So we started attending a Burmese church a little over a month ago. We have known the pastor & his wife through Partners, and they both work in a community similar to ours about ten minutes out of town. They have started a church there among a group of migrant & factory workers.
It seemed a great fit for us for a lot of reasons, the only challenge being that it is entirely in Burmese. That’s two, sometimes three, hours of entirely Burmese speaking & thinking.
We only understand some of it, but we can follow along with the singing, catch bits and pieces of the sermon, and we can learn. We are always learning.
The very first week we were there, they surprised us at the end of the service by calling us up to share a little about ourselves, in Burmese, with no preparation.
I stumbled out some words about where we live among migrant workers, they aren’t Christian, but we want to love them and tell them about Jesus. It was incredibly jumbled, horrible grammatically, and just ridiculous. I ended with a broken sentence of, “We want to love!”
I was thankful it was over. And I didn’t mention it because it went so horribly.
This week, one of the guys in church came over to me excited. He joyfully showed me that he had taken video of us taking, particularly of me jumbling it all up. I told him it was such bad Burmese, I cannot speak! He (falsely) praised how good it was and assured me he’d post it on Facebook.
Well, lovely. Hoping he can’t find my name!