Stories from the Steeple

UPDATE #4

Dear Friends and family,
We were divided into four small groups to visit churches in the Mae La Camp yesterday. Even Duane, our leader, did not know which of the several dozen churches the Karen leaders had chosen. As we drove along the road that runs parallel to the camp we could see waves of thatched bamboo huts clinging to the base of an immense, steep
mountainside. My group was dropped off at one spot on the roadside. A young man met us and immediately set off at a tremendous pace along a packed dirt path weaving its way among the little open houses. People were everywhere engaged in ordinary morning routines. The path went up and up, sometimes on log or stone steps. I felt like I was back in my summer camp days, but would have managed better if I had had on sneakers and jeans instead of a skirt and sandals. Before long I began to hear children’s’ voices singing in four part harmony. It was the Sunday school children at the church. We arrived and met the pastor and a young woman who introduced herself to me and asked my name. When I answered she asked “Do you know Taw Kaw Pah?” “Yes, she is a leader in my church.” I said. “I am Taw Kaw Pah’s friend.” In a camp of 50,000 I had landed at the Baw Naw Baptist Church , Taw Kaw Pah’s home church where PoeClee’s uncle is the pastor. Joyful introductions of relatives of those I know followed. It was a moving, joyful day for me, to preach about God’s reign of love, justice, peace and redemption to a packed bamboo church of people who know the reality of the absence and presence of these things acutely first hand. Later we visited the Bible School in the
camp and listened to the students sing gloriously. Seeing the steadfast faithfulness of the people in the camp, and looking into the faces of the young students, longing for a different future for their people through out that very long day was more than worth the sweaty hours on hard plastic chairs, the swollen ankles, and any number of visits to an Asian outhouse. Those who have been in rural Asia will know what I mean by “squatty potty”. The rest of you will have to use your imagination.

There is so much more to tell of that very full day, but it will have to wait until I get home.

Grace and peace, Carol