“I never thought this life was possible.” – Bright Eyes

When asked about politics, I decide that I am poor. I choose poverty. And in this way, all politicians and their policies leave me be.

Indifference towards God scares me more than hatred. Somehow, somewhere, hate is rooted in love, however misguided, and has the hope of being redeemed to something that is good and right.

But indifference never seems to care one way or the other.
And that scares me, because I care.

what a reckless
thing to say
in such a
condescending way.
no. i do not know
why i’ve never
married
the she i
had hoped for
but never carried
through.
yes. i’ve
tried and i tried
but i’ve failed every time.
yes. yes.
of course
i want to marry
but i cannot understand
either what is
broken or despairing
and so i try waiting
instead for god
to tell me why
I’ve never married

it’s hard to tell
the size of things
when I’m looking
through the window
of a plane
so high up
the clouds always
seem so soft and wonderful
and i think i’d like to
lie down and get lost
but when they are here,
on the ground
they are messymuggy
and daunting
and i have realized
something

the next time i fall in love
i hope to have both feet
on the ground

sometimes i feel
so strangely inside
that i wiggle
until the voices stop
and i can eat
and sometimes even that
is far too difficult

i pay to be powerful
to see the power
pulled
from the prostitute
and the mule
buy my time and
a precarious rule
i pay and i know
the blanket
can’t cover my soul
but it’s closer
than the whole
of all i’ve ever had

and this is when
i turn sad

but i know it’s not right
when i pay
and don’t fight
but if you only knew how
long these nights…

god, help
me learn
how to heal
a broken heart.

again.
amen.

it’s the beginning
again and i’m
completely sad.
she laughs and
the emails pile
in
another business
week beginning
and today
it’s completely too much.
completely.
phones ring
and people talk about
their weekend
triumphs over completely
the wrong things
and burned coffee
and how was my weekend?
and it was just fine
and dandy
and can you believe
this god-damned fucking weather?
completely. elsewhere
at my desk
with my headphones in.
but i can still hear.
laughing.
completely.

i think i’m laughing too much.
i know, i say. but fuck em.
there’s no better time
we miss you and well
the stories we tell
they’re funny as hell
and we’re better
together
in the wake
and whether
or not it’s okay to laugh?
well, we won’t bother

now tomorrow
in the steeple
with a Father and
all those people,
we’ll cry
because it’s appropriate
when we’re all
together
and they need to grieve
but dammit all to hell
if you, the root of a
laughing tree
didn’t just die and
ask us all
to wonder why
Jesus and God
and the Ghost
created the light
that bends in sight
over your dead body
that rests in the
ground tonight

dammit all to hell
we’re gonna take a
deep breath
and bear the pall
and we’re gonna laugh
in spite of it all
because we’re better together
and that’s all we know

my fears line up
like patriots on Irish soil
line up
and i know there’s
no turning back.

so i clutch my sword
like i clutch my history
sword
gnash my toes
like i gnash my teeth
like i…
this will hurt like hell

hold this loosely
my king
reassures,
because you’re dead
either way
you’re dead

he smiles.

and for him,
and for him,
i will fight like hell

I guess I was too tired earlier to pay attention to the lovely little boy, maybe 8-years-old, who buzzed about me all morning, but now he was touching my face with such pore that I couldn’t notice anything else.

It was the end of our second day of English Camp Olympics, and I had already played more hours of soccer with the children in Chiang Rai than I have in the last 10 years. I was sunburned from the intermittent sunbreaks and stickysweaty from the 105° rain weather. My body flubbed over a plastic chair, and I couldn’t remember a time when I was more physically exhausted.

I was sitting under a gazebo of sorts and watching the final Olympic event play out between spells of dropping my chin to my chest to rest. The kids were having a sponge race and were taking large sponges, dipping them in buckets full of water and then racing to another bucket to wring out the the water. The team that transferred the most water before the time expired would win.

The children were euphoric, and I bowed my head again to rest and listen to the laughter. I would love a cold shower, I thought. Then, almost as if programmed, I chastised myself and felt shame for wanting something so trivial. How could I be so foolish? I heard a voice say. And why would God care about that? It was at this moment that the little boy started touching my face.

I opened my eyes and there he was was. He spoke in Thai, and I was too tired to pretend I understood, so I just looked at him and smiled. He smiled back, as if receiving approval, then he dipped his finger in glitter on the table next to me and lightly poked my cheek. It felt like a cold kitten’s nose, and it sent chills down my spine. He giggled when he realized I wasn’t going to stop him from doing it again. Soon, several other children noticed and began to collect around me, all of them dipping their tiny fingers in multi-colored glitter and decorating my face. The children carried on this way for twenty minutes, gently covering my face with fingertip circles of glitter.

Then, the little boy tapped my shoulder, I opened my eyes, smiled and the children erupted with laughter and applause. The principal of the school and a few others came over and took pictures of the children’s masterpiece. They asked the children what my Thai name was. The children pontificated between each other and one precious little girl softly spoke in that lovely tonal language. “Nohk yuung,” she said. The translators told me that means peacock. All the children clapped and began to say it in unison.

As they cheered, the little boy began to lift my leg, then my arm, and then my entire body. I was confused, and assumed he wanted to parade me around to the other adults – a thought which exhausted and, quite frankly, annoyed me. But he didn’t parade me around, rather, he held my arm around his neck like someone carrying a wounded friend, and he led me to sit down on a concrete fountain next to the school building.

Then the children took sponges (I think they stole them from the Sponge Race event which was still taking place), and for ten minutes, these wonderful little children who are in grave danger of being trafficked and sold into sexual slavery dipped their sponges in cold water and meticulously washed every sparkle of glitter off my body. It was almost too much to bear. I closed my eyes and began to cry.

“Here is your shower, my love,” I felt the voice of God say. “I adore you.”

it happened again and
i’m pushed into the dark
with the explanation
that i knew better
than to suppose
makes any sense
to wiser puppets

should you tell an orphan
that God is enough
as you close the door
and lock him in the dark?
and should anyone
but the orphan
suppose to know
what is enough anyway?

if God is the only one
who will never abandon
then here is your response:
i hide because you
tell me what you suppose
to know is best
but i suppose
that you don’t know at all.

I was awoken by a Texas thunderstorm. The room filled with light, then the sky broke in half with thunder. It’s 4:03 AM, and I am finally home, my first night back in Texas, and I miss Bangkok as I try to leave her ridiculous time zone behind.

Everything feels different stateside. A bedroom that’s been slightly rustled. Was this book always on the top shelf? Did I leave the blinds open when I left? It’s all the same, except that it’s not. I am different and I have changed it all.

I hope to unpack my experiences soon.

We were changing out the last of the light bulbs and saying goodbye when the girls of Home of New Beginnings came to say thank you. Nate and I were covered in paint and dripping with sweat while speaking with Ann, the strong and benevolent Thai den-mother who lives in the house.

The girls were eating lunch in the other room, but as Ann spoke to us in the doorway, they began to quietly spill into the room from behind her. They were almost all children – late teens early twenties – and it was my first time to really see the girls. During our days painting, they were off at school, or church, or learning English and we never really crossed paths. But now, collected in one room, I was able to see who I was working for these last 5 days. I began to tear up.

When Nate and I finally waved, said goodbye, and bowed with our praying hands (a wai), the girls sang with a chorus of “Khop Khun Mak Ka” (feminine Thank you very much) and wais.

I don’t know how to describe the moment except to say that it was such a gentle, respectful, kind, loving, and emotional goodbye. My stomach seized up and I bowed again. I was so thankful for the opportunity to paint their home and do anything I could to say that not everything is evil. The girls were so hopeful and sweet, and it put so much of my own pain into perspective. These girls have known nothing but abuse, rape and injustice, yet their eyes were bright and their smiles so healing.

I know God has brought me here more to heal me rather than to serve others, but this moment, was so much more wonderful than anything I could have imagined he could do. I’m here to help, but I’m here because I need healing. God is so good to me.