Somewhere between Atlanta and Seoul I lost half a day.
I think it slipped out into the great infinity of sky– time leaking into the clouds, an hour here, an hour there,
The minutes dripping down like condensation pooling together onto the cumulonimbus floor of the sky, the seconds wisping into cloud dust.
I know they’ve tried to tell me many times how time works on international flights, but my mind cannot understand.
Perhaps the hours and the minutes and the seconds all find each other again, like a diaspora coming home, and quietly rain back down on my life later.
Or maybe those twelve hours are stored up somewhere in one of God’s bathroom cabinets behind where He keeps the vitamins in the same place he puts the tears that watered those lost minutes,
Lost minutes that ached of goodbyes, and pain that my hands cannot touch or heal no matter how much I long to span them around all the problems, and heal the hunger of hurting souls and the seduction of spiderwebbed thoughts.
Perhaps he mixes the lost minutes with the tears where they crystalize into jewels in the bottle marked with my name in the bathroom cabinet of God’s house where they wait for sometime when they are redeemed and I dare to clasp my hands around them and learn they were never really lost.
For over a month now, I have been trying to give voice to what Psalms 90 means to me. I started to write it when I was still in Thailand in March, but somehow it didn’t seem to come together. Flying home, I traveled through Korea, landed in Los Angeles and then took the train from there to Hutchinson. This saved me money and gave me the time I needed to process and relax. It was just what the doctor ordered. I have irrevocably fallen in love with Amtrak now. We drove through a lot of deserts and grasslands and it served to give a bit of a frame for what I was trying to say. While the desert may seem boring to some, I find in it a wild beauty and tenacity that is impossible to find in most parts of the world. That, coupled with the wide open sky of my own prairie roots, makes it a place I actually find refreshing (for a short period of time, anyway).
And it came to pass, in the 7th year of the reign of King Vajiralongkorn, in the third month, the Third Daughter of Daniel and the Eldest Daughter of Paul spake to one another.
And they said, Let us arise and go from this Country in which we sojourn, and let us rest for a Time in the Land of our Fathers, for here, the Smoke lies thick and the Heat is Blazing. Let us travel to the Land of our Fathers and return in the time of the rains, lest our Hearts wax Weary and our Brains become as Soup.
And so it came to pass that in the 4th month of the year, the Third Daughter of Daniel returned to her ancestral home. And lo, her journey was Long, for she rode on an airplane from the Kingdom of Thailand to the Kingdom of Korea and from thence to the State of California. And from the State of California, that state which knows so many Dangers to the Health of Man, she traveled by Train to her Home. And as she traveled, she encountered many things and consorted with Amish people on the Train who thought she was rather Strange and Old, and witnessed a forcible Removal of a certain lady on the Train, and had a Great Surprise when the Fourth Daughter of Daniel came aboard the train. And she said to herself that she would record All These Things when she arrived at her Home, but alas, when she arrived at home, her Heart was Weary and her Brain was as Soup, for she had stayed in the Heat of the Far Off Country a little Too Long.
But as the days passed, she revived and her Heart was filled with Joy at the sight of Spring and Flowers and Cows and Cats and Dogs and Nieces and Nephews. And of course, her Mother and Father. And one day she spoke to the Fourth Daughter of Daniel and said, If thou wilt sew me a dress, I will milk Cows for you, for I know how much you despair of Cows and you know how much I despair of Dresses. For long ago, the Third Daughter of Daniel tried her hand at Making Dresses, and many were the times when she lifted up her Voice and wept while picking out Seams.
And the Fourth Daughter of Daniel rejoiced and was exceedingly glad, and so it came to pass that the Third Daughter of Daniel milked the Cows by herself while the Fourth Daughter of Daniel sewed. And it is the Nature of the Third Daughter of Daniel to either meditate deeply when she is milking cows, or to lift up her Voice in Loud Praises, and this was the evening for meditating deeply. And Meditation in the Milkbarn by Maidens is a Worthy Pastime, so long as they do not Meditate too deeply and milk the Bull by accident.
And as she meditated, she remembered with Nostalgia her Life as a Child. And she marveled at the House of Daniel that each of the Children of Daniel, from the Eldest to the Youngest, still lived to speak of their Growing Up Years, for they had run with Scissors and drunk out of Hoses and Skinny-Dipped in the Water Tank and played with Fire.
And she meditated of the Eldest Daughter of Daniel, who rode the Copper-colored Pony when she was young, and when she saw her Father driving the Massey Tractor along the Road, she said to her Pony, Come, let us arise and race my Father. And she went like the Wind and her Father was astounded when the Maiden and the Pony swept past them at 30 miles an hour. And it was her that fell from the Wild Horse that no one could rightly tame and it was her that drove down the newly dug sides of the Lagoon on her bicycle and landed with a Resounding Crash at the Bottom. And it was also her when she was a Maiden milking Cows, who saw the Son of Lloyd coming to the door of the Barn, and said loudly, Get Out! And she knew not then that it was the Son of Lloyd, but thought it was One of the House of Daniel. And thankfully, the Son of Lloyd did not listen to her, but instead fell madly in Love with her and they are married to this day with many Flourishing Olive Plants and Arrows.
And as the Third Daughter of Daniel milked, she also meditated on the Second Daughter of Daniel. Now the Second Daughter of Daniel did not race Horses like the Eldest did, but drove a Wicked Lawnmower. And it came to pass as the Second Daughter of Daniel mowed the Lawn, she sang with Joy in her Heart and did not mow around a Newly-Planted Tree, but instead drove straight over it. And another time as she warbled on her Lawnmower, behold, her Lawnmower caught on the Swing and the Rear Tires of the Lawnmower kept on moving, and the front part of the Lawnmower went up towards the Heavens. And the Second Daughter of Daniel screamed, and the Screaming of the Second Daughter of Daniel is a Fearsome Thing indeed. And the Second Daughter of Daniel was also Fearless. For in those days, there was a Strange Milkman who liked to come into the House to ask to use the Phone. And as the Milkman used the Phone and the House of Daniel watched, the Second Daughter of Daniel sneaked up behind the Strange Milkman and stood on a Lunchbox and put her Fingers into Bunny Ears and gave the Milkman Bunny Ears as he unwittingly chatted on the Phone. And behold, grievous was the Shock to the Wife of Daniel as she watched.
And now we come to the Son of Daniel. And here lieth the Greatest Mystery of All, that the Son of Daniel survived to this day. For the Brain of the Son of Daniel sprouted many Great and Strange Ideas for Inventions and Things to Do. And he made a Chopper and a Silage Wagon for the Lawnmower, and he created a Sail for the Wagon to sail in the Wind on Windy Days and a Boat from an old Bicycle and Barrels. And he terrorized the Cats and used the Flower Garden for a Toilet, to the Consternation of the Wife of Daniel. And he built a Fire among the Trees and hunted for Treasure in all the Corners of the Old Farmhouse and made Teepees in the Tree Belt and Tree Houses in the Osage Orange Trees and hunted Sparrows and put them into Mud Pies. And he had many Grand Money-making Schemes and bought Guinea Hens and Dachshunds and Pigs and Rabbits. And lo, one day, his Rabbit was sick and it had Diarrhea. And the Son of Daniel gave the Rabbit Pepto Bismol to alleviate the Rabbit’s suffering and the Rabbit was then constipated and so the Son of Daniel gave the Rabbit a laxative. And then the Rabbit had Diarrhea again and it said to itself, This is Too Much, and gave up the ghost.
And it is only fair that the Third Daughter of Daniel think of herself. And in the days of her Youth, the Third Daughter of Daniel wanted a Donkey. And the Son of the Brother of the Wife of Daniel bought her a Donkey and the Third Daughter of Daniel loved the Donkey and she christened him, Jorge. And behold, the Donkey was stubborn and had two Speeds—Very Fast and Very Slow. And the Son of the Brother of the Wife of Daniel trained the Donkey and he spake to the Third Daughter of Daniel. And he spake thus, When thou drivest the Donkey, thou shalt not drive alone, but shalt drive with another Person who shall hold another Rope to the Donkey’s Halter to help when the Reins attached to the Bridle are not enough, and this Person shall be called your Emergency Brake. And so it came to pass that one day, the Third Daughter of Daniel and Fourth Daughter of Daniel drove the Donkey, and the Fourth Daughter of Daniel was the Emergency Brake, and they set forth on an expedition. And as they went, the Donkey heard a Fearsome Noise and waxed Sore Afraid and lo, the Donkey went like the Driving of Jehu. And the Emergency Brake flew off towards the South onto some very Rough Stones and the Third Daughter of Daniel steadfastly continued on the expedition and searched her heart and prepared to meet her Maker. And when the Donkey turned to go to its Home, the Third Daughter of Daniel did not and she flew off the Cart Towards the Going Down of the Sun and landed in a Soft Sand Pile. And the Daughters of Daniel lay where they landed for a Long Time and great was the Mirth of the Daughters of Daniel.
And we must not forget the Fourth Daughter of Daniel, who is of Small Stature, but of Great Spirit. And the Fourth Daughter of Daniel cultivated a Tendency to Fly, not only on Donkey Carts with Emergency Brakes but also on Bicycles without Brakes. And it came to pass that the House of Daniel and the House of Jacob and the House of Glendon and the House of Dean and many other Houses had a Holiday and they spent their Holiday on a Bike Trip in the Park. And behold, there was a Hill and a Road, and a Curve in the Road on the Bottom of the Hill, and a Creek after the Curve at the Bottom of the Hill. And lo, as the Fourth Daughter of Daniel coasted down the Hill, her Brakes gave out and at the Curve on the Bottom of the Hill, the Fourth Daughter of Daniel spread out her arms like that of a Great Eagle and she flew into the Creek at the Bottom of the Hill. And after her Extrication from the Creek, she was covered in Mud from the Top of her Head to the Tips of her Toes. And to this day, when the Second Son of Dean sees the Fourth Daughter of Daniel, he will ask her if she has flown into any Creeks lately.
And thus was the Manner of the Meditations of the Third Daughter of Daniel as she milked the Cows. And she marveled thus, that even with all the Flying and Speeding and Crashing and other Sundry Disasters, the Children of the House of Daniel have every Bone intact and every Nose unbroken. And thought to herself that the Children of Daniel turned out Mostly Ok. While they may not be fat, they are flourishing and this Thought gave her Peace as she meditated and milked.
Thus end the Meditations of the Milkmaid, recorded in the 7th year of the reign of King Vajiralongkorn, in the 4th month of the Year.
There are some things about heaven I don’t understand
But some things I know to be true
That I will meet God when I get there
And that I will run races with you;
Maybe we’ll run to the green, green meadows
Tasting the fresh, clean air
Or walk by the river and talk of old times
And catch the bright butterflies there.
I know they say that you’ve gone far away
But I think it’s just through that door
That door where the shadows have been chased out of sight
Right beside the long river’s shore.
And it won’t be long till I see you again
Just a sunset and sunrise away
So, wait for me there on the edge of the water
Where the dawn of heaven breaks into day.
My Aunt Miriam passed away a few days ago from a 4 year long battle with cancer. Miriam had lived with my grandpa in the house next door for the past 10 years or so. Miriam contracted polio at a young age, so she always wore a brace for walking, and in later years, a walker as well. When I would go home for visits from Thailand, one thing I really enjoyed doing was going with her to her doctor and chemo visits. I look forward to running races with her in heaven.
Dawn slips over the river, sending silver light over the glassy surface of the River Salawin*. We walk down to the shore in the half-light, while another row of unrecognizable shapes moves down the bank a few hundred meters ahead. The boats are waiting. A few people wave their hands in a good morning, but for the most part we move silently. We climb carefully onto the boats. The three of us with long noses and white skin and lighter hair deck ourselves with long sleeves and hats and facial coverings.
The gray silence is broken by the roar of a boat starting. A man nimbly climbs from the front of the boat to the back, walking alongside the edge of the boat. The prow of the boat cuts through the water to middle of the river, going against the current of the water that used to be a frozen glacier in Tibet.
A ten-minute ride and we are there on the other side, the side that I have heard so much about, but never visited. Kawthoolei**, which in Karen means “the land without darkness.” The place where villages are looted and plundered day after day even now after decades of fighting and unrest.
There, on the other side, we are told to not take any pictures of immediate checkpoint. We climb the steep bluff. A Karen soldier is sweeping the ground around the checkpoint. He nods to us.
“Ghaw luh a ghay,” he greets us with the traditional Karen greeting.
We walk on, past a small hospital which currently has no patients. The patients are in a house closer to caves for when evacuations are needed when the Burma army flies overhead with planes, bombing the area. Recently, we are told, there were drones scouting in the area, which means that the residents of the area need to be extra careful.
The area is a medical training center where trainees come for 6 months and then leave. It is small, carved from the growth of the jungle, with a few spaces wide enough for a game of Takraw (a game similar to volleyball, using only feet and heads, and a smaller ball). Passersby on the river would scarcely know that it exists. Surrounded by mountains on either side, we walk down to the makeshift church for the Christmas service.
The simplicity, not of the service or the church or even the hospital area, stuns me. What stuns me is how simple the line is that the River Salawin draws between two countries. Karen people inhabit both sides of the river. On the one side, they live in constant tension, not knowing when the airplanes might choose to sweep overhead, dropping their lethal cargo, or when a troupe of Burmese soldiers might come looting and raping and burning. Perhaps the worst of it is the not knowing. On the other side of the river, in the village Thatafang, they live in peace, under the protection of the Thai government. They travel freely without travel passes. When planes pass overhead, they may watch, but they do not run. They have identification and citizenship and rights.
None of the people on either side chose what side they wanted to be born on. None of them even chose to be born.
The River Salawin flows on serenely through the middle, unchanging in the conflict over the past seventy-three years, ten months and three days.***
Then in that slice of clearing, shaped uncannily like a slice of pie, we celebrate the coming of a Savior who left his life in heaven to be born in a stable, to become flesh among a tribe of people who were caught under the tyranny of foreign rule. Our worship rises in the early morning air, up from the campfires and forests of the Burmese jungle, calling out to the God who became man and lived among us. The God who was light who came to give light to us who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet in the way of peace.
The God who is Immanuel. The God who is with us.
*There are two common spellings for the Salawin River, Salawin and Salween. I prefer Salawin, to match with the Thai pronunciation.
**Kawthoolei is the name that Karen people call their own country, hopefully named “land without darkness.” However, it is more commonly known as Karen State, Myanmar.
November wasn’t the kindest month of this year, with deaths, busyness, stress, and lots of cancelled plans. At the end, it threw the Covid bug at me, but I am grateful that I got Covid since it enabled me to spend hours finishing up my latest project. (Even though a large portion of the edits were done lying on my back.)
But now I am ecstatic to announce that my latest book, Dustbeams, is available on Kindle! Victory dance around the room while no one is looking!!! (No one should be looking because I am still in isolation).
The print version should be available on Amazon before too long, although I can’t give an exact date. I will send out another update when that is available. That will be available only on Amazon, but for those in the Hutchinson, Kansas area, there will be physical copies available in a few weeks from Blurb as well.
But for now, Kindle is available!! And because I love my Kindle and because this is my first book on Kindle, this makes me really excited (in case you haven’t noticed the surplus of exclamation points I am using. Normally I ration my exclamation points out quite conservatively).
!!!!
Dustbeams is similar to my last book, Through a Glass Darkly. It contains a mix of poetry and prose written over the past four years or so, with stories drawn from my experience in Thailand, especially in Saohin. One difference between the two books is the section dedicated to Kansas and home, called “Roots,” at the beginning of the book. The Kindle version contains 93 pages.
The edition is available here for $5.99. Below are some pictures of the book in Kindle version. Stay tuned to hear of the print release!
One of the main reasons I put Dustbeams together was as a fundraiser to help pay for my online course for teacher’s training that is coming up in January with Moreland University. After studying the course for nine months, I should, Lord Willing, be able to take the test to get my US teaching license, and then use that to finally get my Thai teaching license. So if you enjoy the book, be sure to leave a review and let friends know!
A unique thing about life is the various shades that seem to color different periods of life. Some seasons in life are gray and blue, misty and melancholy. Others, for instance the last month I spent in Saohin, are characterized by browns and reds. This past season has been a rich mix of golds and greens, framed with wild blue skies and crimson sunsets.
October 7 was officially my last day of work before school break, although I took on some tutoring over our time off. On the evening of the 12th, on one a day when the air held a crisp hint of autumn, I set off for Chiang Mai where I met up with Amy and the rest of our INVEST team for our annual retreat as a team. Amy’s parents, Paul and Dorcas, served as speakers for our retreat. I felt like our activities and input at retreat were like a well-rounded meal, with a good amount of personal growth mixed with relaxation. It was an easily digestible meal: some meat, a lot of vegetables and light food, with a little bit of sweetness added.
This is our INVEST team, a ministry under IGo. INVEST stands for Igo Network of Volunteer Educators Serving Thailand. Missing in the photo is our team leader Phil’s wife, Jolene, and their sons, Chris and Clark, since they were sick with Covid.
Monday after retreat Amy and I headed off for Doi Chang with three other friends, Abby, Nancy and Glenda. We drove our motorbikes up the soaring heights of Doi Chang and among Akha villages, sipped coffee at coffee shops way up in the mountains, ate pizza while watching the sun set over a pond, woke up early to see the glory of the sunrise and feel the wind blow in our hair, and then made our way down again.
coffee beans
I left the others and headed to Chiang Dao to stay the night at my friend Louie’s house, taking the road through Doi Ang Khang National Park. I had been to this park years ago with Louie, but I had never come in from the east side. The heights were stunning. While Doi Chang had roads that were built high above patchworked fields, Doi Ang Khang was full of hairpin curves on roads that hugged cliffs and required me to drive in first gear. Every now and then, I stopped to savor the view and listen to the absolute silence of the mountain.
I spent the night with Louie and her hilarious sister in Baan Mai Samakkhi (which I wrote about visiting here 4 years ago), laughing over old jokes from bygone school days and making new ones. We talked about the time our instructor forgot to close the zipper on his pants and how I once accidentally hit a stranger over the head with a sweatshirt. Louie and her sister needed to leave early in the morning for a youth camp, so I spent the next morning with her mom and her younger brother. Louie’s younger brother, who reminded me of my high school students, took me to buy coffee, and to get the chain on my bike fixed. Her mom then loaded me up with avocados and a vegetable I don’t know the name for, then off I headed for Pai and Pang Mapha. I had already reserved a room in Pang Mapha since I knew if I took that way back to Mae Sariang, I wouldn’t be able to make it back to in one day without exhausting myself.
A blurry photo of Louie cooking. I chose a blurry one because she would prefer it.The temple in Arunothai, the Chinese village right next to Louie’s and right next to the border. I wrote about Arunothai hereNadech, the cat named after a movie star
The road from Chiang Mai to Pai and from then on to Mae Hong Son is renowned for curves, steep slopes, and the foreign, accident-prone tourists that drive them. I drove behind a motorbike with the typical long-legged, white foreigner look for a while, and thought to myself that it looked like one I might later see in the ditch. I stopped for lunch and about 45 minutes later I rounded a curve and encountered this very bike in a ditch with two bewildered foreigners standing beside it. I stopped, and we examined the situation, and I poured water over the young, excited man’s cuts. Whereupon, he sat down on a mile marker and then promptly pitched backwards into the ditch in a dead faint while I frantically tried to call 191. He then awoke and lifted one of the aforementioned long white legs and gravely stared at it as if trying to figure out how it was attached to him.
“Pound sign,” he blustered. “Exclamation mark, percent sign, pound sign, asterisk, pound sign!” I ignored the language and upon examining him further, we decided we didn’t need an ambulance after all.
He then asked for something sugary to eat and I was grateful to be able to pull from my backpack mentos that had been gifted to us on retreat. He gulped them down like a starving man.
I ended up going with them and a helpful Thai guy to the next police checkpoint to look at the wounds a bit more, and then went with them to the hospital and stayed until they were looked at by a doctor and feeling less emotionally traumatized. Then I headed on to Pang Maphaa, racing the sun in order to get to my guesthouse before dark.
The last time I had made this trip, I drove through chilling rain and mist. The wet road had made me very nervous then, but I remembered the thrill of cresting a hill and the gorgeous views below. This time the road was half as treacherous, and I made good time, even stopping now and then to snap a picture. The sun was dying, shafting gleams of golden light over the mountains, nectar for the soul.
I feel like this picture and the two above it characterize the entire trip the most.
My guesthouse was adorable, and its price just as adorable at less than 8 dollars USD. There was one window and I kept it closed since it didn’t have a screen, so when I woke up to a dark room the next morning, I figured it was about 6:30. It wasn’t until I looked at my phone that I realized it was close to 9 instead.
As I sipped my coffee, I Googled Pang Maphaa and started looking at my maps in anticipation of the route home. As I studied the maps, I realized there was a road leading to the border, and that the border was only about 30 kilometers from my location. It didn’t take long to make my decision, and about half an hour later, I was at Baan JaBo on my way to the border. JaBo is a small tribal village, known for its restaurant where people can eat noodles while dangling their feet over the side of the mountain. (I thought it was a Lisu village, but I am seeing other sources saying Lahu)
Several times past Ja Bow, as I drove on towards the border, I was tempted to turn back. With the roads I have traveled on in the past, you would think I would have no fear of driving, but somehow the unknown road ahead struck a deep fear in me. They might be incredibly steep and stony, for all I knew. I kept on telling myself that I had driven worse than this, and that this was my only chance in a long time to do this. I knew if I turned back, I would always live with a feeling of regret.
About 3 kilometers away from the border, I came onto a lookout. I stopped to take a picture and ended up talking a while with the old man there. His gray hair was wild and unkempt, and he chewed on red betelnut as we talked, but he told me a lot about the village and surrounding areas. He pointed out a mountain in the distance. That’s Myanmar, he said.
I started off for the border checkpoint. The road ahead looked steep again, and I stopped again and almost turned back. No, I told myself. I won’t. Surprisingly, it wasn’t nearly as steep as I thought at first.
I still feel disappointment when I think about what happened next. When I came to the checkpoint, the soldiers came out. I stopped my bike to talk to them and see if I could cross. I was a bit flustered, not having rehearsed what I should say, so I asked, “This road goes to Myanmar, right?” The soldier, looking equally flustered at having to talk with this strange foreigner who came chugging along, said, “Umm you can’t go.”
It was one of those moments where I looked back later and wished I had asked for more clarification. Did he mean the road didn’t lead to Myanmar? Did he mean, I as a foreigner couldn’t get across? Did he realize that I wasn’t going over to stay, but only to hop across to say I was in Myanmar? I still don’t know, and I should have asked, but I am someone who hates to cause a fuss or make a scene, so instead, I swallowed my bitter disappointment and meekly turned around with an odd, heavy feeling in my stomach, even shedding a tear as I left.
View of the checkpoint
The heavy feeling had lifted by the time I got to JaBo. I ate some noodles like a good tourist, and then faced the long drive to Mae Sariang.
About 6 hours later, by the time I crested the bridge over the Yuam River in Mae Sariang, the last of the pink sky behind the mountains was rapidly disappearing into pitch darkness.
I was home. And I had this odd feeling that God had given me a tour package designed especially for me.
*A note of clarification in case you are thinking I am crazy in even attempting to cross the border: in many parts of western and northern Thailand, it is possible to cross over into Myanmar by simply leaving your identification card at the border checkpoint as proof that you will come back. I did this in Saohin with Thai friends the first time I visited. However, I think it is easier for Thai people to do than foreigners.
**Secondly, as I looked at the map later, I noticed that the road doesn’t really seem to connect to other roads within Myanmar, but instead runs along the border, twisting in and out of the border line. It does lead to another village in Thailand, though, eventually. I am still unsure of the exact meaning of the soldier’s words and if I could have crossed if I would have argued my case.
Life is strange nowadays, but strange in a nice twisty kind of way.
It is nice to meet Amy’s mom and dad again when they come to see her and we go together on Monday night to eat dinner at the church so that they can meet our Thai pastor and his delightful family. We eat crabs and talk about jobs and places to visit in Mae Hong Son. Later that evening, I find out that some IGo friends are traveling through on their way to the border and stop in to say hi to them and chat for a while.
The next day we go out to eat again with Amy’s parents. Amy and I need some photos for the IGo newsletter so we take shots in a rice field as the sun goes down. Coming home, I find a nice, jolly toad posing perfectly in front of the house.
Wednesday is quite normal. Amy’s dad goes to Chiang Mai. In the evening, I check out the walking street that is open because of the Aukwa festival that is just starting in Mae Sariang and then go home to enjoy my supper with Amy and her mom.
The next morning, I wake up to a message from Amy, who has gone over to where her mom is staying, “My parents both have Covid.”
I try to shake the sleep from my eyes. Surely, she must be kidding. “I wish,” she replies.
And so begins another Covid whirlwind. Thankfully, the restrictions are not nearly what they were a year ago. Amy and I isolate, but we still leave the house for supplies. Amy brings food to her mom in her rooms and buys a huge box of Covid tests. We make plans and then change them, and make them again and then change them. Finally, Amy and her mom leave on Saturday for Chiang Mai to see a doctor there.
In the meantime, I bake and read and study Karen and play my ocarina and watch the moon rise over the valley and call my mom and watch the ants climb up the papaya tree behind the house and eat pumpkin pie for breakfast since I made two and I am the only one who eats them. Is there something like eating too much pumpkin pie, I wonder?
Isolating can be difficult, but it can also be just what the doctor ordered. Especially when it includes pumpkin pie.
On Sunday, after taking my 4th Covid test, I go to church. This too, is just what the Doctor ordered. We sing worship songs in Thai that were some of the first songs I learned in Thailand and the words cut to my heart and pull tears from an aching part inside of me. Our pastor preaches on Matthew 11:28 and 29, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.” He talks about different kinds of burdens and the need to rest. I feel God speaking to that aching part of my soul again and the words I hear are beautiful.
In the evening, I don my mask and go to see what Aukwa is like by now. Aukwa is a festival celebrating the end of Buddhist Lent, but it is uniquely Mae Sariang. During Aukwa, the streets are lit up with lanterns, hundreds of small shops selling food and other items pop up beside the road, and there are musical competitions, shows and dances, a mini marathon and hundreds of other activities. It is sort of like Yoder Heritage Day at home. But different. Aukwa lasts for about 9 days, with the main activities happening the last three days.
It is colorful and bright and sparkling.
One of my students, Happy, sings in the competition, so I sit on the front steps of the police station beside another student, Achira, and wait for Happy’s song. Achira’s dad has a big bag of peanuts. Here, he says, holding out the bag. Have some.
So, I painstakingly crack open boiled peanuts and munch on them as I wait. Soon they move on, kindly leaving the bag of peanuts with me. An hour later, I see a friend I haven’t seen for over a year. He is with another friend and has moved back to the area after living in Chiang Mai for a year. They sit down and we try to chat for a while over the blare of the singing.
I don’t get home until close to 11. This is a Mae Sariang that I have never seen before. The quiet, sleepy town nestled in the valley has suddenly become a buzz of activity and late-night revelry. Even from my home 3 kilometers away from the city center, I can hear the music throbbing into the wee hours.
The next day I munch on more pumpkin pie before leaving to tutor some students.
I feel rested and at peace. Rest for me isn’t always just flopping down on a bed and doing nothing. Sometimes it means doing something different for a while. Sometimes it means fleeing into the mountains for a time to savor the silence and the cool air. Sometimes it might mean walking aimlessly by yourself through crowds or finding a seat and watching the throngs of people around you. Sometimes it means squatting down and watching ants for a while, or baking something just for fun.
Especially when its pumpkin pie.
Fried mush with sorghum molasses. This is NOT cultural Thai food, in case you are wondering. More like redneck Kansas foodgeckoes on the screen door
insearchofabrook 