What will YOU do?

I stepped out of the station wagon, hot sun on my face. Squint, look up at the white building. I recognize this place.

I follow Hannah past the main doors, around to the entrance at the back. Snap a picture or two.

We pop up the short flight of stairs, and a little face grins back at me. Paw Ka Taw.

He’s been moved to a bed in the hallway. He’s sitting there with his elbows on his knees, right foot bandaged all up and looking much himself again. Seems that he’ll be able to come home on Monday.

And then someone gets my attention. “Heidi, come look.”

I wander into the main ward and over to a bed. There’s a crowd of people there, looking at the patient. As I approach and catch sight of the figure on the bed, I have to shake myself. Is that real?

She’s so small. So fragile. She’s sleeping—and she looks fake. Like a baby doll; she’s so tiny and perfect. She’s a few days old.

Her mother was a friend of Naw Da Blet.

Yes, I said was.

A condition before birth that was too progressed to reverse took the mother’s life when the baby was born. She could’ve been helped if they’d come out of Burma sooner. Instead, she died in Mae Sot, giving life to her first child.

She was 17.

The father? He’s gone: back to Burma. The baby has been given to another family who will raise her as their own.

I didn’t stay long. Long enough to feel a tug at my heart, long enough to realize that the girl who gave her life for this tiny one was two years younger than me…

Long enough to know that these people need help. So much.

It hurts.

Burns.

Tears.

This shouldn’t happen. It shouldn’t.

And I look heavenward. Lord God in Heaven, can I come back? Let me come back someday…let me come, let me help… Let my arms hold a child like that…

I don’t deserve it.

But then, if He’ll let me, I’ll do it.

I look toward America, saturated with fullness of bread, idleness, and feeling “in need of nothing.”

The words to a familiar song ring in my head… “Will my friends obey Him also? Or will I be the only one?”

Heartbreak.

Will you? Will you come? Will you go where He calls?

It’s the destiny of little ones like this that may hang in the balance on your decision.

Don’t turn away from a privilege like this.

You may hold in your hands a life…

What will you do?

Teacher

My last day of being in the classroom was yesterday.

I thought it would've been today, but turns out that the teachers let all the students loose to study where they would for the day. Which I can't say I minded.

Sharon asked if I was going to go down to the school building and be there--you know, for the kids to come find and ask questions and whatnot. Sure, I can do that.

I headed down around 8:40 or so, checked out all the classrooms, and decided to situate myself in the 6th grade classroom. As I walked in, Heh Nay Saw Moo lit up like a firefly. I sat down up front and Saw Eh Soe gave me his usual "happy to see you" grin and said, "Wah luh ghay, tharamoo." Saw Yo Hsu looked at me, grinned and looked back down at his book.

I was in there for maybe an hour. I wrote in my journal, answered a couple of questions, loaned Saw Yo Hsu my pen. It was quiet, the boys were all either very studious or sleeping, and I was...well, a little bored.

Loud noise from the room next door tried to pull me out of my chair, but not before Thara Dah Bu entered the classroom. He noticed me and came right up to the front. "When do you go home?"

"Next week. Next Sunday, I go to Mae Sot, get on bus, go to Bangkok."

"Ohhh. You come back?"

"I do not know. I want to, but I do not know."

He smiled. "Ah. God's plan?"

Now I smiled. "Yes, yes."

Thara Dah Bu exited the room, and curiosity aroused me. Camera slung around a shoulder, I removed myself from the room and started walking down the sidewalk, toward the other end of the school building.

I passed the first door to a classroom that was entirely closed. Windows, doors--just shut. However, one door was ajar a little, and as I walked past I heard, "Teacher!"

I stopped. I cocked my head. I listened.

"Tharamoo Heidi...?"

That would be me. I walked back and poked my head into the 7th grade classroom.

Five pairs of eyes stared back at me. And a grin lit each face.

"What?" I asked.

They didn't seem to have any real agenda. They just wanted to talk. And talk they did.

Saw Ku Hsee and Saw Pa Noe were pretty studious most of the time, but the other three were a riot. Shaw Nay Moo, Tee Nay Too, and Saw Day Day: all asking me about the boyfriend I don't have, my friends and family, and a million other things.

..."Teacher, you have sister?"
"Yes. Two of them."
"Oh oh. How old is she?"
"16."
"Teacher, you give me?"
"Are you kidding? Of course not. She's taller than you--taller than me even!"
"Oh Teacher, no problem."...

... "Teacher, you go America?"
"Yes. Soon. Next week I leave."
"You come back?"
"I do not know if I come back. Maybe not."
"Why, Teacher?"
"I do not have money. It cost a lot of money to fly on airplane."
"No problem Teacher. I give you money."
"Saw Day Day, you don't have that much money either, I guarantee it."...

..."Teacher, I hope you come back."
"Teacher, grade seven all miss you..."
"Teacher, grade seven cry very much when you go..."
"Teacher..."

I spent all morning in that room. Maybe I distracted a few of them from studying. Maybe they would've done better on their exams if I'd stayed out of the room. Maybe...

But I wouldn't trade that time for anything.

They did study, for certain, after the novelty of me being in the classroom with them wore off. I finally sat down on a bench, not to move until leaving the school building. Tee Nay Too asked me a million questions,  and on inspiration, I set up my camera to video our conversations. I have almost an hour of footage, just of us talking, misunderstanding each other, clarifying, and laughing.

"Teacher, how do you say?"
"Acute angle...this is obtuse..."

"Teacher, you know dreary?"
"Dreary?"
"Yes. D-r-e-a-r-y."
"Uh huh. You say it like dreary..." 

"Teacher, I want to eat picture..."
"You want to what!"
"Oh no Teacher! I mean I want to take picture, eat at picnic..."

Teacher. Teacher. Teacher.

I never thought I'd be called "Teacher." Especially not by someone as precious as these kids. Not by a Karen child.

Not by anyone. Let alone creatures that have settled themselves in my heart.

"Teacher, you go America, I think you forget grade 7."
"Ha... not a chance. I remember you forever."
"You think about all the time?" Big smile of hope.
"Yes....yes..."

Will I ever forget?

Never.

Rest assured, boys. This teacher will never forget your antics, your laughs, your smiles. You. Never.

Teacher.

What a strange thing is this.

"Teacher, I want to take picture with you."
"Teacher, I need your picture."
"Teacher, will you miss me?"
"Teacher, I miss you very much."
"Teacher..."

Teacher.

Someday, I'm going to walk through a massive set of gates. They glitter and shine, sparkle and glisten. Around me, voices raised in triumphant song, in victory's cry, in melodious harmony. Before me, a paved street, glowing gold in the myriad lights around me. A crown on my head, a smile on my face... Heaven at last.

I'll be standing just inside the city, looking at the glory, blown away by the beauty, enraptured with the enormity... and that's when I'll hear it.

Above the song of life, above the raised voices, above everything else...

"Teacher!"

This is Heaven.

This is glory. Love. True life.

In all its fulness.

Wrapped up in a simple word that conveys attachment, influence, love, trust.

Teacher. 

Oh, may I never cease to be....

And God help me... for these last few days will be hard.

And God help me... for I must...must...see these kids again someday.

In Heaven, if not on this earth.

Even if I never set foot on Thai soil again...

I've been given a title worthy of bearing.

And I'll wear it til my dying day, into infinity... and beyond.

Teacher.

Teacher.

Teacher Sharon...

 A studious Saw Eh Soe--who, by the way, is getting baptized tomorrow...

Shaw Nay Moo

Saw Pa Noe

Some of the results of the IMM students gardening efforts...corn!

These Arms

Today was a perfectly normal day. Really, I mean it.

I did laundry, ate lunch, drew a portrait of Thara Timothy’s little girl, Adrina, and cut Sharon’s hair. I was going to have her cut mine when I’d finished with my bath.

I finished, but Sharon went to hang up her wet laundry ‘real quick.’ So I stood on the porch, hairbrush in hand, intermittently talking to Landon, who was reclined in our chair with a book.

And that’s when I saw Harvey and Brenda. They were coming back across the road from an IMM teacher’s meeting. But something wasn’t quite right. Harvey looked a little strange.

As they got closer, I could see he was carrying something… “What is that?”

Then it dawned on me. “Hey, who’s Harvey carrying? He’s got a student!”

Landon dropped the book and we both waited. “That’s Thara EhGuhNyaw’s little brother!” Landon nodded.

I squinted. Yep, sure enough: Paw Ka Taw, the same little boy who had cerebral malaria not so very long ago.

Harvey got to the porch. “What happened?” Landon asked.

“This boy amputated his toe; we need to take him to the hospital,” Harvey replied.

As he came up on the porch, I got a good look at where Paw Ka Taw’s big toe had once been.

No, I didn’t gross out. But it hurt to see the little guy in so much pain.

We laid him on the floor, propped his foot up, and Harvey and Brenda ran around, trying to get ready to leave. They were planning on going down to Mae Sot tonight anyway and staying the night: but they hadn’t been ready right then.

After some of the excitement died down, I knelt on the floor next to Paw Ka Taw and Hannah, who was holding his leg up. “Heidi, can you hold his leg? I need to run grab such-and-such.” Hannah moved out of the way and I took the boy’s leg.

He was still in shock when he got there, but now he started to come out of it. The grimaces of pain and groans were getting more frequent. I stroked the top of his head a little, praying God would ease the pain as much as he could.

The story came out that just at the end of the IMM teacher’s meeting, Inge had called out and gotten everyone’s attention. A few students have been learning to ride bicycles lately—old, rusty, brakeless contraptions—and Paw Ka Taw had had a wreck right out on the driveway near Michael and Inge’s place. It’s assumed he got his foot caught in the bicycle chain. Michael had to go hunting for his toe, which he found in the grass somewhere.

The severed toe got put on ice in hopes that it could be re-attached. Paw Ka Taw got some pain medication down while we waited for Thara EhGuhNyaw to be ready to go.

Hannah was with us again. I was still holding his leg, and I looked across at Hannah. “Should we go ahead and just get him in the car? I can carry him.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let me get the back all situated for him to lie down in.” Hannah popped up and off she went.

Not so very long later, I picked Paw Ka Taw up off the floor and carried him onto the front porch. We had quite the audience out there now: word travels fast on a small campus. I maneuvered down the steps, not stopping for shoes, and carried the boy to the car. Hannah got in, and we laid him in the back, foot propped up.

We didn’t have to wait very long—Thara EhGuhNyaw showed up and got in the back. A few more words were exchanged, some water bottles retrieved, and off the “Steck Family Ambulance” went, bearing a precious, pained burden.

We got word not so very long ago that Mae Ta hospital admitted the boy, although they aren’t equipped to re-attach the toe. Paw Ka Taw will go the rest of his life missing his right big toe. All because he was learning to ride a bike.

It was a normal day.

It’s not anymore.

My mind goes back to lifting him off the floor. He’s 12 years old. He’s small enough to be 8. And he’s in excruciating pain—all but crying. He’s missing one of his toes.

And he’s in my arms.

Trusting me to get him to the car safely. Trusting me to not drop him.

Trusting me to take care of him, even if only for a moment.

I have to shake myself, even if only just a little bit.

I don’t understand.

Why does God continue to use these arms to hold His children?

I’ve been privileged enough to hold a weeping, broken stranger in WalMart.

And now, a gasping, wounded boy in Thailand.

Who’s next, I wonder?

I don’t understand.

But I know I’m blessed. Amazed.

Privileged.

To be the arms of a loving God to a world who’s dying.

A calling higher?

...I think not.

Paradox

Friday night, I walked past the boys dorm, headed for the chapel at around 8:25 or so. I passed Thara Eh Guh Nyaw, who was headed up to our house after the Bible study. "Tharamoo Heidi..."
"Huh?"
"Na guh leh peh leh?" (Where are you going?)
"Chapel!" I called back over my shoulder.
"WHY?!" Thara EhGuhNyaw practically yelled.
I kept walking. "Because I CAN!" I yelled back.
We laughed.

I staggered back up to the porch at 11:20 pm Friday night, having finished the requested illustration on the blackboard in a timely 2 hours and 45 minutes. I collapsed in the chair, looked at my watch and shook my head. What on earth was I thinking? 
And, believe it or not, I laughed.

Sabbath morning, during the Sabbath school service, Michael Ross told the mission story. However, he had a different item to address first. A screen had been pulled down in front of the illustration on the board, but the power was out. No power, no point, if you get my meaning. So, up went the screen, and Thara Michael turned to the audience of children and teachers.
"Do you like this picture?" He pointed to my illustration.
"YES." Loud chorus.
"Do you think it's very good?" He looked at all of them.
"YES."
He said a couple more things, and then asked, "Where is Thara Heidi?"
Eruption of laughter, and Hannah yells at him, "Tharamoo! Not thara!"
"Pardon me, pardon me," Michael says. "Where is she?"
*She* is in the front row, right underneath his nose. Nowhere to hide: he found me. "Stand up please."
I made a face. "Do I have to?"
"Yes, of course." Michael nodded with his usual enthusiasm.
No way to resist, either. Up I got.
Thara Michael talks on and on... "Don't you think she did a wonderful job? Isn't is pretty?"
"YES!"
Finally, he stops talking, and I look at him with a pained grin. "Can I sit now?"
He laughs. "Yes, you may sit down."
I fall to the floor in utter embarassment, and Anna grabs me, laughing. "Thara EhGuhNyaw translated what Michael said (Don't you think the picture is pretty?) as, 'She is very beautiful and she draws good pictures, too'!"
Yes...we laughed.

At a viewpoint coming back from branch Sabbath school, we gather for a group picture. Kay Jaw stands up on a stump in the back, making him much the tallest of the lot. I stood next to him on my tip-toes.
"Trying to be taller than me?" Hannah glares up at me.
"No, I'm already taller than you. I'm trying to be taller than this guy!" I glare up at Kay Jaw.
And we laughed.

Riding on the back of the station wagon, home from branch Sabbath School, I looked over at Sharon. "Oh woe is me! Lost and undone am I!"
Giant Despair was next. "Greatheart? Greatheart? Ever hear of Greatheart, my dear?"
And Diffidence. "Not in these parts. I still say there's something evil about his voice. I'm going to get my potions."
Then it was Mr. Fearing. "Oh me, oh my. Ohhhh, I go down, but I fear I shall never come up again! Oh me!"
Slaygood. "Greatheart, hm? Well, good: me loves roasted heart--and if thine be great, so much the better."
Joseph and Samuel. "Would you look at that?" "*sigh* Like a sheep to the slaughter. I fear we shall lose him ere long." "Aye."
Christiana. "Dear Mr. Gaius, I am a woman."
Samuel. "I'm sorry, I was drifting in my thoughts. What is the question?"
Joseph. "He was asking if we would like Grace, here, and her sister Martha, to join us for dinner."
"A young lady? To join us for dinner?"
"Yes. Are you interested, or shall I ask them both to sit with me?"
Sharon exploded, and my straight face faded.
We laughed. Hard.

Computer in lap, I sit on the porch. A string of boys passes the house. Maw Jo Nigh looks up at me. "Teacher, what do you do?"
"I'm sitting."
Saw Day Day repeats me, and I clarify in Karen. "May. Chin aw."
They laugh.
Maw Soe Thay is next. He tries a different way to ask the same question, hoping to get the real answer. "Teacher, where do you look?" (What are you looking at?) He's probably talking about what I'm looking at on my computer.
"I look at you," I reply with an arch smile.
Maw Soe Thay laughed. I laughed. Sharon laughed.

Thara Timothy comes up to the porch. "Thara Joko oh ah?" (Where is Harvey, in other words.)
I shake my head. "Thara Joko duh oh bah."
Thara Timothy looks utterly confused. His expression asks, "Where on earth did he go?"
"Ha lo gway. Thara Kelly." I tell him that Harvey went for a walk with Kelly Meyer.
Apparently I spoke too fast. Timothy leans closer and says, "Pardon?"
I repeated myself and off Thara Timothy went. And I laughed. Pardon?

Loud laughing sounds in my ears. I turn and see Saw Day Day, giggling his head off, dancing around in the driveway, trying to get away from Maw Soe Thay. They chase each other around the house, making unbelievable noises. Why? I suppose the three or four ripe bananas Saw Day Day was holding had something to do with it. They disappeared around the other side of the house, ran under the house, tripping over things and giggling in a very strange--and very loud--way.
Sharon looked at me out the window. And we laughed.

Jason came out of the house, carrying several assorted containers and bags of frozen bananas. Will paused on the porch. "Will that be enough?"
Jason shrugs. "Don't know. If it isn't, we'll just add more coconut milk."
"If there is enough, maybe somebody will get some other than just you and me." Will stepped off the porch and slipped his shoes on.
Jason turned around as he walked. "Well, I was thinking more like, if there's extra."
I laughed.

A huge crack of thunder rumbled the ground underneath me as I made it up to the front porch after worship last night. Rain poured down, and I managed to get under the porch cover before getting too wet. I ran into the kitchen. "Hannah! Do you feel like going for a walk with me?"
Her face changed three different expressions. "Now?"
"Yes now. Just a short one, like down to the hundred acres and back."
"Actually, I really do."
Never mind that it's 7 pm. Out to the porch we went. And down into the wet night I went.
Hannah stopped on the porch. "Heidi!"
I turned around, rain dripping off my hair. "What?"
"No umbrellas?"
"Are you kidding me? Of course not."
We came running back up the road a few minutes later, barefoot on the pavement, soaking wet. We walked up to the house with Landon's flashlight blinking at us.
Yes, we laughed. So did the other people who were on our porch.

They say a merry heart is like good medicine.

And perhaps, just perhaps, I need these memories, these moments of laughter, to get me through the separation coming in a week and 5 days.

God's way is always best. He brought me to Thailand. He's brought me through Thailand. And now He's taking me home.

It's been a hard fight...hard for God, hard for me, hard for my guardian angel, hard for others. But it's been worth it...and there's very little I would change.

And the miracle of it all is that the Lord has brought me from cowering to courage. From pain to peace. From fear to freedom.

And, most tellingly, from lamentation to laughter. From heart-break to happiness. Empty to full.

This I don't understand.

But I'll tell you this.

I'm a paradox.

And it's only thanks to God that I am.

I'll tell you something else.

God wants you to be a paradox too...

And only He can make you into one.

How about it?

"I will change your name... you shall no longer be called wounded, outcast, lonely or afraid... I will change your name... your new name shall be confidence, joyfulness, overcoming one; faithfulness, friend of God, one who seeks My face..."

Getting ready to take school photos...

All of the girls...

All of the boys...

 

There they all are!

 

...plus teachers...

Tharamoo Hla Tee and a KG class.

Inge, Michael, Brenda and Hannah with the IMM students.

Tharamoo Hla Tee with another KG class.

All of the teachers...

Thara Dah Bu with grade 6.

The third KG class.

Thara Cha Gu Gu with grade 8.

 

Tharamoo Eh Do Say with grade 7... the infamous grade 7, there they are.

Thara Timothy with grade 3.

Tharamoo Beh Paw with grade1.

Tharamoo Hazel with grade 2.

Tharamoo Ida with grade 4.

 Thara EhGuhNyaw with grade 5.

The illustration that took forever. Kelly Meyer was preaching on the culture of Heaven that Sabbath, so he wanted the world in a corner, and the rest of the board to be heaven...

Tha Tha Aye. 

Ready for branch Sabbath school...

I've not only managed to infect the Steck girls with riding all over the car instead of in it, but Sharon's also wearing a pair of very LARGE sunglasses now. Namely because they fit over her glasses, but hey...

Kay Jaw and Maw Jo Nigh.

Thara Eh Guh Nyaw.

Something was funny...

Group picture! 

Sharon, Naw Lah Moo, Mah Lah Gee, and the only other student in grade 7 whose name I don't know...

Paw Wa Wa, Maw Shwe Way, and Kay Jaw.

Mah Lah Gee and Naw Htoo Paw.

Paw Wa Wa.

Paw Wa Wa and Naw Lah Moo.

 Headed home....

His Time

I walked along the road the other morning, head whirling with a load of information and thoughts and a billion other things. Classes to teach, yes--but then, that's not for another hour, and really, it'll be okay. I have material to go over with all of them.

Foot hits gravel, dust flies. With each pound, a question, and a surrender. Why? It doesn't matter, really... Lord, You take it... But why? ...no, it shouldn't matter. Take it from me, Father...

The thought of only three weeks left...less than three weeks now...filled me, and my heart not only sank, but another question surfaced again. Why even bother?

I turned around at ToMahWa's place, and headed back up the dirt road. The same question grew louder, and louder... Why bother?  

And then I stopped. Just past my heel, behind me, my eye had caught sight of something strange. I picked it up...and stared in wonder at what lay in my hand.

There is no need to say that amazement washed over me and filled me with a sense of the Lord's voice and presence, louder than ever I had heard it before.

I love you, Child. I am working in you to will and to do of My good pleasure. Cling to that red cord, for it is the only thing that will get you through. Cling to Me... And you will "meet an expected end."

I can't argue with that kind of logic.
That kind of love.
That kind of patience.

I've found heart-shaped rocks before. They were just natural occurences--things that I could see a heart in if I looked at it right. They often were clean, sometimes smooth. Rarely broken. I've given such things as gifts to people before.

My 'gift from heaven' is rough. It's uneven. It's dirty and dusty. It's even broken. I'd almost...almost...be ashamed to offer something like that to someone.

It's me.

I see myself in that simple stone.

I'm far from perfect. There's pieces missing. I'm broken. I'm really not worth giving to anyone, let alone the King of the Universe.

And yet, I am reminded of what the angel told Mercy in Pilgrim's Progress: "This is not how God the Father doth see thee."

"Chief of sinners though I be..."

Yes, He loves me. Oh, so much. 

And even though I'm not perfect, He's promised to make me beautiful in His time. Perfect in His time. Worth it...in His time.

And this place, this land, these people, have helped me grow so much. So much closer to that "expected end" the Lord wants to bring me to. I owe so much to Thailand, to the Karen, to Sunshine Orchards, to my students.

...I get to repay all they've done for me by going home.

It's getting overwhelming to think of leaving. Just last Friday, Tee Nee Too asked me what I was doing on Sunday.

"I go to Mae Sot."
"Mae Sot, Teacher? Why?"
"Uhm...passport. You know?"
"Ohhh...yes, yes."
"I have to go to Burma and come back, or I get in very much trouble."
"Yes. You come back?" He motioned to the school.
"Yes, I go, come back"--and then added, a little sadly--"and then in three weeks I go home."
Blank expression, then light of understanding. "Home? You go America?"
I nod.
Tee Nee Too makes a face, very like a grimace. "Ugh, Teacher!"

My 7th graders did the AY program on Sabbath. For one of their special musics, they sang "Did You Ever Talk to God?" I've been teaching it to them for a couple of weeks. They did so wonderfully, I couldn't contain myself when they were finished.

Maw Shwe Way

Shaw Nay Moo, aka second class terrorist

Saw Pa Noe, otherwise known as class brain and teacher's pet

Tee Nay Too, also referred to as my main antagonist

All my seventh graders

Eh K'luh Too

Maw Jo Nigh and Saw Day Day, both class clowns

After the program, Tee Nee Too asked me, "Teacher, good? You like?"
"Yes, I like very much. You did a good job!" A big smile crossed my face.
And then, as he walked away... "You're welcome."

The smile turned into a laugh. Where'd he pick that up? Probably from the same place that taught him how to say he was "going bananas."

After AY a bunch of my kids wanted pictures with me... And even though it was dark and I was already late to be at something else, I couldn't say no.

Nala Moo on the left, Maw Shwe Way on the right

Maw Jo Nigh and Maw Shwe Way

Tha Tha Aye, Shaw Nay Moo, Eh Do Moo, and Maw Jo Nigh

Maw Jo Nigh and Shaw Nay Moo

Oh, these boys...

My seventh grade girls are so opposite to my seventh grade boys... sweet girls.

Tha Tha Aye

These are only a few of the precious faces I've come to know and love since being here. It's hard to imagine life without Tee Nee Too's teasing, Saw Pa Noe's calm perfectionism, Saw Eh Soe's explosive hillarity, Mu Wa Wa's incessant laughter, Maw Soe Thay's naughtiness.

Soon, it won't be imagination, however. It'll be reality.

Last night, a bunch of boys came up to the house for medicine and other assistance. A couple of my boys were here, and one of them suddenly asked me something about leaving. I had to tell them that yes, less than three weeks, and I will go.

"Home to America?" Shaw Nay Moo motioned over his shoulder with a look of consternation.
I nodded.
Maw Soe Thay, enthroned in our chair, asked, "Teacher, when you come back?"
I shook my head. "I do not know if I ever come back."
Shaw Nay Moo's look of consternation turned to open shock. "You not come back?"
I shrugged, shook my head. "I do not know."
Shaw Nay Moo's face fell and in the next instant, he covered his face with his hands. "Oh, Teacher, I cry!"

He was kidding. But the point remains.

Maw Soe Thay asked, "Why you no come back?"
Anna clarified that I want to come back, but had no money.
"Ohh." Maw Soe Thay nodded. "Teacher, you go America, you work very hard."
I laughed. "Work and get money so I can come back?"
Maw Soe Thay grinned. "Yes Teacher!"
"You want me to come back?" I ventured teasingly.
"Yes, Teacher."
"Why?"
Embarassed grin, no explanation. Of course.
"You want me to come back so I can take away your book more?" I asked with a playful glare.
He still grinned.
Sharon came onto the porch. "Maw Soe Thay, do you need medicine?"
"No Teacher," he replied, still grinning.
"Yes, he needs medicine to make him stop being naughty," I countered, and we all laughed.

That question rings in everything. Will I be back? Will I come back?

Will I be back?

I want to be. I want to be.

But what God wills...and when...and where... is always best.

If I am to come back, He'll see to it that I do.

And He will see to it that everything is made beautiful... in His time.

Little girls come for a visit

Smiling faces... how many more times will I see them?

Try to resist that...

Story time...

Made entirely out of banana leaves... glasses. These kids amaze me.

He really is the princiPAL.

Oh, how I'll miss these girls when I go home....

Entrance to a church just out of Mae Sot. Went there for a wedding on Sunday morning.

Seeing that bride up there made me envision something similar happening someday.... But I guarantee that the bride that day will not have her head down like that. Not a chance.

 One of Sharon's students

Me and KuSuhMo

Sharon and little friends

 Caught me going for a walk... "Teacher! Teacher!"