the Ides of March.... brought to you by Kelly

Friends,

I hope this finds you well and enjoying your surroundings wherever you find yourself today. I think it's safe to say I haven't written in a long time. This is not for lack of things to say, but more because I don't know how to say it. Brittany and I frequently reflect on the way that life goes here—which is, so much life happens in one day, life that could ostensibly occur over a long stretch of time, given how much time we would like to process through it all. But wishing something doesn't make it happen, so life continues to happen at lightning speed and I try to keep up.

My absence from writing has really been the result of loss of self over the last month. I just had this realization over the last week, mainly because I found myself and was like, "oh, hey kelly!" and then upon recollection of the last month realized that I hadn't been there the whole time. I don't know if I can clarify this, but I'll make an effort: I think there are times in life where too much happens and there are not enough instances to process it, so oneself chooses to go away for a time as a result of exhaustion and being overwhelmed. I think we all live in this more often then we realize, because we try to do so much in such a little amount of time. I think this is where numbness and loneliness come from and I have heard it said by some individuals I very much respect that loneliness is the worst kind of poverty and the worst kind of suffering and the worst sickness. Brittany has been with me here this whole time, as well as the Garden of Hope community and the people we reach out to, but it's easy to separate oneself from the surrounding community (which I was doing) to avoid being overwhelmed. And I think that's the lie I succumbed to, that my community (all of you, and the people here with me) would only take more away from me, rather than help me find me. And when I found myself, it was because of remembrance of all of you, a few in particular especially, who pulled me back in and made me feel something very true.


I know I can't explain well all the happenings of this last month which I haven't kept you updated on. And I can't expect you to understand everything that I am going through here—which I am sad about sometimes because if you could understand all that is happening for me here, and if I could understand all that is happening for you in your lives—in general, if we as humans in the world could all understand one another a lot better, I think things like peace and grace would be abundant and growing and far-reaching. But I also think that if we don't at least try to understand one another, and seek to be understood, there is no way that peace and grace can exist. So, in this spirit, I am writing to you because I am a big fan of peace and grace and believe that we could use a lot more of both in the world.

First, the basics: I am sitting in a Starbucks in complete foreigner fashion. There are a few of these in Chiang Mai and I find myself in one of them. This one looks out over ThaePae Gate. This gate is part of a large wall that surrounds all of the Old City in Chiang Mai. There is also a moat, which makes it seem a little bit like I live in a medieval kingdom—until I look around and see cars and motorcycles and people wearing t-shirts and jeans and talking on their cell phones and it ruins my quiet revelry. I sometimes like to think, when I see the wall around the city, and the tremendous number of old wats (Buddhist temples) which shout antiquity what it must have looked like here a hundred years ago, or even sixty years ago—before the Vietnam War, which really brought to life the rampant and international sex industry which exists here and in the rest of Thailand now. And I think that it must have been very beautiful and simple, life-giving and slow. I am not blinded by the nostalgia of "the good old days", as I know that slavery was legal here within the last century, but I know that something happens to us when we go too fast and forget to enjoy nature and pacing ourselves and one another. But I am digressing from the basics.


Right now, in Chiang Mai, it is mating time for the cicadas. And this means it is very loud—more than just the regular sounds of dogs barking and maybe dying, and cars and tuk-tuks and motorcycles zipping about the busy streets—because a cicada's way of getting that special somebody's attention is to rub its belly with its two sets of legs. In Thai, the cicada is referred to as the bug that is hungry because it rubs its belly and the sound comes out as their bellies are empty. I don't know why this high-pitched whistle, or shriek, is sexy to other cicadas, but it must be because they have been going strong for about 4 weeks. Way to go bugs.

Anyhow, I'll try to be a little bit more meaningful. The Garden has procured a building on the same street, Loi Kroh, that we do outreach for the women and children. It is very small, but wonderful nevertheless. I think the children's drop-in center will open within the next two weeks, and the women's in the next four. We are very excited about this prospect, as are the women that we have been sharing this with since BQ and I arrived. The women's resource center, we hope will be a place of rest, safety and peace—a place where these women feel loved and seen and where community can grow. I have the sneaking feeling this sounds cheesy as I write it, but I believe that my idealism and hope in what this place might become is the result of the great need for it. The women that we work with experience a world where they are made to give and give of themselves—things that they shouldn't be made to give like their dignity and hope—and they receive back words and actions that tell them they are worth nothing, that they are invaluable, not beautiful, and ought to be treated as a commodity. In my coming back to myself over the last few days, I have been reflecting on this tragedy and this has birthed forth again my idealism that the women's resource center and the children's drop-in center are going to be places where life happens. And I don't mean life in the sense that people say, "Well, that's just life," after something tragic, unjust, or sad happens. I mean it in the way that the Psalmist talks about the "land of the living"—the Promised Land where life is life-giving and love-giving and community-building. The kind that everyone must work hard to see, but is so worth it for the fruits that are borne out of it. I think it will take a long time to grow this, but trees take a long time to grow too, and they end up being really lovely, strong, and life-giving. I think it's appropriate then, that the colors we have chosen to decorate the women's floor of our building, are sage green and a deep brown.


In other life matters, I have had the opportunity to venture up to Myanmar four times over the last month or so to do some work with the International team up there. My time up there, though understandably worrisome to my dad (sorry Dad!), has been very thought-provoking and continually a valuable learning experience. The last month has comprised of a few visits to the Int'l Team to initially do some non-violent communication training (which seems really odd for me to do in a country which has one of the most oppressive and violent governments in the whole world), which another volunteer and myself helped to walk the team through; and then over the next few visits begin to transition out three members of the team. I could go on for a bit about why this transition happened, but suffice to say it was time they found something they felt very passionate about, as well as dwell in a healthier living situation. The Int'l team does much of the same work that Brittany and the Women's Outreach team do here in Chiang Mai, except it is much more difficult in the country they work in. They are five incredible women and I am constantly amazed at the level of their commitment to serving God and loving others. Which is why the last four weeks, in working to transition some of the team out, was so very difficult. It is heart-breaking to be a part of a process which is so painful. Though part of me knows that growth rarely happens without some measure of pain, it is still very difficult—especially for a person (me) who avoids conflicts and times where someone will get angry with me.

This Friday was Good Friday—the day when we remember the crucifixion, suffering and sacrifice of Christ in his Death on the Cross. For many years, I never really gave this day much thought because I was younger and when you are young, who can really concentrate on something so bloody and violent when there is to be mass quantities of jelly beans and chocolate to consume in just two days? Certainly not me! So in these past few years, and with my Dad and Stepmother (hi, I love you!) being Catholic (I have found that those who are Catholic are much more intentional about remembering Good Friday and the Holy Week in general because of their recognition of the Liturgical Year), I have had the opportunity to enter into this day with a much more sober and reflective heart. This Friday was the first opportunity I have ever had to actually go to a Good Friday Mass. So it was interesting that my first Good Friday Mass was in Thai, so I missed much of what was being said. Sigh… At the same time, I think sitting alongside hundreds of others who proclaim Christianity as their faith and Christ as their Liberator, Prince of Peace, and Lord, was very overwhelming. Especially in light of the fact that though we speak different languages, have had entirely different life experiences, we are all still moved by the person that is Christ.

(Aside: I've said this before, but I want to say it again. I realize that the recipients of this email do not all claim Christianity as their faith and I want to express that my reflection on any matters of faith are not in order to evangelize or antagonize or make anyone uncomfortable. I believe heartily in honest reflection and expression, especially to those that I love (you…well, some of you I don't know very well… : ), so this is a chance for me to tell you what I am experiencing here. End of Aside).
And so I sat and listened to a language I don't really understand, but with the full knowledge that the words they were using were symbols to express their remembrance and adoration of a God who I have come to love very much. And knowing that the language I know also cannot fully express what we mean when we talk about God, or Love or Peace or Grace or Sacrifice or Truth or Justice or Beauty, because God and these aspects of God are bigger and more than words can express, made it all the more lovely still. Because the fact is that we were all still sitting there, and millions (billions?) of people the world over try to express these elements of existence in words as a way of opening the door to the Infinite—be they Christian or Muslim or Buddhist or Hindu or Jewish or whatever. And what a brave and humbling thing to do because in doing this we find how small we are and how little we know and how much we desire to know as we are known. And how much we need one another to even begin to broach these big and infinite ideas.

I was hoping with this update to open your eyes to some of the things I am seeing here—but it's continually difficult to share what I see day-to-day. It's hard to admit too that some of the more painful things I am faced with—in terms of human poverty, depravity, hurt and the like—are starting to become familiar, almost normal. This is the biggest reason I can see for why I am so sad about my absence over the last month, because I am not present to the suffering of my fellow humans. I hate being numb to things like this, because if I lack a compassionate and loving heart, how can I expect to love anyone really? If I cannot enter into the suffering and sadness of others, or even my own, then I am afraid I will become more robotic than human. This, above all, is my greatest fear—to become an unfeeling person.

I think this happens more when we cease to talk about the painful things we are faced with—when we internalize them to the point that they Do seem normal, because we tell ourselves to just deal with the something which is fairly traumatic, rather then to walk through it and mourn for the loss, the hurt and the pain. So I suppose in writing this email, I am using it as a time to confess what I've seen in the hopes that my heart doesn't become hard.

I see people begging. Some of them are children who are dirty and poor and I fear not loved properly. And I would want to blame their parents, but I look into their eyes and I see a pain that it so deeply ingrained in the blacks of their eyes because this is all they can do to survive. And I wonder about the systems of the world which we've created that allows these tragedies to occur.
I see women actively selling their bodies. Sometimes they are in the bars, and sometimes not. I see men who look at them like they are meat and not people, like their bodies are something to own and overpower. And I see in the men something so broken that they cannot see for themselves that they are breaking their own hearts and spirits. I see men who have never experienced love and now they are looking for it at any cost and in all the wrong places. And I see women who have never experienced love either, so desperate to find it, so they sacrifice their hearts and lives to a cycle which will only leave them more desperate.
On my way to the border this week, I looked in front of me down a straight and wide road where people drive at breakneck speeds and I saw a man with no legs—just a head, torso and arms, using those arms to pull himself out of the road. And I wondered how many years he had been without legs and how many times he had crossed this road hoping that he got out of the way of a fast-moving car in time.

In the no-man's land between Thailand and Myanmar, I was asked for money by a kid who was still holding the bag which he uses to sniff glue from. And if I give him money he will use it to buy more glue to sniff. And his eyes will continue to lose the luster of someone who is truly living.
And it's things like these where all I can ask is, "Why?" and feel my heart crumble a little. Because it makes no sense.

I do believe that it is important to reflect on the beauty too of the world though, as a way of balancing the pain, and if not answering the question "Why?", then to enable us to ask "Why?" more boldly. If we hold up beauty and suffering beside one another, I think we will find that they fit together like pieces of a puzzle—oftentimes beauty is borne out of pain and if we looked at the things we choose or are made to suffer through, it is because we are reaching toward something beautiful (Thanks to Kahlil Gibran for articulating this in 'The Prophet' and thus, helping me to see the world more fully, in all its complexity).

And so, I see mothers and daughters, grandpas and grandsons, husbands and wives, working side-by-side to make lunch or dinner or to cut a pineapple. And they are talking and creating, or being silent, and remembering the regulars and laughing at a foreigner's attempt to speak Thai.
And I see the eyes of the street children light up with hope and happiness when they see my friend Faa, who offers them all of her time, her energy, and her heart.

I see Brittany daily, but right now sitting in front of me, dutifully reading Dietrich Bonhoeffer, soaking in all the brilliance that is this man, in an effort to become a more peaceful and loving person than she already is (whoo! Quinn-Quinn!)
I see people in their youth taking care of their aged parents, sending money home to them in a manner that is entirely self-sacrificial.
And I see a market bustling with life and fruit and vegetables so pretty and delicious, and stalls full of anything you or your strange uncle might ever want to buy. And the stall keepers are selling their goods and their neighbors' goods for them if the customer wants something they themselves don't have, defying a spirit of selfishness by naturally moving toward community.

And I see these things side-by-side everyday. And I marvel and hurt over the strangeness that is life. And now I tell you about them.

If you celebrate Easter, I hope it is a time of peace and celebration. And if you don't, I hope for you that this is a season of peace and celebration.

-kelly