Precious sister, Abbie, left behind beloved Thai women and children when she returned to the states this summer, after weeks of work with Women and Children in Crisis... her thoughts on those days are painfully exquisite... with her permission, I reprint them here, for you to ponder, and pray...
From where I stand it seems too easy to get locked into a glass box. Three weeks ago I was surrounded by different smells, colors, foods, climate. Then I climbed on an air conditioned 747. An abrupt end it always seems. While I was transported away in comfort the alternate reality continued. Now safely returned to my glass box...
While I'm writing this children are crossing the Moei River from Burma to Thailand to work for the day. Escaping for just a moment from an unbearable government that doesn't acknowledge them. They come to beg in a country where legally they can't exist because they have no scraps of paper with their name on it. With no legal right to existence they will beg for their survival.
From my glass box I can't reach them.
While I'm sitting here typing, girls in Thailand are waking up. Picking up the pieces of their broken soul. Shattered somewhere in the clothes they removed last night. Five hundred baht richer and five hundred years older.
She's my age (22) or older (40 perhaps) or younger (say 17). Soon she'll start putting on her face for the day. She'll put it on over and over and over again waiting for the cover of night. Night, when Thailand shuts it's eyes to the disgrace of men and women. She has no choice. When he comes and his smile repulses her, she'll smile back anyway and take his hand, because back home they are waiting for money and they never have to know where it came from.
She'll work all night, because that's all Thailand has offered her.
While my insomnia drags on Burmese people are praying in rainy forests. Praying that night will fall quickly. Come and cover them from the piercing eyes of the army stalking them. Their footprints fall in line, straight through the forest. The larger leading the smaller, protecting the next generation from the horror of Burma's forest - land mines.
While the mother sits and rocks her son I wonder. One day will he cross the river too? Will he beg of my friends in the border town? Will he play with rubber bands & string in the back alley where the Moslem woman cooks? Or will she cross the river and get caught in the tide of flesh that feeds the bars? Will she undress to feed her child ? Or will they both be crushed by waves of hatred that want to wash Burma & Thailand of the unwanted?
This I wonder, in my glass box.
Far away, I write to remember.
I remember your faces.
Every one.
From where I stand it seems too easy to get locked into a glass box. Three weeks ago I was surrounded by different smells, colors, foods, climate. Then I climbed on an air conditioned 747. An abrupt end it always seems. While I was transported away in comfort the alternate reality continued. Now safely returned to my glass box...
While I'm writing this children are crossing the Moei River from Burma to Thailand to work for the day. Escaping for just a moment from an unbearable government that doesn't acknowledge them. They come to beg in a country where legally they can't exist because they have no scraps of paper with their name on it. With no legal right to existence they will beg for their survival.
From my glass box I can't reach them.
While I'm sitting here typing, girls in Thailand are waking up. Picking up the pieces of their broken soul. Shattered somewhere in the clothes they removed last night. Five hundred baht richer and five hundred years older.
She's my age (22) or older (40 perhaps) or younger (say 17). Soon she'll start putting on her face for the day. She'll put it on over and over and over again waiting for the cover of night. Night, when Thailand shuts it's eyes to the disgrace of men and women. She has no choice. When he comes and his smile repulses her, she'll smile back anyway and take his hand, because back home they are waiting for money and they never have to know where it came from.
She'll work all night, because that's all Thailand has offered her.
While my insomnia drags on Burmese people are praying in rainy forests. Praying that night will fall quickly. Come and cover them from the piercing eyes of the army stalking them. Their footprints fall in line, straight through the forest. The larger leading the smaller, protecting the next generation from the horror of Burma's forest - land mines.
While the mother sits and rocks her son I wonder. One day will he cross the river too? Will he beg of my friends in the border town? Will he play with rubber bands & string in the back alley where the Moslem woman cooks? Or will she cross the river and get caught in the tide of flesh that feeds the bars? Will she undress to feed her child ? Or will they both be crushed by waves of hatred that want to wash Burma & Thailand of the unwanted?
This I wonder, in my glass box.
Far away, I write to remember.
I remember your faces.
Every one.
6 fellow travelers shared:
Beautifully written. And heart-wrenching.
I'll pray right now for those in Thailand.
~Stacy
I am horribly spoiled. I always thought I carried the sin that couldn't be mentioned. Mention I will-- pray for those in Thailand, and around the world~~I MUST.
Thank you for sharing this heart wrenching post. As I look at my dear children, my heart breaks to think that other children around the world don't have the sweet childhood mine do.
How God's heart must break for them and us.....
This is beautiful and heart breaking all at the same time... thank you for sharing your sister's writing.
Lord, let our heart weep as Yours does...
Beautiful writing runs in the family! What a fresh reminder of the lives others are living when I'm feeling sorry for myself for lack of sleep. Thinking of you sweet sister as you approach the welcoming of your little man! I was 37 weeks when Sawyer came, it's getting so close! Can't wait for pictures.
Love, Sarah
Absolutely breaks my heart. I can't imagine. My son is serving as an urban missionary in Norway now, but he was in Brazil for 2 months this summer. They tried to see what they could do to rescue children from the sex slave trade there, but they were unsuccessful. It just broke his heart. He had visions of rescuing a young girl and bringing her home for us to raise.
Post a Comment