at me expectantly. I  gave her a hug and said the only word I know in Burmese, which is the only language she speaks: "Chezu tinbade." Thank you. Thank you for caring about me and showing it in a way you understand.

So much for not participating.

That sweet girl and her friends do get to go to church every week. They come home singing praise songs. I am praying that they hear the truth about Jesus and believe.

That day reminded me to pray another prayer as well. I don't believe in the power of incantations and string bracelets for the security of my soul. But I resonated with the heart of that ceremony - the desire to bind ourselves to what is most important.

Jesus, place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away. If one were to give all the wealth of one's house for love, it would be utterly scorned. (SOS 8:6-7)

unfair

"What is unfair?"

Six of us each had to provide an answer during a round of the game "Loaded Questions" last night. Responses ranged from "a foul ball" to "if you get a rabies shot and then a dog bites you, you still have to get another shot."

Then today, we were asked to pray for a Karen man not far from MS. His wife is a patient of ours. They are refugees from Burma. The man left the safe house where he was staying to see his sister-in-law for an important reason. On the way, he was arrested for being in this country, even though it is dangerous to stay in his own. We found out that during the two days he had been in prison, he had not been given any food at all. The Thai prisoners were fed; those from Burma were not. Now the man is being deported.

That is unfair.

This morning, I read Exodus 21. Verses 23-25 say, "But if there is serious injury, you are to take life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise." That's definitely gruesome, but it's completely fair. And it reassures me to know that I serve a God who cares about justice.

So then what do I do with "the wages of sin is death"? (Romans 6:23) That's fair. If I sin, I deserve to die. That's the way it's supposed to be. And that's the way it would be, if it wasn't for Jesus' death in my place. "...BUT the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." Thank the Lord for his infinitely generous gift!

Our team was able to give the refugee man food and some money before he was sent back to Burma. My prayer is for justice for him and for his people.

And my praise is for a God who was willing to pay the price of justice on my behalf - not to overlook the standards of his holy nature, but to satisfy them completely with the blood of his own Son.

What is most unfair of all?

Grace.

driving lessons

Two rules:

1. Ooze. No sudden movements, no straight lines.

2. Expect the unexpected. Every living object in range will probably do something that defies the laws of self-preservation.

I am learning to drive. In Asia in rainy season on the left side of the road in a manual truck with a tailgate that doesn't shut. I should have played more video games as a college student.

Here's what I've learned so far. Motorbikes will pass me on both sides. Signal lights usually indicate, not the direction the other driver intends to go, but where he is telling me NOT to go. Head light flashes mean, not that I should go ahead, but that the other driver is going to barrel through and I need to get out of the way. When a traffic light turns green, I should not go, but WAIT - until the congregation of bicycles and motorcycles and rickshaws (that just butted in front of me) have started into the intersection...then I may slowly start to go. If I run into a cow between 6am and 6pm, it is the owner's fault (for not corralling his animal). If I run into a cow between 6pm and 6am, it's my fault (for not seeing the cow). The general mindset on the road is this: everything that happens behind you is karma; everything that happens in front of you is free will. Translation: motorbikes dart crazily in front of me all the time and it is my responsibility not to hit them.

It's a steep learning curve. With a lot of lightning prayers.

what to do with 60 hours

The journey took a total of 60 hours. Buffalo. New York. Tokyo. Bangkok. MS.

I was tempted to use the time to reflect. Material was not in short supply. There was the fresh pain of saying goodbyes and the rich times spent with family and friends in the last several weeks that made leaving even more poignant. Or there was the prospect of impending cross-cultural inundation with all its myriad challenges and adventures. In fact, this brain food is still very much on the menu if I should feel so inclined. The marathon ended a mere 16 hours ago, after all.

But honestly, I didn't have it in me to contemplate any of these things in my sixty hour transit. I was spent. I simply lived one moment at a time and began to count the blessings that met me. There were many.

Mom and Dad, Dustin and Emily, Dan and Barb, Cliff and Deb, and of course Leo and Yuki, were all at the airport the morning of the 15th to see me off. This was especially miraculous as Dustin and Emily were both given the day off without even having to request it. They gave me a freshly picked sunflower on the way out the door, which is currently being pressed in my travel document folder.

I have never had as much leg room on a plane as I did on the 13 hour trans-Pacific flight. And there was an empty seat next to me, making it convenient to remain quiet, which at that time I definitely preferred.

I had the delight of spending my Tokyo layover time with Kaori and her gracious family. Not only that, but I was able to have a shower and a hot bath and a good sleep before continuing on the next leg of my trip.

Two very cute, very active Japanese preschool brothers sat by me for part of the flight to Bangkok. We built toy airplanes together.

The taxi driver helped me find a hired luggage cart lady. The cart lady helped me find the right counter lady to buy my bus ticket from. The counter lady wisely named me "Nicole" on my bus ticket since that could be pronounced by the bus driver if the need should arise. Though it didn't.

After I had been struggling a few minutes to make a domestic phone call on an international phone, a kind Thai gentleman came up to me and asked in English if I needed assistance. He paid for the call and dialed the number for me.

It was far from practical to navigate the bus station with 140 odd pounds of luggage. A Scandinavian woman came and sat next to me, smiling in a friendly manner. She willingly watched my bags while I took a much needed field trip to the bathroom.

I couldn't manage my luggage alone when my bus arrived. Another Thai gentleman asked me in English if he could help. He valiantly lifted all my suitcases into the bus for me.

At the end of my final all-night 8 hour bus ride, KS, my current hostess, was at the station to pick me up and take me to her home. And welcome me. And make me a yummy omelet with toast.

All my take-offs, landings, train rides, bus rides, and the connections between went smoothly. My luggage and body both arrived in tact, albeit a bit worn out.

I was very aware of all these wonderful gifts, and of the dear people I knew who were praying for such things as I went along. So while I didn't have the strength to be reflective about the past or the future, I was capable of being thankful to God for the present. So that's what I was. And am.