Thailand

I've been spending some time in Thailand recently. I've been here before, but for a little boy from the suburbs, Thailand is so very… other.

Here are a few of the things that have stuck with me this trip: I met a woman named Jim and another named Moo, a man named Chai and one named Somchai. I watched a ferry load up with motor scooters and head across the river for their morning commute.

Politics are complicated and traffic even more so. A Thai friend explained there are 9 genders officially recognized. It can be very difficult to tell who is a woman, and who... wants to be.

A man tried to stop me on the street, holding pictures of women, like items on a buffet in his restaurant. The man across the street from him had young girls on his menu, all within view of a policeman. The encounter is more than unsettling as it provokes difficult questions about God, about society and about me.

These issues aren't unique to Thailand. It’s only that it is so pervasive I’m not allowed to claim my inaction is due to ignorance.

All the while, people are struggling to initiate change. I've talked to Thai businessmen, passionate about the impact of radio on their communities. A struggling pastor, longing to see more growth in his church. A missionary, building relationships with prostitutes, through English teaching, on the roof of a brothel.

After 180 years the evangelical church is only .5% of the population (yes that’s a decimal point before the 5). The cultural, societal, economic and spiritual issues are extremely complex. Still people get up every morning and lean into the pain.

Thailand is not for the faint of heart. You should visit. But only if you want to be changed forever.

Will You Miss Me?

When we lived in Ecuador, we had a number of college students come work summers with us. Over the years, we had many stay in our home. One particular year, as I was taking a young man out for his “last supper” with us, he turned to me and asked, “Will you miss me?”

I was so caught off guard by the question, I didn't have time to make up a good lie, so I said, “Well, probably not.”

I tried to rapidly explain that it really said more about me than it did about him.

A life in missions is full of goodbyes. Good friends are constantly leaving us. They change fields or leave ministry completely. I have a bad habit of pulling away, walling myself off from the pain of loss that I know I will experience when someone I care about moves on.

The constant stream of people weaving in and out of your life isn't something they tell you about in orientation. And if they told you, I’m not sure you could really understand. I've read missionary kids experience more loss before graduation, than most people experience in a lifetime. I don’t doubt that’s true. 

Email, Facebook and Skype all make staying connected easier, but it usually disintegrates into superficial communication with no real relationship.

As God has allowed us to reconnect with friends we have been separated from I've discovered something beautiful.  

Even though it’s been years since we've been together, when we see each other again, we can go pretty deep, pretty quickly.

There is just something about having the shared experience of cross-cultural life, raising kids and working together in ministry that binds us. It allows us to do away with idle chitchat and start talking about things that matter.

Successes and loss, excitement and pain come quickly into the conversation, like we had spoken about these things yesterday, not years ago.

There is not much better in life than that type of friend. And we have been blessed with many. 

Contentment

Nancy ordered a sandwich the other day and asked for wheat bread, because it was listed on the menu. The guy at the counter said, “We don’t have wheat bread.”

We've been to a KFC that didn't have chicken, heard of an I-Hop without any pancake batter and a nice restaurant with an enormous menu, but really only had one type of fish. So no wheat bread is no big deal.

But the first few times this happens it can be pretty frustrating. You get your heart set on something, your mouth starts watering and then, “Seriously? No chicken?”

Part of the problem with human nature is we want what we see. Just watch a couple of toddlers with one toy and you realize we’re born with it. 

Our days are filled with images and interactions that leave us feeling like the monkey in the cucumber vs grape study.  We’re happy with what we have until the new I-Phone comes out. We like our spot in line, until the one next to us moves faster. 

True contentment will never be found in that next big purchase or even in that raise we've been hoping for. Only when we begin to look at what we have, with gratitude, will we begin to find contentment.

Comparison is a poison that destroys contentment. Gratitude is it's lifeblood. 

More Like Jesus

Helen Roseveare graduated with her M.D. from Cambridge and applied to the World Evangelization Crusade. She did her language study, tropical medicine study and left for the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where she was the only doctor for two and a half million people.

One day, riding with her supervisor, he said, “If you think you have come to the mission field because you are a little better than others, or as the cream of your church, or because of your medical degree, or for the service you can render the African church, or even for the souls you may see saved, you will fail.  

Remember, the Lord has only one purpose ultimately for each one of us, to make us more like Jesus.”

It’s so easy to lose sight of this. We get so caught up on the “Go and make disciples” mandate for the church, we miss the personal one.

It becomes all about going and doing and making things happen. It’s about growth and numbers and exciting things we can tell our friends. We want to be a part of something. We want to see lives changed. We want to see revival.

Those are good things. They are worthy things. They are not THE thing.

If we miss that, we will accomplish much and leave a trail of bodies behind us. I have seen good men, with good hearts and good intentions, destroy good people who would have willingly followed them anywhere.

Why?

Because that’s what happens when I’m more concerned about the vision in front of me, than the heart inside me.

Slavery

One of the nice things about international travel, is I get to catch up on some movies. They help stave off boredom, which means I don’t pester Nancy, so it’s a win win.

On a long flight to Thailand recently, I watched “12 Years a Slave.” It’s the story of Solomon Northup, a free black man, who was kidnapped in New York and sold into slavery in the south. It is a powerful film, purposefully written and directed to make you uncomfortable and it succeeds painfully well.

As I watched it I thought, “We must never forget this is a part of our history. This darkness was legal in my country, my home.” We don’t have to like it, but we do have to own it and understand its impact on our nation and culture 150 years later.

While we watched the movie, Nancy and I were increasingly annoyed by three guys sitting in the row across from us. They were laughing, loud and drinking heavily. They weren't more than a nuisance for me until Nancy said, “It makes me sad.” When I asked, “What?” she said,

“Three guys… alone… going to Thailand?”

About 7 years ago, Nancy and I spent our 20^th wedding anniversary near Pattaya, Thailand. We saw some things there I wish I could unsee. You can hear stories about the sex trafficking of young women, boys and girls, but when you see it, it changes you.

That’s why this article from CNN about Amnesty International considering condoning prostitution is so baffling to me. For someone to call it victimless, makes me wonder if they've ever left a classroom to find out what’s really going on.

Slavery is not part of our past; it is present, here with us, in our world, in our country. It could be a young girl sold by her father to pay off a debt, a sex worker trapped by addiction, a domestic worker whose documents were seized by her employer or a runaway desperate for food.

I watched 12 Years a Slave wondering why people allowed it to happen. What I really need to ask is, “Why do I?”

Duplicitous

I wrote a note to encourage someone the other day. When I got done writing I thought, “Did I write that to encourage or because I want to be liked?” 

Seriously.

I’m 45 years old. I have an amazing woman who loves me. My boys are awesome and doing well. I've got a great job and work with people I love. And I’m convinced, God deeply loves me. 

Still I write a note hoping for the affirmation, the “thank you.” If they feel better, then that’s nice too. What’s with that? 

But what bothers me more is I still have to worry about what is truly behind my actions. What is really motivating me? Am I acting in love for their best interest? Or mine?

Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and it is exceedingly perverse and corrupt and severely, mortally sick! Who can know it [perceive, understand, be acquainted with his own heart and mind]?” (AMP)

I am so duplicitous I don't know my own motivations. 

“What’s the big deal about why you wrote the note, as long as an encouraging note is written?” Well, because the motivation changes what I say. It shifts it from what may make someone feel better, to what they really need to hear. 

The difference is subtle, but profound.

When I ask God to help me search my heart, I don't always like what we find going on in there. But without the searching, there is very little true healing.

Sexual Abuse

I have a friend who was repeatedly sexually abused as a little girl. She was violently assaulted by the very people God designed to protect her. Because of her friendship, I will never look at suffering and its impact the same way.

Imagine being in a small boat, miles out into the ocean, with the people you care about most. One of them comes and sits beside you as you bask in the warmth of the sun. Then suddenly, he throws you overboard.

Everyone laughs and it feels like a joke. Then they reach out a paddle to pull you in. But when you reach for it, instead of pulling you towards the boat, you are driven under. The people you trust most are trying to drown you.

Then a pattern begins, sometimes they pull you in the boat to breathe, then hurt you, then throw you out again and row away. You never know, are they going to help, hurt, or try to shove me under.

Finally, another boat comes. “Thank GOD” you think. But when you reach out for their oar, they too shove you under. Time and again, boats come by offering to rescue only to instigate violence.

After five or six of these boats, what would your response be to another outstretched arm of “support?”

In the U.S. there is a lot of assistance available for people who are struggling. Sometimes, we can get pretty judgmental, “Help is out there. Why don’t they accept it?” Well, when every boat that’s gone by has abused you, why would you ever trust an outstretched hand?

Loving my friend has been hard at times. I've had to watch as she’s treaded water and gasped for air refusing to trust the safety of relationship. I've had to leave what felt safe for me and get into the ocean of the pain of her story.

I've had no real answers or even help for her. All I can offer is a commitment not to paddle away.