being back.

We sat side by side, the three of us, on the seat of the old, British style Land Rover.

Nart drove barefoot, focused and concentrated on the road, occasionally giving his two cents on whatever was being discussed at that moment.

Daniel and I sat shoulder to shoulder. A feeling of peaceful familiarity hovering over us. It was like the old days. Setting out on a mission, unsure of what we would find. Equipped with bits and pieces of facts about the people we were about to meet and the desperate situation they were in. That's how it usually was in Mae Sot, and the frustrating familiarity of it felt bitter sweet.

We pulled up to the old house on the outskirts of Mae Sot. It was the women protection project of an NGO that was about to be shut down. All of the women who were living there had found a new place to live, a new person to take care of them. All but one.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the big room. She sat on the floor, legs crossed, waiting. I had seen her once before. A small, dark woman. She spoke incoherently in Burmese but always had a smile on her face. When she saw me she purposefully started towards me, but instead of standing and walking, she scooted across the floor using her palms and heels. She was in front of me in less than 5 seconds.

"Hello. Are you ready?" I asked her in Burmese.

She nodded, exposing her few teeth in a broad smile.

Her care take arrived at that moment, and with me on her right and the other woman on her left, we lifted her to a standing position and walked her outside.

She took halting steps, unable to put her full weight on her tiny, childlike feet. She staggered backward and forward as we gently inched her closer to the waiting Land Rover. Nart and Daniel lifted her into the back and I watched as they piled all of her earthly possessions around her; a wheelchair, a small laundry basket full of clothes and knickknacks, a rice cooker, a sleeping mat. Suddenly, her eyes looked scared as she realized she was being taken away from her home. I quickly jumped into the back of the truck and sat close beside her. Instantly our hands reached for each other and I felt tears prick my eyes when I felt how small her hand was in mine. Her other hand clutched desperately for my knee and I put my arm around her, holding her close as we began to drive.

Daniel was sitting next to us, speaking to reassure her.

"You will love your new home. Your daughter will be able to come over often to see you."

At the mention of her daughter, Nokia, she smiled broadly and looked at me for confirmation.

"Yes." I said, "Nokia will come to see you whenever you like."

"What happened to her Daniel?" I asked.

"Her husband beat her. I don't know what she did, or if he was just drunk but he came home and beat her. Maybe if she had therapy she could walk again. But the damage done to her mind cannot be healed."

We sat in silence for the rest of the drive and as I held her, I silently prayed for her. As we pulled up to the Grace Family Home, I saw the broad figure of Birdy's mom standing in the doorway chewing the ever present chunk of beetle nut.

"Daughter!" Birdy's mom shouted. "Welcome home!"

Nokia's mother responded, smiling and speaking in excited tones. I felt the warmth coming from Birdy's mom and felt hope. This small woman would be safe here under the care of this strong woman.

Birdy's mom easily lifted Nokia's mother from the truck and helped her towards her new room. Together they unpacked the few belongings from the basket and sat together, talking.

"If you ever need me, just call okay? Call me your big sister. I'm here to help you." Birdy's mom told her. "You'll be so happy here. We have delicious curry, everyone here is loving and kind, and I'm here to take care of you okay?"

Nokia's mom responded with smiles. She met my eyes and I nodded.

It was my last day in Mae Sot, that day, yet I spent it in the only way I knew how, by being time with people who desperately need reminders that they are loved. A disabled woman who had no friends needed someone to just sit with her as she moved from one home to another. I know, it could have been anyone, but I'm thankful that it was me.

Help to Help Them.

Since I've returned to America, I've been overwhelmed by the mass numbers of people who seem to not care for anyone but themselves. They care so much about how their coffee is made, but can pass by a needy person without a second glance. I'm tired of Apathy.

Compasio is doing something to help people be involved in what's going on in the lives of broken and needy people. This campaign is being launched today to help fix the brokenness of this world.

The concept is simple and easy:

$11 sends 2 street kids to school for a year. It supplements the money they would be making and provides them with school supplies and uniforms.

$111 contributes to other ministries Compasio has including the drop in center, emergency shelter for victims of trafficking, providing medical care and clean water for families at the garbage dump, and homes for children who have been rescued from dangerous situations

Click Here to Read More or Donate Now

A Refugee and Me

I've become borderline obsessed with refugees. In a good way of course. Something about them just draws me in. If you read this newsletter, then you'll know that refugees are one of the ways I was able to cope with my return to America. I'm also half refugee, if I can say that. My dad arrived in America in 1985, one of the boat people fleeing Vietnam and the communist regime. I love refugees.

I left Washington D.C today and arrived in Dallas, Texas. Part two of my epic adventure, which was about to become even more awesome. Fast forward 1 hour after my landing and I was sitting in an emergency room as a translator. Yeah. I was listening to Burmese, translating it to English, and vice versa. How did this happen?

I walked out of the airport and into baggage claim. (Remember the good old days when your loved ones waited for you outside your gate? When it was fun and exciting to go through security instead of some bizarre game of airport stripper?) Anyway, waiting for me was a woman I had never met before, but I felt like I had known her all my life. She was in fact, the mother of one of my best friends I worked with in Thailand. Cindy and I walked to her car and she told me about the ministry she is involved in, a ministry where they reach out to and support the hundreds of Chin families living in the greater Dallas area. Now, if you've chatted with me in the past few months, you'll know that I've been desperately searching for a group of people from Burma that I can serve and learn from. Who would have guessed they'd be in Louisville, Texas.

We arrived at the house of her family, a man opened the door and I smiled when I saw he was wearing a longi, the traditional skirt worn by both men and women in Burma. He was carrying a tiny little girl and I small boy peaked out from behind the door. He ushered us inside, greeting us warmly and disappearing to the back of the small apartment. A moment later a woman hopped into the room.
"Esther! What happened?" Cindy cried out.
"I fell of stairs." The woman grimaced and I quickly scooted over to allow her room on the couch.
She had fallen down the stairs outside her apartment. Her ankle was swollen and bruised. She explained to me in Burmese that she was too shy to call anyone to take her to the doctor.

We took her to the emergency room, and that's how I found myself translating for doctors and nurses, asking everything from how she landed after she fell to what medicines she was allergic too. I fumbled for words that had left my mind in the past 2 months, slowly warming up to using the language with a native speaker.

Esther and her husband Tacido moved to America 3 years ago. They had been in a refugee camp in Malaysia before that, and had lived in Burma before that. He works 13 hour nights in uncomfortable conditions to provide for his family. She recently took on a job assembling cell phones. They both make minimum wage and trade shifts to take care of the children, neither of whom are old enough to go to school. She was anxious the whole time we were at the hospital, asking about how long it would take for her ankle to heal, she knew she would lose her job if she missed more work. Her husband had already used two of his vacation days because she couldn't take care of the children or the house.

There are many people like this here. Men and women who are willing to do any kind of work to feed their families. People who can barely speak English and are trying to assimilate to American culture. People who are trusting that their hard work will pay off, that their children will be able to live more comfortably in the future.

Esther's ankle is fractured. She has to wait to be able to see a special foot doctor who will tell her how long it will take to heal her leg. Until then, she is unable to go to work, and will probably lose her job. She has pain medication and crutches. We sat in the hospital with her for three hours to get that diagnosis. This town is full of refugees, most uninsured, and most unable to communicate with people.
"We need you here." One nurse told me when she found out I spoke Burmese.

We dropped Esther off at her house. She made the long climb up the stairs, hopping on one foot, using a crutch to support her. As she neared the top, her husband rushed out and used his strength to help her up the last step. Her son looked amazed at the bulky bandage on her foot and the metal crutches. Her daughter reached for her mother, eager to snuggle in her warm embrace.

"Thank you. Thank you so so much." Esther said to me in Burmese.
I smiled back. "It's okay." I said.

Cindy drove me to Denton, to my grandparents house. I was tired, after a 3 hour flight and the evening activity, the time change was catching up to me, but I felt joy in my heart and peace in my soul.

Travels Part I

Hello World!

Man oh Man. It seems like it's been a long time since I've written a blog. I got too used to churning out captivating stories every week... Wonder how many people are sticking with me now that my life is horribly boring? I promise exciting, noteworthy things are coming! I'm just not quite sure when, but that's pretty exciting in itself isn't it? Okay, maybe just for me...

I am currently in Arlington, Virginia.
I had gone back and forth about traveling a little bit after I had settled in Orange, my bank account is really upset with me right now, but I do believe that this trip is worth it. I am young, and I may never have an opportunity like this again... I tell myself that for all the crazy things I do though.

I have some family who live just a few minutes from D.C and coincidently the US Campaign for Burma was having a conference so it was like hitting two birds with one stone! Also, I think that I needed some time away from what I had become comfortable to (the CA life)... I needed some time of quite and solitude.

My Uncle and Aunt both work full time, so I was left with a lot of time on my hands to do whatever I wanted. I spent a lot of time walking, sightseeing, photographing, and thinking. It was exactly what I needed. I've had a lot of revelation and renewed purpose for where I'm going and how to get there. I am really excited to share with you about what my plans are, but I believe it would be wise for me to wait a while and solidify where I believe the Lord is leading me before spewing it to the world. Until then... enjoy these photos from the past week!

So Chilly at the Washington monument!

Just in time for the blooming cherry blossoms :)

Vietnam Memorial

One of the few sunny days in D.C

My Uncle B and me in downtown Alexandra

We biked 26 miles through Arlington, Alexandra, and into D.C.

Kid's play for him... leg numbing for me.

Thanks for Reading! Keep an eye out for part two from Dallas/Denton/Decatur, Texas!

Oh that Reverse Culture Shock!

I can use that as an excuse for my horribly depressing blog post I used last week right?

A lot can change in a week. I've been through a few levels varying from sadness to utter joy. It is kind of wacky and was beginning to take a toll on my soul by the time that little post below was churned out. Thank you to everyone who responded with encouragement. I appreciate it so much!

I'm really glad to report that this week has been completely healing and full of goodness. I'm sure this doesn't happen to you folks but sometimes I think that I have everything under control and I have no need to correspond with the God of the universe.

"Oh I'll be fine." I say to myself, "No need to read the Bible today. Saying a quick thank you prayer will do the trick."

Well it usually doesn't, and I think that's why I found myself in that horrible place of desperation.

I went to a worship night at my friend's church last week and it began to work on my soul. Realizing I was broken and hurt I quickly went to the only place I knew I would receive healing, the open arms of Jesus. Throughout the week I began to read my Bible again, I prayed earnestly and Hope began to rise.

I began dreaming again of plans for the future, and opportunities came up for me to be encouraged and to encourage others. This weekend I retreated to Pasadena for One Thing, a conference hosted by the International House of Prayer. It was on the US Center for World Mission campus, where I lived 2 years ago. I was able to reconnect with old friends and spend some really good quality time in community.

The worship at One Thing was fantastic, and exactly the push I needed to get me fully on the right track. There is something SO powerful about worshipping with thousands of people, the Holy Spirit was so thick in the room I felt Him healing and cleansing my brokenness and fears that had overtaken me since I've been back in America.

Every evening I went to sleep completely exhausted, but I was so full of the Spirit and so full of JOY. The weekend was rainy. It rained for over 24 hours, the streets were flooded and my drive from Pasadena to Orange was dangerous with the flooded freeways and heavy downpour, but now, I look out my window and I see blue skies.

I guess that's kind of like my life, like all of our lives. There are storms, there will always be storms, but the clouds will inevitably part, revealing the blue goodness of clarity and hope.

I don't know what to say.

Honestly. I don't know what to say.

I've been trying to put this feeling into words for days... weeks.

Oh, it's not always like this. Sometimes I feel bright, cheerful, hopeful... peaceful. But then, suddenly it just changes and I feel like I'm hanging at the edge of a cliff. By one finger.

Thailand was not perfect. I had so many ups and downs, but I always was able to conquer those difficult times. I feel like there is no light at the end of the tunnel this time.

I don't know what I'm longing for. I don't know what I want.

All I know, is that when I close my eyes at the end of the day and finally fall asleep, I'm either haunted or healed by my dreams. It's always of Border Towns. I always see faces of people I knew there, experiences I had, or troubles that I saw.

I long to feel the holy spirit in my life. I want that more than anything, my soul feels so dry. There's always short encounters, tiny glimpses of comfort that come and go, and in between I'm unable to focus and I just want to cry.

I guess this is a cry.

Finding My Place

I hesitantly walked towards the front of the church, not quite sure what to expect, not even knowing if I was in the right place, even though the sign at the front said, "Burmese Community Church; 2:00." Here I was. Sunday. It was 2:05. I walked through the door, my eyes adjusting to the darker lighting inside. Woman walked around in traditional Burmese skirts and as soon as I entered, I felt like every eye turned to gaze at me, just like in the movies.

I smiled and walked a few rows back to sit on the wooden pew.

"Hello." I said to the two women sitting in front of me.

They were just about to begin the service, the piano and violin doing a few more practice runs. A woman in a long Karen skirt walked towards me and smiled.

"How are you?" I asked in Burmese.

"I'm fine my sister, I've never seen you before..." she answered in Burmese and I seriously wanted to cry, because I've missed hearing the language.

"My name is Katie, I'm from Orange County but I lived in Thailand..." I quickly told her about what I had been doing in Mae Sot, all in Burmese.

I think she was impressed.

The service began and they sang a few English songs and some Burmese hymns. An old Karen man, the senior pastor walked to the pulpit and welcomed us to the church,

"If there are any visitors, would you introduce yourselves?" He asked in perfect English.

My new friend encouraged me to stand up, "Tell us about yourself in Burmese. Everyone would be so happy."

So I did.

Everyone was shocked, I forgot to mention that the entire congregation (there were about 40) were old enough to be my parents or grandparents. There was no one under the age of 45.

They clapped when I had finished and the pastor was so warm and welcoming to me.

I love how laid back their service was. People would come up onto the stage and share something or sing a song that had not been previously planned. The pastor was so encouraging and proud of his congregation for being bold in sharing their faith with one another.

Some things about the service were similar to my home Church in Mae Sot. They sang some of the same songs, had the same praying style, and loved and cared for each other like they were family, which I later found out many of them were.

When the service ended, I was immediately swarmed.

Men and women reached out to shake my hand and welcome me. Many of them told me about other churches in the area and restaurants that I could visit, all of them called me their younger sister or daughter, and invited me to come back often.

Most of the congregation moved to America in the 60's or 70's and they were eager to hear about what was going on with Burma and how I learned to speak so well.

I got many phone numbers and connections to more activities in Southern California. Many women laughingly told me that they have sons just my age, and they're single. We laughed and joked together, easily switching from Burmese to English.

Afterwards I sat in my car and just let the warmth fill my heart. I hadn't even realized that I had been feeling empty. I think that being there in that place, surrounded by people who spoke the language that I love, I suddenly realized that I have been missing a part of myself. It has been about 3 weeks since I left Thailand and my life there, and slowly, the realness of it has been fading. It seems like a place that I dreamed of, not as a reality. I was scared that I had lost it, but sitting there on that hard wooden pew, I realized that I will never lose my love for Burma, because it is engrained in my heart.

Later that night I called one of my best friends in Mae Sot and we spoke for a long time.

"Your Burmese is better." He said to me.

"What?! No way... I've barely been speaking and I feel like I was stumbling over the easiest words today."

"No your accent is amazing. You sound just like you are from Burma."

As I lay in bed that night, warm memories swam into my head and I rested easy, dreaming of my friends and of Mae Sot.

California Week 1

Question:
Can I still blog even though I'm not living "overseas"?

Answer:
Why not. (as my friends from Burma would say.. although it's kind of answering the question with a question)

Statement of fact:
I'm still overseas. I crossed over the sea.

I wrote one last newsletter that I've been sending out to an elite few (if you're not on it it's cause you didn't give me your email! Don't even pretend like I didn't ask for it.)

I feel like it was exactly the closure that I needed so I can continue on this journey of 2011. I was just surfing the web (does anyone use that term anymore? They should...) and I was drawn to the YWAM Modesto crew. They are partnered with New Hope Christian Fellowship. I have had deep and healing relationships with some of the staff and their heart is parallel with mine when it comes to walking with the poor, especially in America as they are often overlooked and purposefully forgotten. I am looking forward to heading up north and spending time with them!

In the meantime I've been spending time with my family and friends as I rebuild relationships and share my heart for Burma. I went to the library last night and was hit with this wave of wanting to learn! I quickly wrote out every subject I've ever had an interest in. It literally spanned from cooking... to the history of abortion in America... from gangs to starting your own non profit organization... from working with refugees to how to sew. With many random topics in between.

God has definitely placed counseling on my heart. I met many children, women, and men in Mae Sot in need of someone to help them heal from deep wounds inflicted by their own parents, sexual abuse, drugs and alcohol, and/or the Burma government. My heart ached for them, but it instilled a passion and desire for walking beside them and showing them that they are far from alone. I'm looking into a few different programs to better equip me to be a counselor who can introduce them to The Counselor.

I'm looking at this season as a time to learn and grow spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. (I don't think I'll be growing physically. I somehow shrank half an inch this past year)

That's it for now. Don't forget your call today, tomorrow, and forever as we set out as disciples of Christ and brothers and sisters to each other....

"Therefore as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity."

Colossians 3:12-14

:)