Welcome to the Continuation...

There have been no phone calls from secluded and oppressed Asian countries informing us of my father's absence at the airport in Burma, so I take that to mean he's safe and sound. I can see the mob scene at the airport, skirted and unshowered short people huddling around the exit of the airport, waiting for their loved ones to return. Suddenly, out from the airport come a line of 11 white, tired, large Americans. All men except for 2. Broad shoulders, shaved heads, athletic attire, lots of bags, lots of wide eyes staring at one another, insecurity, discomfort, fear. It's all there in one long line, exiting the airport into the stuffy and hot Burma air. AAAHHH, if only this were my life!

(faces)
I can see the streets curving around beautiful lakes and palm trees. I can see the cars swerving in and out of semiformed lines (since no lines on the street exist), a human game of frogger going on between one old taxi cab and another. I can see the sign as you leave the airport, "Welcome to the Golden Land". The billboards in wierd squiggly writing and longhaired asian models advertising VeVe Orange Soda. I can see the lines of buddhist monks, barefoot with alms bowl in hand, shaved heads, walking like ducks down the road. I can see the roundabouts with all the cars circling each other as they pass one pagoda after another, Buddhist stickers and air freshners and decoration covering the inside of their cars. I can see the 11 white people, unsure what they've willingly chosen to do, yet so hungry for each sight to be a memory and each moment to be different and new.

(cheeks)
I can see my monks, sitting around their phone, watching the clock tick its way to 3:00, when they promised to call my dad's hotel. I can hear them arguing about whether or not calling five minutes early is wrong, and what they will say and how they will say it, and questioning if they will be understood yet so overflowing with anticipation at seeing my father that they can't really imagine waiting another second. I can see them considering a ride to the hotel itself, just to see if he's really there. It's only a mile down Kaba Aye Road, so close that they could walk.

This was my world for a year and the further away from it I get, the more I long for it to be returned to me. The romanticized parts are gone. I remember the difficulties. I remember lying cheek down to the kitchen tile floor, craving the slight coolness it offered to my sweating body as my air conditioner and I suffered the loss of electricty for the 5th time that day. I can see Melissa and I making peanut butter cookies in the total dark, our candles spreading wax all over the floor, while late night sounds of families winding down and young people having a good time ride the hot air up to our kitchen window on the 10th floor. I can remember reading by candlelight everynight, trying to know God more and trying to learn about life from books. Writing emails four times because my computer crashed again and again. Sitting and staring at photos of friends back home, wondering if they remembered me. Arguing with my supervisor because we are just really different, and then having hte Lord convict me and force me to right my wrong with those around me. These were not fun moments, but the person I am today longs for them again. They have gone from memories I've tried to forget to priceless pieces of the beautiful puzzle of my life, being put together by the First Artist, the Mosaic Maker. He's really good at what he does.

(sign)
(tractor)
Tomorrow morning at 6:30 am, I embark on a new kind of adventure: missions in America. Pearl River, Louisiana is about to be bombarded with 18 Tennesseans with chainsaws. Back up, Gulf Coast. We're coming down!!! I'll be hauling brush and making fun of Todd Jenkins for the next 5 days and I'm feeling mixed emotions about this trip. I think it's because my mom is now going to be here alone and I hate that. She's used to it, but it's just the idea of leaving her here that I regret the reality of. But I do believe I'm supposed to do this. And I'm excited to experience what I love most in life (missions) in my OWN country, something you all probably wish I did more of. It should be good.

Today I walked at Percy Warner Park with Nicole, where we talked about Indonesian rapists and Indian child slaves. I think we touched on less heavy topics, but one thing I love most about Nicole is that she listens to me talk about all these wierd things and then she thinks about them with me. It's not too much for her, and I like that. She's on her way here to watch Hotel Rwanda with me. What's a Saturday without a little 20th century african genocide after dinner?

I'll talk to you all in a week or so. Pray for my dad in burma, my mom in nashville, and me in pearl river. and enjoy the beautiful trees on fire with god's changing creation.
And thanks to Dave Hunt whose song "the continuation" has spoken hope to me this week:
"Welcome to the continuation of what God is doing in our lives. Let us lift our voices, sing with all our might. Because he is with us. He is here and he deserves the praises of our hearts. A living sacrifice, the best we have to offer. So come with freedom, come with confidence. We are sons and daugthers of the King, sing...
You are worthy of all honor, glory, praise and power, we sing with the angels."