beating the rice.

"Beating the rice" is usually done by physically beating the rice, thereby shaking the rice kernels off the stalks. However, this last Saturday at the Akha Youth Development Center we used a machine to do all the work for us. I seemed to be the only disappointed one to not be taking part in manually beating the rice. I suppose if I had to do this on a regular basis I wouldn't have been quite as disappointed. The rice we harvested will feed all the kids at our hostel for 8 months out of the year. Many of the AYDC kids parents or relatives came to help with the work.

Sumitra with her mom.

Joe, Rusty, and Dara

the magical rice machine.

a new friend who later decided he hated me.

Luka with his mother.

Collecting the harvested rice kernels into bags.

Our bounty. Four truck loads of rice.

lunch. fried banana flowers with pork. so delicious.

P Tim and Ae.

catching fish at the AYDC.

Fishing here is often called, "jap blah," translated as "catch fish." This is done by literally grabbing the fish out of the water with your bare hands. Pretty impressive to someone like myself, who only grew up using a fishing pole. 

The boys all wade in the water with a net until they trap the fish on the edge of the pond until they can grab them and throw them onto the shore.

Chanwit with his mother.

The first catch of the morning.

Notice the string of fish.

Grilling the fish whole over a piece of scrap metal.

reconciling faith with heartbreak.

one of my best childhood friend's son died last week, only an hour after delivery. her milk has come in as a cruel reminder of who is missing. 


i remember pumping the morning after olive died and pouring my milk down the drain. laying on the bathroom floor with tears running down my face...it just wasn't supposed to be like this. 


i keep finding myself crying when i'm alone thinking of my friend.  the emotions and memories i imagine she may be feeling. the questions. that deep pulling pain in your gut when you realize this whole nightmare is actually reality and that you aren't going to wake up. these are the times when living far away from home feels the hardest...remembering those who just sat with me during the weeks and months after olive died...lacking answers, but with ample love. wanting to be able to do that for her.


then i remember all the beautiful things that came out of the journey of our little olive, and the ways she has changed me. the people i crossed paths with because of her. the overwhelming generosity of so many. the children who prayed for her faithfully every night before going to sleep.


would i do it all over again for the things i have gained? absolutely not. i would never choose for olive to endure all she did again. but this is where i am. this is where i've landed, and there is no other option except how i will choose to continue moving and living from this place. 


i found an e-mail today that a women sent me last spring. her daughter, caritas, was diagnosed with a brain tumor and resultant hydrocephalus at 21 weeks in utero. she was born prematurly at 29 weeks on October 16, 2009 and died a day and a half later. we started e-mailing when Olive was in the hospital in bangkok, after a mutual family friend sent me her blog.  here is an exert from our e-mail...

"Like you, I believe that our daughters' short and compromised lives were not in vain. Olive and Cara were priceless gifts to us and to the world. I wrestle constantly with how God works in the world and in our lives, but I still believe that God is with us and that God is love. I think you said something to the effect that God has a lot of explaining to do. At the same time, you see beauty out of ashes, and you don't want to be closed off to it. I really admire this attitude. I find it so challenging to allow myself to enter into my feelings of profound anger, sadness, alienation, and betrayal while at the same time opening myself to God, maintaining a posture of softness and receptivity. It is so hard. My husband and I remind each other often that we don't want to turn into bitter people because of this.

On my good days, I feel strongly that God did not cause Cara's brain tumor nor Olive's prematurity and brain hemorrhage. I don't believe such terrible things are God's will, but instead that God is with us weeping and crying out against suffering and death. So my challenge it to keep walking in faith rather than believing that I have been cursed, or that God simply does not care or does not exist. I will pray for you as you walk this journey of reconciling your faith to your heartbreak as well."

here is her blog if anyone is interested. she also recommended this site (glow in the woods)  for those who have experienced the loss of a baby. they say it is for: "parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: come here to share the technicolour, the vividness, the despair, the heart-broken-open, the compassion we learn for others, having been through this mess — and see it reflected back at you, acknowledged, understood."

rice harvest.

Today at the Akha Youth Development Center the staff, older students, and parents of some of the students all worked together to gather the rice. Earlier in the week a machine was used to cut the rice, and today we rolled it up into clumps, tied it up, and placed it in one giant heap. On Saturday more parents will come and we will beat the rice together. :>)

Here are some photos from today.