The House Collective

the reinforcers.

by Filed Under: house church, kelli, onehouse, photos, stephen 1 Comment

Alternate title: What Stephen is calling “The Reinforcers.” I’m just not sold on it yet.

At the beginning of every year, we sit together and talk about what has changed and evolved in the community over the past year, what God has done, and what prayers have been answered. And then we make goals for the next year.

At the beginning of 2017, we specifically prayed and strategized for very little growth–we wanted to deepen relationships, to get better at what we do in the community, specifically to grow in quality and not quantity. We have felt in over our heads for so long, and we just really didn’t want to start anything new.

That has become the running joke of 2017: Let’s “not start anything new.”

Instead, we brought on Mwei Mwei and started a new side of our sewing project. This also involves providing part-time education for her, so I now teach her English & math three days a week. And she wanted two friends to join her on Wednesdays, so we have a little English class in the afternoons.

We started The Breakfast Club, which is an epic undertaking involving new community members being hired into the house, a warehouse full of bulk rice, eggs, and noodles (in addition to the flour and baking goods we buy in bulk!), and the added bonus of waking up by 5:30am Monday to Friday.

We got more involved in our church, with Stephen helping on the worship team and I’m helping with Sunday school. As of Saturday, I’m teaching English to the pastors & elders at our church.

Oh, and The Reinforcers. We just started that last Tuesday.

First, the background: We have previously partnered with Kingdom Mission Fund, who is funding Stephen’s current project with OneHouse. While Stephen continues to work on the recording and translation projects, we have found its coming slower and more challenging than we thought. He keeps trekking ahead, but also felt like God opened up a different door.

Stephen felt like there was an opportunity to begin mentoring two teenage boys, training them on live sound and hopefully computers and recording in the future. His hope was to purchase live sound equipment that could be used for our monthly worship nights, and also be rented out to local non-profits and businesses. He hoped that if the equipment was purchased with the grant, the project could then sustain itself, providing part-time jobs for the boys and teaching new skills. It would also provide new opportunities for churches, non-profits, and other ministries in town. Meanwhile, it gives the boys a part-time job on the evenings and weekends, where they can contribute to their families while attending school–and hopefully keep them there. So many teenagers are pulled out around this age because they are needed for their income, and we always want to prevent that. And as icing on the cake, it provided an opportunity for Stephen to invest in two specific guys. One of them has no father figure in the home. The other has a physically present father that is not the best role model, and his mom is currently battling cancer (our Flower lady, Daw Ma Oo) and has been gone since April.

Pretty amazing project idea, right? Stephen always comes up with the best ideas. I just wish we could do them all.

We applied for an additional Kingdom Missions Fund grant this year and hoped to receive it when we were stateside. Unfortunately, we weren’t chosen this year, which left us in a predicament: we still felt like this was a great project and a genius idea. Upon returning in April, we felt both of the boy’s situations needed it more than ever. But our grant was requesting $4,000–something we just don’t have in any of our budgets.

So we’ve been praying and praying and praying. We have been considering options and re-working the idea. Where was God leading us? Why did he give Stephen this great idea, and why were we both so unsettled? It didn’t feel right to simply close the door, but we also weren’t sure how to make it happen.

Until this month. Our church had a new building open earlier this year, and recently acquired some new instruments and has some new musicians–including the two newly-baptized young men in our community. They have the capacity for a full band, but they are still trying to get in a groove.

We began talking with our church, and we have re-worked the idea for our current situation. For the time being, Stephen is partnering with our church’s worship leader and his good friend, Saw Min Tun. They are going to purchase a few things for the sound system at church that makes it more usable. They are setting up the mixer in the back of the room, and Stephen is going to go ahead and train these two guys to run sound weekly for our church. They will still learn the techniques and it opens the door for additional training. And we are investing some: we are making a few initial purchases as gifts to the church, and then we are “hiring” the two boys each weekend. They will run sound for band practice every Saturday and for church on Sunday, and we’ll pay them each $6.

And we’ll wait. We’ll see if God provides a way to purchase a sound system and open up doors that way, or perhaps He has something else in mind. And for now, it still provides a way to support these families in need through education, new opportunities, and skills.

Stephen is training them one afternoon a week, doing what he loves, and loving getting to spend time with these great kids. And they are ecstatic–they are really beyond excited to learn about sound and music. They are both artistic and very smart. And they’ll be coming to church with us regularly while providing additional income for their families.

Because even when his first great idea doesn’t work, Stephen finds a way 🙂

{If you’re like me, you’ve read all that and you’re still asking: so why “The Reinforcers”? I’m told that live sound is officially called sound reinforcement, so these guys are now The Reinforcers. I think they all just like that it makes them sound like superheroes.}

the breakfast club | week three.

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We’re int our third week of The Breakfast Club, and Thida had to go back for a few days to Burma for the current passport|new laws|new paperwork situation for migrant workers in Thailand.

Thida has been pivotal in carrying this out. She is patient, she helps us problem solve, and she is such a hard worker. After the first week, we asked her if it was too much work. She was coming five days a week at 5:30am, cooking some at her house; chopping vegetables in the afternoon while the kids play; and helping with Playhouse four days a week. It was a lot to coordinate, and really even more than we anticipated. When we asked her, though, she replied, “I’m so happy. I get to help people, and I am so happy to see the kids eating.”

She’s happy, and she’s also a genius. Check out her solution for my lack of a strainer!

With her out of town, her daughter and I were left making breakfast this morning, both of us a little outside of our realms. We only had two kids who said it didn’t taste good enough to eat! 😂 Others ate seconds, so I think it balances out! And it’s still working: we still have kids showing up every morning. We still have delicious, healthy meals for them to devour, and seconds if they choose.

Zwe Go Go Nine, a two-year-old, is a very big fan of our breakfasts. The first week, he woke up from an afternoon nap and just headed out the door. His sister called after him, “Where are you going?” He said he was going to eat rice, to which she said, “Where? We have rice here at home.” But he said no–“I’m going to Kelli & Stephen’s!” She said it was difficult to explain it was only when he woke up in the morning, not every time he woke up!

His sister said that she was asleep late this morning because it is a school holiday, but she woke up to Zwe hitting her, saying, “Let’s go to Kelli & Stephen’s! Let’s go!”

Stephen and I have had to debrief after nearly every morning as we try to figure out how to do this. For one, getting up at 5 or 5:30am and having people in your home and space is a challenge. We are still figuring out how to get our showers and coffee and prayer time and breakfast ourselves (especially if we aren’t interested in the rice and fish every day of the week…). Speaking another language within five or ten minutes of waking is another feat. (My 8:30am Burmese lesson suddenly feels too late in the day for me to have enough head space!)

In addition to these physical challenges, one of the things we’ve said to each other repeatedly is that its emotionally draining. We both have said we feel regularly on the verge of tears–in some ways, so excited to see the kids so excited. To have a kid bursting at the door for breakfast, so complimentary of the meal, saying thank you repeatedly, and then off to school–it’s beautiful. It’s working! But they’re also bursting at the door. To see the kids so hungry, eating seconds and thirds–and once fourths! To see the hungry moms, the tired faces.  The kids needing medicine or their trousers sewn before school.

We’re still figuring out how to not be exhausted by 8am.

Another family of four kids, quite poor, asked on Thursday about Friday’s menu. The oldest brother then asked shyly, “How…how long will you do this?”
I answered, “For a year. For this school year we’ll serve breakfast and then we don’t know.”
He was sure I had made a mistake, “A year? Or a day? Will you have it next week?”
“Yes, we’ll have it next week. And then for a year. For the whole school year–from now until March. Every day you have school–Monday to Friday–we’ll have breakfast.”
“A whole year?!” They were all ecstatic and cheered.

We’re with Thida: we’re really happy to see the kids eating!

palpable.

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The darkness is so palpable recently. Each day has sufficiently held enough trouble of its own.

We’ve just past the first deadline of the new laws put into effect for Burmese migrants. I can’t even begin to try to explain the ins and outs of it while we are all trying to sort it ourselves here in Mae Sot, expatriates and migrants and locals alike. I do know that we’ve now spent two days at the Labor Office, and both were absolute chaos–like 500 people, over 100 degrees, a legitimate fear of being trampled to death–that sort of chaos.

I also can’t even begin to capture the stress and strain it puts on our neighbors. Poverty is a strain in and of itself, and this is simply a pile of cherries on a very difficult cake to swallow.

I can’t explain the conversations: asking for loans, asking for money for rice; talking about what they should do and what their futures hold. Because no one knows.

And even for us as a couple, this season is just another pile of unknowns and another list of questions. Yet again, our lives are entirely resting on miracles and more miracles, in every direction.

Meanwhile, Daw Ma Oo and her husband are living at a Yangon Hospital, while she receives treatment for her cancer. Her two youngest sons, 12 and 16, are cared for by their other siblings in town.

The assistant pastor at our church fell 8 or 10 meters from a roof on Saturday, leaving him in the hospital with severe head wounds. It’s a miracle he’s alive now, and we’re all praying, praying, praying.

One of the little boys’ parents left him this week. The one we just got into school; the one who we remind to come to our house every morning for breakfast; the one who asks every day if we are playing today at 4pm. Overnight, he became an orphan, because his parents left and he’s in the care of his grandfather–who took care of him while his parents were in prison the first few years of his life. The sadness is palpable.

I sat in church yesterday, fighting back tears from all of this weight, as we celebrated Thai Mother’s Day. The second Mother’s Day of the year, while we wait for placement in our adoption. Sitting next to the little boy who lost his mother on Wednesday. Thinking of the family of four kids who told me they weren’t going to school Friday because it was a Mother’s Day celebration, and you only go if you have a mom. Thinking of The Breakfast Club, and the hungry, hungry kids that come every day, threatening to break me with emotion each and every morning. Thinking of how to possibly pray for all the things: the friend current in surgery to drain the blood from his brain; the friend currently in chemo; the kids currently scared of losing their mom; the kid who just lost his mom; the kids who still mourn the loss of their mom.

And then we had cake, to celebrate Mother’s Day and a first birthday of one of the kids from our community. I think I’m definitely learning how to cater to my audience when it comes to cake decor.

Maybe you feel the same? America isn’t shining at the moment, and sadness seems palpable there, too.

Not all the cake & holidays in the world can make it all go away.

And yet a light shines in the darkness. The darkness has not overcome it.

These faces still shine with joy.

And this week, their heavenly Father has fed them, again. Sometimes in our own home.

Walking with us, sitting next to me on Mother’s Day and mourning their friend, too, are our pastors. They walk this road with us and provide such sweet camaraderie.

Our home is still a place of peace for all ages.

And this guy still finds new places for us to explore. And just sit at and be.

And he takes me there for a few hours on Saturday, to just read and see the beautiful views and be best friends.

The darkness is palpable wherever we are. But the light still shines. The darkness has not overcome us.

the breakfast club | week one.

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Sometimes it is so difficult to keep writing.

There is so much I want to tell you about. There is so much I want to record and never forget.

I want to tell you how we started The Breakfast Club this week. We have over forty kids coming into our house every morning between 6:30 and 8am to eat a full bowl of breakfast–rice or noodles, eggs, tofu, or  fish; tiny chopped vegetables so the kids gulp them right down. A well-balanced meal.

I wish you could see their faces or watch them pull out their Breakfast Club card like a badge. I wish you could see Thida show up with a smile at 6am or before to start cooking, to chop everything, to stir curry in a ginormous pot that covers two burners. I wish you could see, in person, what a five liter rice cooker looks like on our tiny little counter in our tiny little kitchen.

I wish you could see Thida bring them a full plate, make sure they are full before they go, and just ensure they are cared for.

I wish you could see the floor when they leave. And see how well Thida cares for that, too.

It’s working. We are watching kids come hungry and leave full. And it isn’t worst-case-scenario chaotic: just normal chaos.

But there are also so many things I want to forget, too.

I’d also have to tell you about the hungry moms. I’d have to tell you about the challenges of determining how to ensure we aren’t taken advantage of by some, but also not missing an opportunity with others. I’d have to tell you about the mom hiding in the kitchen, scarfing down the last of her son’s unfinished bowl. I’d have to tell you how, even among the malnourished, you can tell who is truly, truly poor and truly, truly hungry. You can see it in their faces and in their eyes and in their bowls.

You can feel it, and it follows you–through the day and to the next morning, when they eat two big bowls all over again.

I knew The Breakfast Club was a big task. I knew our house would be open at early every morning (the 5:30am was a surprise…), and I knew that’d be an interesting shift in our lives. I knew it’d be a new dynamic with Thida as we learn the ropes. I knew there would be people with questions about why their kids weren’t included; I knew we’d have others that would take advantage. I knew it would be a lot more shopping in the market and a lot more activity in our home.

It is all those things.

But I didn’t expect the weight of it. The joy and mourning, every morning at such an early hour. The mourning of hungry kids waiting at the front door and those so excited for a plate of food, perhaps because they are hungry from the last “meal” they had. The joy of having a hot, steaming bowl ready for them. The emotions of seeing some embarrassed because they are just so hungry.

Oh, friends–this place is heavy.

It is good, and there are good things happening. We are thankful The Breakfast Club is funded and functioning, perhaps at the best time possible while families are a bit panicked at new laws coming into play and the potential of their lives shifting. God knows, and God is good.

And God is here, waking with us each morning, listening patiently to our questions, wiping away our tears, and filling their empty bellies.

little wins.

by Filed Under: housewares, kelli, schoolhouse 1 Comment

The recent season has held quite a few unknowns, as Thailand cracks down on illegal labor nationwide (read: our best friends) and makes international visas more difficult (read: our futures) and lends very little information about the adoption process we wait in (read: no idea when or if baby bunny will come).

Unknowns, to say the least. Even more than there always have been, so…

And while we continue to try to keep a community center running, keep six women in jobs, sell bread and flowers once a week, continue praying and hoping for one woman in chemotherapy and ensure her family is cared for, and make sure the blind man doesn’t have tuberculosis but is cared for while he’s in isolation…

Sometimes we spend so much time just staying on top of every day life, I forget how great some of the things are that we see and experience.

But there are just two little side stories of this month that I don’t want to ever forget.

_______________________

First, this little boy. He’s been spending day after day at our house, where he is “watched” by his grandparents who live across the street. He mostly spends time by himself on our porch, asking multiple times a day if we’ll be playing at 4pm.

There’s definitely an opportunity for him to go to school in the area, but we weren’t really sure why he had slipped through the cracks. We talked to his parents and asked if he could go to school; it seemed money was the issue, and perhaps disorganization and disinterest. We asked the little boy if he was interested, and he was beyond keen.

So then we asked Thida to help, and asked her to check with the teachers to see if he could join late and what grade he’d be in; what costs would be. She got us the information and we “hired” her to help coordinate it all–she’s the best gift of a community help we could have asked for. At the cost of $59, the little boy was enrolled in a year of school, was given three uniform sets, new shoes, and a backpack. And Thida made $6 of that for her help in enrolling him and purchasing all the uniforms.

Thida’s kids attend the same school, so a few days in, they reported back that he didn’t have lunch with him each day. The family helped educate the parents on sending him with a lunch pail each day, so he could eat lunch there. The teacher reports back to Thida that he’s incredibly well-behaved and is just so excited to be learning everything and anything.

Fast-forward a week, when we’ve recovered from dengue and he’s situated into school. He arrives at our door in the afternoon, in an adorable uniform and shiny black shoes, wearing a backpack on and a proud smile.

Are you attending school? Do you like it? What are you learning?

He tells me he’s learning the Burmese alphabet and his Burmese numbers; he says he teacher told him they’ll learn English, too. And he tells me he’s writing it all in his book. He goes on about how his mom walks him to school and he walks home by himself, and how his friend Jor Lay is in the same class. And that he loves his teacher.

…Oh, and are we playing at 4pm today? He asks again.

And just like that, he’s in school. He has a piece of stability in his life, friendships, and new role models. He’s learning and growing, and he’ll be joining us for breakfast each morning starting next week, on his way down the street to school.

I don’t want to forget that. It’s a small, but so well-spent $59. Worth every penny.

_______________________

And second, this girl. Thida’s daughter, Mwei Mwei, has officially started sewing in our home three days a week and helping us with childcare during Flour & Flowers on Friday mornings. She’ll also be going to the market with me each week to help purchase food for the blind man in the community, purchase bread baking supplies, and purchase ingredients for The Breakfast Club that starts next Monday! She’s back from Bangkok, living with her family, and has a job in a safe environment.

She’s fourteen, and we’d rather her be in school. But if the family is going to take her out of school, we’d rather her be in a safe work environment that values her age and vulnerability, and gives her the opportunity to keep learning. So that’s us–finding a way to do that!

She was able to do six weeks of sewing training at a nearby organization where her sister also works. She is now sewing new items each week to expand her skills. And for about an hour a day, she also takes lessons from us. We have set her up on a computer with math lessons and typing lessons, while we work with her on spoken English, as well as reading, writing, and typing basic English.

And once a week, we’re also having her spend time reading a Burmese book, which I’ll also be reading in English. After each book, she’ll be writing a short paper or two in Burmese, which we’ll go over with a Burmese teacher, so that she can further her Burmese grammar and language skills. I’m excited that we’ve already found I am Malala and some Charles Dickens’ classics online in Burmese; and I’m on the hunt for a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird that is supposedly translated out there somewhere. I’m hoping it promotes some interesting conversations in Burmese between us, too!

And again, just something not to be forgotten. It’s a little success, a budding relationship, a few hours of study. But she’s safe. We get to watch her with her siblings each day. She gets to be told she’s doing a great job and oh-so-clever on a regular basis. And that’s a win.

Here’s to the little wins that just must not be overlooked in the unknowns 😊

double dengue.

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I go back and forth, finding it difficult to believe it is already the end of July, but simultaneously confused that it is still July. What a month.

We were hit recently with what I’m calling double-dengue.

I came home from Flour & Flowers deliveries on cinnamon roll week, after we had delivered 33 pans of cinnamon rolls all over town, in addition to 180 hand-rolled tortillas and a basket of bread loaves, exhausted and with a fever. It seemed reasonable to be tired, waking up at 5am, baking until 3pm, and jumping in the car to make deliveries until 7pm. But the fever persisted on Saturday, and I thought I was fighting some sort of virus.

We left on Sunday for a trip to Bangkok with friends, hoping I’d be over whatever it was soon. And for the record, they were contributing hand, foot & mouth to the car from their daughter, too, so it wasn’t just me!  Unfortunately, we learned the very next day that I had dengue fever; and then two days after that, Stephen did, too. Dengue is absolutely nothing to joke of–it is a beast. The fevers are high, the rash is red and horrifying and itchy. And the body aches! Someone asked if it is in fact like you’ve been hit by truck, and it is. Every joint and muscle throbs like you’ve just run way too far and swam too far and sat too long and been hit by a fast car, all at once. You want to sleep and sleep some more, but you ache like you can’t find a comfortable way to sit or lay. And if you do happen to sleep, you’ll wake up in fever fits before too long.

Ten days of that.

For us, we went to Bangkok with friends to drop them at the airport, which left us to drive back to Mae Sot. We ended up taking it slow–very, very slow. We would get up late, around 9am, to catch the end of the hotel’s breakfast. Then we’d go back for a nap, because eating a few pieces of toast can really take it out of you. We’d wake up to check out at 12pm, and take turns driving, about 1 1/2 hours each, before we’d pull into the next hotel and go to sleep, about 3 or 4pm. So for multiple days in a row we were sleeping upwards of 16 hours a day.

We also got checked to make sure we didn’t have internal hemorrhaging, which can come with dengue. And we found out it can also lead to hepatitis, or swelling of the liver, which I had toward the end.

What a mess of a disease.

We both were all-cleared for the bigger risks–dehydration, hemorrhaging, and hepatitis–last Sunday, just in time to cross the border for a new visa stamp on Monday. We were up and out of the house by 10am, and walked across the bridge at the edge of town, only to walk back for a new stamp. And then we went home to take a rest, because it plum wiped us out.

But alas–still another week after that, we’ve now made it through two days in a row without a nap mid-afternoon, so we seem to be on the up and up!

all things in common.

by Filed Under: house church, housewares, kelli, stephen 1 Comment

Thida and her family are such dear friends of ours. She reminds me regularly that I need to open a restaurant to sell bread, cakes, and all the meals they’ve ever tasted. She says she’ll be the kitchen manager and it will be so successful. She even tells me often that they’ll move their whole family to Burma with us if we’d prefer to open a business there!

Her husband built them a beautiful new house about three months–it sits back across a river, so you cross a handmade bamboo bridge to get into a shaded piece of ground, surrounded by trees. The house is beautiful, with three small rooms, a living area, and a kitchen. It’s the most elaborate shack I’ve encountered, with a collection of materials pieced creatively together. After building, they didn’t have electricity at their house, but would have to pay to have the government wire it out to them, particularly being Burmese. So they waited a few months without electricity, coming to our house each afternoon with a selection of flashlights and phones to recharge for their family of 12.

And just weeks ago, they got electricity to their new place. They they bought a refrigerator.

This is where she came to me: they had bought a large fridge for about $75, used from somewhere. She said her husband had told her last night: Stephen & Kelli use their fridge much more, making bread & cakes and such; and they have a smaller fridge. Why don’t we just trade? They could use the big fridge and we would be fine with the small one.

This pretty much melted my heart. For her family of twelve, she wants to trade me for my 4 foot fridge, so that we can have a larger one for all our baking?  The sweetest.

At this point, we’ve declined–I feel like I could just go buy one out of savings, but we’re making do! It doesn’t feel like a necessity yet. And she does have a family of 12!

And more than anything, I’m just honored that we do life together, with a willingness to swap appliances. She has been such a picture of Christ to me, even as I don’t know exactly where she’d say she is on her faith journey. We’re just having lots of conversations, and ultimately, I think she grasps the idea the church and the love of Jesus more than many of us.

“And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need.”
Acts 2:44-45

oh, kid.

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One of the little boys is just six, and has been dealt a rough hand already.

His parents were in prison for the first three years or so of his life; he was often watched by his teenage aunts and lived with his grandfather. Not so long after his parents were out of prison and he was living back with them, his father was diagnosed with advanced tuberculosis and dangerously malnourished, so he was admitted to the clinic and then transferred to a tuberculosis isolation spot about two hours out of town.  They whole family went.

They all returned months later, but just after school started. So he’s back to the familiar of our neighborhood, but doesn’t attend school while his friends do. He spends his days playing in our yard with two to four year olds.

He also asks every day if we are playing inside. We have tried to explain the days of the week and how certain days we play at 4pm and certain days we don’t. He’s not capturing all of it, so he now asks every morning: Are we playing at 4pm today? And we say yes or no. Picking our battles, at least he’s only asking once a day.

Last week his foot got caught in his dad’s bicycle. His ankle swelled quickly, so we took him to see if it was broken. It wasn’t broken, but sprained; and had a large cut on the side.  Most of the instructions we gave weren’t heeded, so I began changing the bandages at our house.

A few more days went by, with bandages just not staying put. I decided since it was closed, we should just focus on getting antibiotic cream on it, rather than keeping it wrapped in gauze. Again, we’re picking battles carefully.

I took medicine to the mother and explained it to her.

Fast foward to today: our house is full of thirty-some children and adults, coloring, playing on the computers, playing market…they are everywhere. Suddenly I look down and see blood on the floor. Everywhere. There are large drops and smears of blood–everywhere. Covering most of the floor.

Thida, Stephen & I see it at nearly the same time, and we’re shouting all at once: Wait! Stop! WHO IS BLEEDING? BLOOD. WHO IS BLEEDING? WHO IS BLEEDING??

It took ridiculously long to figure out who, but it was little friend. His cut isn’t healing so well and broke open; and apparently he didn’t notice his trail.

I carried him into the kitchen to try to bandage him up. Thida very sweetly came in and asked him if his mom had put any of the medicine on it. He said no. She explained that his mom was “naughty” (not sure how else to translate that!) and wouldn’t put medicine on it. She made sure he understood to come to our house every day to get medicine.

He went back to playing, and then left at 6pm with the other kids.

About 6:30pm, he was at the door, calling for us.

“Stephen, are we going to play today at 4pm?”
“Well, we did, buddy. 4pm already came. We already played. But we’ll play tomorrow at 4pm, too.”
And then in English–“Don’t you remember playing? You bled out on our floor!”

playhouse.

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Friends, Playhouse is thriving.

We open up the space four times a week in the afternoons, to catch kids and families after school and on Saturday evenings for a safe place to play. And each time, it fills up with old friends and new faces.

We still have two computers available for the kids seven & older to use, playing English games, typing practice, math drills, drawing, and Minecraft.

We have a selection of toys and games for all ages, including the newly popular board games. The board games have been an overwhelming success with the older kids and moms!

We had a team visit from my university campus ministry and do some projects in our community. They made two soccer goals out of PVC that we keep inside, with two soccer balls, until Playhouse. The kids can play in the street but easily pick them up when a car through.

The team also made a set of market items out of fabric–something I have wanted to make for a long time! They did a great job making local fruits and vegetables, a milk & juice, a bag of potato chips, and fish. They also laminated Monopoly money for the kids to pretend with. It has been such a hit!

And last, they helped us set up some more technology pieces! We had one more Raspberry Pi, and we wanted to use it to set up a gaming system. Stephen found a “RetroPie”–it’s old versions of Nintendo games that you can play with a Raspberry Pi, computer monitor, and a couple controllers. The team helped us set it up for the kids to play, and they are absolutely loving it. They really love StreetFighter and WorldCup Soccer.

It’s also fun to see how communal it is!

And last, we have had a 1st Generation iPad from when we moved. It runs very few apps these days, and we were gifted a 2nd Generation iPad last year. We wanted to get our old iPad et up for the kids to use, as another technology piece to get used to. I really think its so good for them to learn how to use their fingers on a touch screen on the iPad, as well as the mouse and computer programs; and even the controllers. I love to see how much they are able to experience and learn!

It was fun to have the team here to help us get some new activities rolling, and the kids are certainly loving it 😁

the best gift.

by Filed Under: house church, kelli, photos 3 Comments

I’ve recently gotten caught up in Matthew 7:7-11. I’ve been stumbling over it, again and again, just not sure how to swallow it down.

There have been some times I’ve felt like I was holding bread–a great, good gift we were celebrating–and it turned out to feel much more like a stone.

And sometimes I had to drag it along for a long way, feeling the weight of it rather than tasting it on my tongue.

But He does know his children, right? So what I think is a good gift may not be; and he knows what it truly good for me…I’ve heard it. I’ve thought it, and I’ve wrestled with that, too.

I keep coming back to the question: if the receiver doesn’t feel like it’s a good gift, is it a good gift? “Good” becomes a painful word in that scenario. And I’ve even sat crying out that while I’m sure this is good, I still don’t know how to swallow it. If it looks like a stone, feels like a stone, sounds like a stone, just saying it’s innately bread is just maddening.

I digress.

I’m obviously still stumbling over it.

Recently, we learned some difficult news about our adoption process here in Thailand. I’m not sure I even know what to say, except that our whole lives here require miracle after miracle, and this is no different. If we see this come to fruition, we’ll just know without a doubt that it was Lord and absolutely nothing less.

And if we find ourselves waiting or find questions unanswered; if we find it just isn’t what God has for us–well, we’ll have to find a way to swallow that down, too.

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Fast forward to last Saturday, I sat snapping photos while Stephen played guitar, our little church group sang, and Yaminoo was baptized.

As I watched her say that yes, she believes in the Trinity; and yes, she believes Jesus died for her: I realized something. This is a good gift.

I have loved Yaminoo since we moved here. We met her within weeks of moving into the house, when she and her little friend group was just six years old.

And Yaminoo, she just captured our hearts. She often was watching her little brother, who we also came to love. She now watches her newest little brother, and we love him too. She spent countless hours in our home–in the mornings, during the day, and late into the evenings. She would often stay until 9 or 10pm, doing puzzles or playing games on a phone or looking over our shoulders at whatever we were working on. We knew her family life was rough at the time, and we just gave her a safe place to wait it out.

She was the first one to start cooking with me, and I loved it. She was always willing to help and just always wanted to spend time together. She was the first one we helped with a medical situation, taking her to the hospital when she broke her finger. She was the one that Stephen spilled an entire pan of (thankfully cooled) cooking oil on; right on her head and all over her.

I simply searched her name to find these stories I could link to, and the posts about her are uncountable. I’ve written for years about our prayers for her, our love for her, and the laughter we’ve shared together. In so many ways, she’s been a best friend for the past seven years.

And this week, she was baptized. This isn’t just a good gift really–this is the best gift I could have asked for. I can’t think of anyone I’ve prayed more for in the last seven years–I truly think I’ve prayed more for her than my own husband.

We have hurt for her and broken for her and celebrated with her and loved her so, so very much.

I might even say that her baptism is a better gift than getting a call that there’s a baby waiting to call us mom & dad.

And God knew that.

He knew I never would have guessed it. God knew I’d be sitting beside a beautiful lake, attempting to swallow losses in my own life while I watched her embrace her earthly father and her heavenly Father, and trying to reconcile the good gifts, the giving and taking, the mourning & rejoicing. He knew I’d be celebrating the greatest win in the community alongside one of our greater heartaches as a couple.

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We’re in a pretty beautiful season in the community.

While we’re still dealing with all the same–poverty, fighting, hunger, sickness, drunkenness, crime, unemployment–we’re also seeing God bless things indescribably.

We celebrated nine baptisms last week. Mwei Mwei is back from Bangkok; God arranged a free sewing training for her and provided a machine for her to sew at our house. San Aye is thriving–she has a new tooth, her children are healthy, her marriage is improving, she is learning new skills and she has a steady job. Flour & Flowers is successful, making ends meet and successfully providing part-time jobs for four women. A young couple paid off their loan after two years and started a savings account. The Breakfast Club is funded and we are the process of measuring kids and creating a system. Children and parents are filling our home four afternoons a week to play and learn.

So many good things. And watching Yaminoo’s baptism simply illuminated them all for me.

And I thought of John the Baptist. In both Matthew 11 & Luke 7, the Gospels tell the story of John the Baptist in prison. He writes to Jesus–whom he baptized, whom he declared “The Son of God who takes away the sins of the world”–asking if he is “the one to come” or if they should wait for someone else.

After declaring him the Messiah, he asks from prison if He is the Messiah.

And Jesus replies, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news preached to them. And blessed is the one who is not offended by me.” (Matthew 11:4-6)

For some, the Messiah looks like healing, cleansing, hearing, hope; and for others, it looks like prison. It looks like a life in the wilderness that ends in a beheading.

But “blessed is the one who is not offended.”

Blessed is John, if he is not offended that the Messiah to him looks like beheading. Erwin McManus paraphrases, “The blind see, the lame walk, the dead are being raised, but you, John, you are going to die.”

What if that is not so different for us?

People are baptized, women are able to work with their children, women are protected from abuse, children are able to stay with their families, hungry children are fed, second chances are being given, sickness is being healed, truth is being spoken…but you–you might not get what you want. You might study language forever. You might be tired at the end of every single day. You might not be able to adopt a baby. You might not have a family of your own.

But God is still good. And blessed are those that not offended by Him.

I don’t know if that is was God truly has for us; of course I don’t know–but I do feel like that is what he asking me to embrace right now. I feel like He is asking me to embrace the unbelievably good gifts and unbelievable miracles that He is handing us, day after day, in the community, and hold those in the same hands that are mourning the questions, the unknowns, and the fears in our personal lives.