Let these days be muted days
For I am afraid to move
Afraid that the keeping of such hope
Will be its death.
Yet afraid that the confiscation of such throbbing life
Will be mine.
Let these days be muted days
For I am afraid to move
Afraid that the keeping of such hope
Will be its death.
Yet afraid that the confiscation of such throbbing life
Will be mine.
Sometimes we experience things that we simply have no name for. Craig Thompson, who blogs at Clearing Customs, wrote about “In-flightisms.” This inspired me to come up with my own lexicon of words that describe specific people, places or things in Chiang Mai. Here are seven new words I have coined.
Questions in a farangogation are usually directed by a group of Thai people at one farang. Questions are asked in rapid-fire succession, leaving the foreigner little breath to answer. A farangogation is usually held in order for Thai people to be able to analyze the farang’s “expatnicity” or in some cases “foreignicity.” Farangogations can occur anywhere without previous notice, for example, at police checkpoints, at fruit stands, at gas stations.
2. Foreignicity: The type of foreigner in Thailand. Usually foreignicity can be divided into two categories: expats and tourists. The most common identifying factors are noticed while driving the roads of Chiang Mai. Characteristics of tourists will be as follows: sleeveless shirts and short shorts, shiny, smooth helmets with the names of rental shops, riders holding smartphones or selfie sticks, and lots of white skin and long legs.
3. Expatnicity: This is similar to foreignicity, but differs in that expatnicity concerns foreigners who live in Thailand for an extended period of time. Examples of different types of expatnicity may be but are not exclusive to: Old white men with young Thai girlfriends, rich retired divers, homeschooling missionaries driving Avanzas, young, single English teachers, university students seeking an experience, restaurant operators and more.
4. Whistutter: A quiet, almost inaudible type of voice employed by busy English teachers when asked in public what their job is. The whistutter is used in case someone with children wanting to study English privately is in earshot. The whistutter rarely works.
5. Mennusters: Not to be confused with clusters of men, this is what you call the group of Mennonites that gather at the Chiang Mai International Airport to say goodbye to staff leaving permanently. These Mennusters form long before boarding time and disintegrate in trickles. They can be identified by the long dresses and head veilings the ladies wear, as well as cameras, forlorn looks, groups posing for pictures, and farewell cards.
6. Terrapinack: A unique kind of backpack used by teachers who commute to their job by motorbike. This backpack is classified only as a terrapinack when it used to transport everything that is essential to the teacher’s life. Certain items stay in the terrapinack permanently, for example eye drops, billfold, phone, pens, socks, tissues, Thai vocabulary lists, planners, and sunglasses. The terrapinack is so called because it is similar to that of a turtle’s shell—it goes everywhere the teacher does. When terrapinacks are lost, teachers may automatically go into a frenzy of anxiety, exude excessive sweat or completely faint away.
7. Tingutch: A form of language that has evolved among speakers of Pennsylvania Dutch who currently reside in Chiang Mai. The language contains structures and similarities of Pennsylvania Dutch, English and Thai. One sentence can contain words or structures from 2 or 3 of these languages. An example of a sentence may be: “Ich bin puuting pasa English and you still can’t versteh me!” (I am speaking English and you still can’t understand me!) According to Ethnologue, linguists predict that in approximately 20 years, the language will be established in Chiang Mai as a language of its own.
Even after five years, sometimes I feel like I am lost in a tangle of language, culture, traditions, national borders.
Why was I born on this side of white and you were born on that side of brown?
The river of words that runs in my heart is not the same as the river of words that runs in your heart, though there are times the rivers mingle, when languages come together.
Why are you called Vietnamese and I am called American? Why are you called Thai and I am called “Farang?” Why are you called Karen and I am called Caucasian?
Why was I born where the world was bright and hope sprang unbidden in my heart and you felt only the crushing of loneliness and the thwarting of choices from the day you were born?
Why was I born with the weight of a culture on my shoulders I feel obliged to carry, a weight that is different from the weight you carry? And perhaps you feel no obligation to carry?
Why are you the other, and I am the one? Or I am the other and you are the one?
Why are our worlds dictated by the little books in our pockets that we call passports, that identify us?
Or do they?
Where are the lines where spirit surpasses language, where kindness goes beyond cultural borders, where hope speaks across lines enforced by countries?
“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Galatians 3:28 (ESV)
What exactly does this mean? Five years ago I had more answers than I do now.
There are a number of things in my mind that I keep on thinking would be fun to write about. However, they don’t really fit into one logical theme, so here are some random snapshots of life in the past month or so.
When the shadow won’t leave
When the battle won’t stop
And every breathe that you breathe
Takes all that you’ve got
When you wonder if you’re always
Gonna feel this way
Hear the Lord of heaven say…
Ch. I will hold you when you’re breaking
Like a father and a friend
And I will carry you through darkness
Till we see the sun again
So rest your head and cry your tears
Know that I am with you here
When you can’t lift that weight
Believe me when I say…
I will
I know you’re feeling overwhelmed
Before the day even begins
But I can see beyond the now
This is not how your story ends
And when you’re at your weakest
Oh I’ve never been more strong
So let me be the one you’re leaning on…
You and I, it’s
Complicated.
There’s nothing like the way I feel when I hear your voice
The way it makes my stomach quiver,
The way I love how you wrap your arms around me,
And the way I feel lost in you.
We’ve loved each other for a long time;
But…. it’s complicated.
I remember the first day I met you
Me, a farm girl from Kansas on her first flight, giddy, naïve, excited
When I jumped past the “authorized personnel only” sign to rescue my bag
From where it was headed into the unknown
And they shouted at me.
That’s when we first met, you and I.
Me, the farm girl with starry eyes who fell hard for you,
You–so much older than me, the one who had seen every kind of person in the world
Who had traveled to the four corners of the earth
I fell for you then, and I’ve loved you since
I fell in love with the way you whispered poetry in my ear
Of places you wanted to take me
Things you wanted to show me
Languages you wanted me to hear
People you wanted me to meet
And I’ve been in love ever since.
But…. it’s complicated.
I love the way you’re always alive and moving.
The way your heart beats late at night
When I put my ear on your chest
And listen to the sound of your dreams throbbing
The way Boeing 747’s do going down the runway.
I love the way you inspire me to dream,
To wander, to explore
To go where no one else has gone before.
I love the way I see every color in you;
And how every language under the sun
Rolls alive and rich on your tongue;
And when I hear you say the words
โปรดทราบ เครื่องของสายการบิน Air Asia เที่ยวบินที่ FD 3113
พร้อมแล้วที่จะออกเดินทางไปเชียงใหม่
ขอเรียนเชินผู่ด้วยสารทุกท่านขึ้นเครื่องได้ ณ ทางออกหมายเลกสอง
ขอบคุณค่ะ **
I thrill. No one speaks to my heart like you do.
And yet… it’s so complicated.
I love you, but every time I see you,
You rip me away from others I love,
Tearing like the tabs tearing from boarding passes at the gate.
You make me feel at home,
Yet you take me away from home and then tease me with memories of home in the eyes of the little blonde boy sitting in front of me at Gate 29
You bring me to places that stamp themselves onto my heart
Then you block them off from me
Like visas denied at the last minute.
You send me friends that become a part of me
Then break them away while my heart crumbles
Like the hard cookies on the flight to Shanghai.
You broaden my horizons and leave me in awe
And then collapse them like my luggage does after I’ve unpacked everything from it
You teach me things I never knew
Then change it all up, so I’m confused and can’t find my way
As if I were lost in Suvarnabhumi all over again.
And everywhere I go with you, you always, always make me pay
In tears
That are wrenched from a heart that wonders
Why I let someone do this to me
Can you see why I love you
And why I hate you?
It’s just…. complicated
But you’ve seen me at my lowest, my worst,
When I’ve been awake for 24 hours,
And smell like a pair of socks that were packed dirty
And left through two missed flights
While their owner slept on the hard floor.
You’ve taken me with all my baggage and dug around in it
Found all my dirty secrets, and let me into your heart anyway.
You’ve wrapped your arms around me while I sat crying
On the row of seats waiting for AA 2828 to leave Wichita
You’ve seen me alone and lonely in the masses
Yet, I feel at home when I am with you.
You enraptured me in Doha, where you were so quiet I too became silent
In Shanghai you taught me the beauty of doing nothing
You forced me to drink all the water in my bottle in Seoul in 25 seconds
I spent the night with you in Chicago while the snow fell and cold seeped into my bones
In Guangzhou we fought over the price of chocolate-covered blueberries
And in Bangkok I watched you, dazzled at the hundreds of different faces of you
I’ve drunk coffee with you in Tokyo, in Dallas, in Wichita
And held hands with you in Ho Chin Minh City.
In Chiang Mai you brought hundreds of people into my life—and then took them away again.
I lost my heart to you in Kunming and in Phnom Penh and in Calcutta
And when I bussed back from Laos
Every bone in my body ached from missing you.
And yeah, you’ve messed up.
You’ve kept me waiting and waiting without an answer
You’ve gone back on promises, let other things come first
You turned a cold shoulder to me that night in Chicago
When I was freezing and no matter how many blankets I wrapped around myself, my heart was so cold.
I lost my trust in you when you made me pay an arm and a leg
For those dumplings in China when I was starving
And I will never forget the regret that filled my heart
In O’Hara when you took that $4 chocolate chip cookie from me
While I was distracted by you….
It still haunts me
You’re just…. complicated
And yet, I keep on coming back to you
Over and over again.
Even when you take people from me, people I love
I love you even when I have to pay thousands of dollars just to see you
And you keep breaking my heart over and over.
I love getting lost in your embrace,
Tasting all you have to offer
Watching the grace of your movements and the vibrancy of your color
I love us.
Even though…
We’re complicated.
*This is Slam Poetry (recycled homework again) something I did for my Advanced Oral Communications class. To listen to the performance, check out this link: my love affair with airports
**This is Thai writing meaning this: Attention please. Air Asia Flight FD 3113 to Chiang Mai is now boarding at Gate # 2. Thank you.
“Just pray that I could learn to trust God more.”
I’ve heard these words several times from friends in sharing and prayer times. And in those times, I wondered, what is it that they are trusting God for? I mean, why would it be so hard to trust God?
It sounds vague and like something you ask prayer for because you don’t know what else to say. Can’t you get more original than that?
But recently, I got it. Oh yes, I got it. I know exactly what they mean.
I’ve learned that I haven’t really been trusting God at all. Instead I have been living life with clenched fists, holding on to dreams, holding on to all that I want, refusing to give it up to God. I thought that because I wanted things so desperately, I couldn’t let go. I tried manipulation, I tried mind numbing tactics. I crawled into holes and desperately cried out to God, screaming and shouting in my mind.
And what He answered, at first I didn’t want to hear.
He said, “Trust.”
Trust? Really God? You can’t get more original than that?
When the noise in my mind died away, though, and I could think clearly again, I begin to see it.
If I trust, it means that I really believe that God is good and that He has good in store for me. But it may not look like my ideas of what is good.
It means I don’t look back and believe that the best years of my life are over, but instead, he has things in store beyond what I could ever think or imagine— for my good and His glory.
It means that when inside is raw and throbbing from the sting of salty tears on a too-sensitive heart that wants so much, I can trust that God is bigger than my heart and knows all things, which means He is perfectly capable of taking care of this heart, no matter how wayward, imperfect, and naive it may be.
It means when I crawl into my hole, I can trust that He sees every single tear that drops and He cares. And He is not too big to crawl into the hole with me.
It means that when He asks me to give something up, it is because what He has in mind is ultimately better and more beautiful, even if I can’t see it. I can believe it because I know who He is.
It means that when I think of all the people that I am going to miss in the next four months as one by one they leave this side of the world, He is going to be standing next to me at the airport or wherever my last glimpse of them may be, with His arms around my shoulders.
It means that when I feel like I just can’t handle this anymore, that I want to go home and live a “normal” life, He will be with me. Perhaps He won’t speak. But He will be there.
It means I can trust that whenever I am in situations where my tongue and my brain simply don’t feel like they can defend what my heart believes, He will give me words and wisdom.
It means that He is enough. It means that when others don’t see me or understand me, He does.
It means that He will satisfy the longing soul and will fill the hungry soul with goodness. Like He promised tonight.
Always. Yesterday, today and forever.
We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love is way too much to give us lesser things
‘Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we’d have faith to believe
When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not our home
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
What if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise
Just recently I have been reminded of the importance of community. I am by nature not someone who gravitates toward community, but I have learned and am learning how important it is to surround yourself with trustworthy people. These ladies, the Baanies, have taught me so much. Where I fail, they make up for it. My weaknesses are their strengths, my strengths are their weaknesses. Alone we could never do what we do now. They have taught me about friendship, about sharing, about beauty, about strength, about trust. Close to a year ago I blogged a poem about my “baanies.” Click here to read it. Now it’s close to a year later and with several of them leaving, I find myself a bit nostalgic. I don’t post these poems because I think they are masterpieces in the realm of poetry– they’re not. But even if the rhythm and rhyming is stilted and simple, it embodies some of what these ladies bring to life here in Chiang Mai, Thailand.
Oh, we live in house that leaks when it rains
And spiders have tea in the cracks
But we are the Baanies so we don’t mind
Cause we’ve got each other’s backs
Judi went home, she said, “just because”
But we all really know why
There’s a guy named Mike she thinks she likes
Even though she’s back in Chiang Mai;
This Mike, we think, may be ok
But we’re keeping our eyes trained tight:
He’d better be good, and do as he should
Or we will all put him to flight.
Kim is well and busy as ever
And next week she is saying goodbye
To the tropics of Thailand for the snows of the North
For the handshake instead of the wai;
We’ll miss her heaps and all of her songs
And her passion and kindness as well,
But she’ll shine her light wherever she is
That we can surely foretell.
Crystal keeps life in this house refreshing
When naps in the bathroom she takes,
She likes to push others into the pool
And finds in her bike long skinny snakes;
She’s got a heart that is made of gold
(So her students would gladly say)
Coffee makes her happy (and of course us too)
She is just fun to be with all day.
Oh, we live in house that leaks when it rains
And spiders have tea in the cracks,
But we are the Baanies so we don’t mind
Cause we’ve got each other’s backs.
Melissa is as sweet and understanding as ever
And just in the weeks that passed
She bravely called a man to come kill our rats
(Even though her heart beat fast)
Her Thai is better than ever before
But she is going home in May
This makes us wonder who will clean the kitchen
And makes us sadder than we can say.
Nancy has learned how to speak Thai
And she’s really good at latte art
We all like to listen when she laughs
And hers is a kind, sensitive heart
She drives a funny, yellow Fino
A lot like a bumblebee, I’d say
She zips around corners and weaves through traffic
While we hold on tight and— pray.
Oh, we live in house that leaks when it rains
And spiders have tea in the cracks
But we are the Baanies so we don’t mind
Cause we’ve got each other’s backs.
Brit will be an aunt before too long
We’re all happy for her sake
She doesn’t lose her phone as much anymore
And you should see the fires she makes
She’s smart and selfless and loves little kids
And really, she’s almost Thai,
And when we think of her leaving for home
The only thing we want to do — is cry.
Lori’s still here and her hair is even grayer
And she’s slipped down her stairs a few times
She’s got itchy feet and she dreams of the mountains
And she still makes weird little rhymes
She’ll still be in school for another two years
And then watch out, she’ll be free
To travel away, to teach or to train,
Or be whatever God calls her to be.
Oh, we live in house that leaks when it rains
And spiders have tea in the cracks
But we are the Baanies so we don’t mind
Cause we’ve got each other’s backs
“What is poetry?” I asked my ESL students, leaning on the desk behind me. (featured photo credit: pexels.com)
The answers varied.
“Good thinking and writing.” “If someone loves someone.” “It has points like a song.” “A way to thank someone.” “You want to say something, and you find another way to say it.” “A short sentence that has much deep meaning.”
And then for the next few weeks, we worked on writing poems. Personalities kept on peeking through, as some of them grinned to themselves and laughed gleefully every now and then. Others pursed their lips and puckered their brows, while carefully penciling in the words, or gazing into space with a faraway look in their eyes. Today we read them off and made a few final touches.
My students are only “my” students for an hour and a half each week and even less than that since they are split into two groups and I teach each group for 45 minutes. Each one is first year physician’s assistant in training, a program at Earth Mission Asia (EMA). They will study in Chiang Mai for about 8 months before leaving in December to continue their training in Karen State. Earth Mission Asia is a program that works to provide medical training and care for the people of Karen State, Myanmar. For more information, visit the above link and consider supporting them financially or in prayer here.
Above photo credit: Earth Mission Asia
I met these students in August and have seen them almost every week since then. And I just like them. Some people you have to work to like, but there’s something about these students that is so easy to like. Many of them come from mountain homes in Karen State and some of them have spent time in the refugee camps along the Thai/Myanmar border. English is their second or third language.
I don’t know all their stories, but the poems they wrote opened a door into their lives.
Looking over them tonight one last time, I think I know a bit more of what poetry is.
It is a glimpse into the tapestry of life itself. It is a tribute to bravery. It is embracing heritage and past. It is realizing that the person that God created you to be is in fact a beautiful person. It is hope.
Below are a few of them. They are based on the “I Am From” template, found here. I posted my own poem like this in August, here. For this activity, I adapted the template slightly, and also encouraged them to deviate from it if they felt like it. With their permission, I am posting the poems here.
While I know that posting ten poems all at once is a whopper, I can’t bear to cut any of them out. I love them and I love their bravery.
(Because of security reasons, I needed to remove some phrases here and there from the poems. While this makes me sad because I know how much these experiences played a part in their lives, I do not want to endanger any of them when they go back to their home country.)
Based on the poem “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon.
I Am From
-by Saw Hsar Eh Say (Year One EMA Student)
I am from the white cup on the table, from the guitar on the wall.
I am from the wooden house near the mountain and from the aroma of coffee’s sweet smell.
I am from dogs playing under the house, from the mango tree whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from praying before meals and from eating noodles.
I am from “where will you go?” and “when will you come back,” and singing gospel songs.
I am from shy and quiet. I am from Ye and Man Aung village and betelnut.
I am from my mom and dad talking a lot to each other.
I am from studies at the school with friends and my grandmother dying and God’s picture on the wall.
I am from happy and talkative.
I am from hot windy summers and cold and raining.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Pa Tall (Year One EMA Student)
I am from Shan Dot village and from axes and machetes.
I am from a small bamboo house in the mountains of Karen State, from the aroma of flowers.
I am from cows and oxen, from bamboo, jack trees and mango trees, whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from inviting villagers to eat together and from eating chicken boiled with rice.
I am from “go to work” and “what are you doing.”
I am from shy and talkative. I am from Shan Dot village and Him Ma Wa village, and rice and soup and pounded chilies.
I am from my brother falling down the tree and breaking his right hand.
I am from Christmas concerts and fleeing from my home and bamboo baskets.
I am from noisy and sensitive and serious.
I am from hot and raining.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Kaw Tha Blay (Year One EMA Student)
I am from pots, from pictures.
I am from a small bamboo house surrounded by mountains, from the aroma of fresh wind.
I am from cats, from the banana tree whose long gone fronds I remember as if they were my own.
I am from Karen tribe and from eating fish paste.
I am from “Ta blu” and “Ta po” and “Oh My People”.
I am from sensitive and hilarious. I am from village and rice.
I am from wanting to fly by plane.
I am from trucks and knives.
I am from noisy and quiet.
I am from hot, cold, and wet season and trees all around.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Naw Moo Hsar Paw (Year One EMA Student)
I am from a hot place beside the dam.
I am from the wooden house beside the mountain and water, from the aroma of bananas.
I am from cats, birds, chickens and dogs, from the banana tree, betelnut tree, and mango tree, whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from praying before meals and Christianity and I am from rice porridge with meat.
I am from “ta blut” (thank you) and “see you next time.”
I am from talkative and noisy. I am from Ler Wah and Hsa Ti township and soup.
I am from being born in the bamboo house near the river.
I am from praying with my siblings, and from not enough food, and my parent’s wedding picture on the wall.
I am from talkative and hilarious.
I am from very hot in the summer and not too cold in the winter.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Pa Chit (Year One EMA Student)
I am from the small village of Kaw Thoo Lei in the mountains of Karen State.
I am from the bamboo house beside the river in the jungle, from the aroma of flowers and tree flowers.
I am from goats, from banana trees and betelnut trees, whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from Christianity, and from eating fish paste and betelnut.
I am from “gaw ler gay.” (good morning)
I am from no education and poor education. I am from Dawe Loe village and rice and vegetables.
I am from my grandfather dying in front of my eyes.
I am from riding buffalo with my cousin, and from guns.
I am from quiet and shy.
I am from hot, cold and rainy.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Paw (Year One EMA Student)
I am from Lah Kyo Koe.
I am from the bamboo and wood house in the jungle around the mountains, and from the aroma of flowers.
I am from cats and dogs and pigs, from coconut tree and flowers, whose long gone petals I remember as if they were my own.
I am from eating together every time, and I am from eating rice.
I am from “sleep” and “eat” and singing God songs.
I am from shy and quiet. I am from villages and mountains and smoke and betelnut.
I am from singing in the church with my family.
I am from playing games with my friends as a child, from my father having to go to the clinic, and rice.
I am from happy and loving.
I am from hot weather.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Poe Baw (Year One EMA Student)
I am from the worship room, and from an old bicycle.
I am from a wooden house in the rice fields, from the aroma of my mom’s curry smell.
I am from pigs beside the house, from the teak tree whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from Karen New Year, and I am from eating Ta Ka Paw.
I am from “gaw ler gay” and “ta blut,” and “eh na.”
I am from talking nicely and funny speaking. I am from Kwee Lay village and rice and soup.
I am from having severe asthma as a child, until my mom gave up on me. But I know God loved me and He saved me so I can live until now.
I am from bicycles and hats, from the book store, and from the Bible.
I am from noisy and talkative.
I am from weather that is too hot.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Poe Dah (Year One EMA Student)
I am from Kaw La, from Lay Ther Kou.
I am from a wooden house in the mountains of Karen State, from the aroma of rice cooking.
I am from horses, from coconut trees whose long gone fronds I remember as if they were my own.
I am from saying good night and praying, and I am from eating rice porridge.
I am from “I’m hungry” and “let’s eat” and God songs.
I am from normal talkative and funny. I am from Lay Ther Kou and Kaw La and betelnut.
I am from people singing a gospel song and Christmas songs and mortar and pestle.
I am from happy and loving.
I am from cold places.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Soe Thein (Year One EMA Student)
I am from rice, from red shirts.
I am from wooden houses in the mountains, from the aroma of flowers.
I am from cats and dogs, and coconut trees and betelnut trees whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from every week going to work, and I am from eating rice, fruits and vegetables.
I am from “ka nah mo pa ka kluh” and “mee sae” and country songs.
I am from shy and talkative. I am from Mae Wai and Dwan Le town and vegetables and rice.
I am from my mother getting sick.
I am from buying a football and Karen shirts.
I am from noisy and some quiet.
I am from rainy.
I am from all these and more.
I Am From
-by Yuu Yuu (Year One EMA Student)
I am from one table and two chairs on the ground and a jar sitting on the table.
I am from the wooden 16 foot house crowded on the plain, from the aroma of beautiful white flowers.
I am from a group of oxen passing by the village, from the fairly big mango tree whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from children first for meals and from rice and green foods.
I am from “ka na moe” and “pa ka lu” and “mee soe soe” and “Pa Ka Sa Ah Blu Ah Poe.”
I am from talkative and quiet. I am from Wai Swe and Yaung Houng and bananas and tea.
I am from a day when I traveled to a big city, and the family pictures on the wall.
I am from normal people and kindness.
I am from dry summers and wet raining.
I am from all these and more.
photo credit: LH
*photo credit: pixabay
When I am old and gray-haired and stooped
I think I shall still remember
How we sat on the balcony tonight
Beneath a cloud-shrouded moon
In an ocean of sky;
How our spirits sang and swooped and soared
In awe,
And how the lights glimmered on the mountain
As it listened to our song
As all mountains do.
Yes, I will remember how the rain, light-footed
Came dancing down, teasing us
While the wind played in our hair, sweeping
To the tune of the songs we sang.
And the raindrops rested on our glasses
Forming little half-moons in the glimmer of light
Fairy lights,
While in the distance the mountain slept
Yet in its sleep still listened to our song
As all mountains do.
And there was laughter and there were tears
Spun together in harmony of song
And our prayers floated up like dandelion dust
Caught in the night wind; driven by worship;
Our hearts soared to heaven and our spirits blazed
With fire,
While the mountain sighed in its sleep
And listened to us dream of heaven
As all mountains do.
Words of Light: Grace & Truth for Your Journey Home
Poetry & Photography
My travelogue, geographical and otherwise.
Drips of inspiration from a leaky pen
My Journey To Discovering A More Meaningful Life
angst / philosophy / spirituality
where love of words, creativity, and Jesus meet
composing a life symphony for the Father
one perspective on life at home and abroad
Join me as I "David Copperfield" through life.
Taste and see that He is good
...of many different peoples and worlds.
living Jesus to the vulnerable of Tanzania
"Writing ... is discovering." Frost
A little bit of everything
no coward soul is mine
Norlene Knepp
Join with me in journeying into His marvelous light.
Sporadic spillings.
Bilingual English-Spanish blog on issues important to the professional interpreter.
tales and trappings of a teacher
Life from my perspective, in Photography and Words.
thoughts of a young anabaptist
Letting Go and Letting God
~a place for me to document my monthly book club review, and other introverted thoughts which may appear with time.
Hebrews 11:13
Walking in Joy
Because we're all stories, in the end. - 11
Poetry, art, and criticism
on living expansively, honestly and hopefully
Movement, Color, Sound, Story
finding God in the wasteland (Isaiah 35:1)
how the people and parts of our world cross cultures
"living life on the edge of that which could be considered safe"
Emily Smucker's Blog
live life barefoot