And then there was a layover

If you didn't take a moment to think about it for yourself, 

let me tell you something: Myanmar is far away. 

Hence, there was a lot of piling onto planes.

After our New Year's celebration, in the wee hours of New Year's Day, we returned to our Airport Inn for a brief nap, before heading to the airport for our next destination: an overnight layover

that included this beautiful thing

[at which my heart leaped when I entered my room].

In Doha, Qatar, we were,

put up in a nice hotel with vouchers of all kinds.

After lunch, after resting, after getting ourselves a "refreshment", 

we set out, to see what there was to see.

And what we saw--
as we walked for hours in the balmy and cool sea air
--was beautiful:

We entered the market, enjoying all the interesting sights and smells,

when suddenly what to our wondering ears should appear but a tunnel of sound and a million chirping avian things:

[I have never heard anything like it...

and this video is only a minuscule bit of it...]

There were some other things to see as well,

such as these little dressed bunnies,

plus more typical goods in pockets of sellers,

spread around through wandering alleyways.

There were places to sit, 

to eat,

to smoke a little hookah [if that were your thing...].

I soaked it all up,

and loved every second of it.

But when we returned to that cushy hotel,

I crashed myself quite gratefully down to sleep,
before the next early morning
[or whatever time I was really existing in] flight,
on our way to home.

I went to Myanmar, Because

I promised to tell you why I went to Myanmar, after I was done telling you the what and the who. And I have sat here, in front of my computer, for many days, trying to figure out how exactly to say what it is I want to say. And still, I am not sure.

I can tell you that I didn't go to Myanmar because I had a great driving pulse for orphans in far away places. It came down to: I was talking to Lynn one day, and was sharing with her the deep places I was struggling in, and she said: You should come to Myanmar with us. 

And 3 hours later, I said: I'm in.

My struggling is not meant to be the point here, but to tell a fair and honest story, here's what it was:

The holidays were coming up. And the holidays make me cry, because it is the holidays that reveal to me more clearly than other times of the year how all-alone-in-all-the-world I feel. And I know what you may say, because I've heard it many many times. "You are so loved!" you would cry; "you are so lovely, so lovable, you have so many friends!"  And I would hear you.

But then, I would ask you to hear me: My life is very full, of many wonderful people, and work that I find meaningful. I know it.
And I am grateful. There is an end to every day, however, where I come home to silence. And when you consider what it means to live life as a single person--no matter how full that life is--at the end of the day, there is no one I am pouring love deeply into, and no one pouring deeply into me. And sometimes that reality makes me feel like I am stripped down to my core, hurting and raw. And I cry, just at the thought.

And once it starts, I find it hard to stop.

So when I was offered a trip around the world, I realized: 

I need to get my eyes off of myself, put my hand in the Lord's, and say: 

"I trust you. Let's go." Because, truthfully? I was just sick of myself.

So I took precious money out of precious [little] savings. I told my loved ones I would not be with them for Christmas. And I went to Myanmar.

~~~~

But if you want to know the truth...there's more to it than this.

To tell a fair and honest story, it wasn't just the holidays that opened up a deep and gaping wound.

It was the holidays piled on top of a season [that feels long and long and weary] where God has called me smack into the middle of His own heartbreak. A season where I have entered such deep sadness that I have wept beyond myself. 

In this season, I have understood more fully what it meant when Jesus held Himself to a bloody cross, hurting and raw. In this season, I have understood more fully what it meant when I said I belong to Him, when in the painfulness of the process, my heart has become more and more like His. 

A season where I have learned: 

To pour out love is to die to yourself, to every need desire and whim. 

To pour out love is to go beyond yourself, every thing you think you are capable of, and expect nothing in return.

And in the end, to pour out love is to allow your heart to break.

~~~~

I could leave you there. I could say that this is the end of the story. 

My heart is broken, and my grief consumes me, and there you have it, 

world without end. But I won't, because there is a then:

Then I went to Myanmar.

And in the then, I found redemption.

Because in Myanmar, I 

--a childless mother-- 

found motherless children. 

I laughed with them and played with them and delighted in them.

I poured my love into them and over them. It all felt very easy.

And then, something quite strange happened: 

I saw places in myself that were still child 

come to the surface and float away. 

I watched myself heal of wounds I didn't know were still there. 

I poured out love, and was poured into.

And something deep inside of me changed.

~~~~

But if you want to know the truth...there's more to it than this.

Because I came home. And my heart is still broken, and I am still so sad. But there is still a then, and it is still redemption.

And it is as simple as this: I belong to a God whose love is so deep that He would break my heart in order to heal it. A God who pours out His own love in pain and in sorrow, and in doing so identifies with mine. 

A God who offers His hand and says, "Let's go."

Who says: Walk in my love, because my love will never fail, and in the pouring of it all around, know me.  More.

~~~~

If you want to know the truth...there's more to it than this. 

There always always is. And I have sat here, in front of my computer, for many days, trying to figure out how exactly to say what it is I want to say. And still, I am not sure.

~~~~

Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.

[Lamentations 3:21-22;26]

Best New Year's Ever

Confession: New Year's Eve is my least favorite holiday.  So much pressure, so much expectation! Due to many lovely friends, I've managed to have many lovely evenings ringing in the year.   

But this year, ringing it in in Myanmar?

Hands down.  Best, ever.

It started with a series of competitions,

 in four teams [Matthew, Mark, Luke & John],

 with baskets put on heads

 and people put in sacks. 

 [Shout out to Betsy, who took what was supposed to be my race,
and killed it for Team Luke...]

 It was intense,

with massive cheering for each team screaming from all sidelines.

[Luke!Luke!Luke!Luke!]

The events closed with the

 "run down the track and back 

 and blow this balloon until it pops" races

 for which everyone gathered around in anticipation.

[Confession: I failed this challenge completely.]

 The grand finale was when they sent the babies down the track,

causing us to hoot with laughter.

Through it all my girls helped me understand who was on our team,

[Luke! Luke!]

and had themselves

some fun.

Then, it was time for the campfires.

 Each team got its own,

 along with a table to dance on

and a big bowl of buhti dough.

 The big kids fried up what had to be hundreds of little cakes

 ["Sister Laura, take picture!"]

 while the little ones got bleary-eyed

with sleep.

And while we waited, 

 we had ourselves one heck of a time.

There was singing,

 there was dancing,

 there were conga lines

to show the other teams what was what.

 There were boys dressed as women

leading their teams in loud and raucous music making,

along with instruments I have never even seen.

I observed it all 

 with this little one,

 who needed some entertainment in order to stay out of the fire.

 What she really wanted was that buhti,

 which she ate [and generously shared with me]

with great abandon.

And as the night wore on,

 as the sounds of celebration echoed down the corridor, I thought:

 These people?

Know how to party.

[I thought: Best New Year's ever!]

But once the buhti were fried, the night was not yet complete.

 As we waited for the changing of the day,

 we watched a little Frozen,

along with a musical number from the staff
[plus little {wide-awake!} Mary and a resident dog]

that had the children screaming with delight.
And then, as the minutes ticked by there were skits by the older boys, which I couldn't understand a word of but had the children in hysterics.

I looked around, and soaked it all in.

Finally, as the last minutes drew close, we were reminded of
2 Corinthians 5:17 as we embarked on a fresh year
[In Christ the old has gone, the new has come!] and then gathered around in circles and prayed, a chorus of voices calling out to God
for all of His goodness and all of His glory.

We counted down [to 10, not from!], and cheered as the buhti was distributed, hot chocolate poured out, a new year begun.

In the best way ever.