a life well lived.

Luka's father passed away yesterday afternoon.

Over these past few months, it was beautiful to watch the way their family cared for him, and especially in his final days. Every time I visited the hospital, there was a family member massaging his legs, fanning him, or wiping the sweat off his forehead. On Monday the doctor gave them the choice of keeping him in the hospital, or taking him back to the village to die in the comfort of his own home. The family chose to take him home, and continued to give him the best care they could. 

His words became fewer and fewer, mostly asking God to please take him home to heaven, pleading for the suffering to be over. He said to Rusty the day he was leaving the hospital that he thinks he "will be able to hold Olive in heaven today."

When he was in the hospital and feeling a bit better last week he mentioned wanting to kill a pig for his family and friends to eat when he arrived home. A few hours before his death the nephews scurried about to kill a pig to celebrate his homecoming.  After stabbing the pig in the neck and the poor pig's struggling slowed to a pause, his nephew said, "Now go ahead of Abo Tsa in heaven, because he will still want to hunt pigs there."

Apee Pae (Luka's mother) sang songs in Akha while weeping; she was going to say good-bye to her best friend, her husband of 58 years. They married when she was 16, he was 19---two Akha orphans, migrating from Burma to Thailand, became the first Akha Christians in Thailand. Through their conversion we see the spread of Christianity among the Akha in Thailand. Abo Tsa was an amazing hunter. A small humble man, who could chase down a jungle pig, and kill on his own two feet. 

Watching his friends come and say good-bye to him brought everyone to tears. They sang songs to him about memories from years ago in Akha, and wept. Ae's father was one of his close friends, and the night before he died, brought over a bottle of Sprite (their favorite drink to have together). They had one last drink together. Abo Tsa could barely drink, but managed to get a few tiny sips down. We all silently wept, watching these best friends share these final precious moments together. 

I remember this sacred, holy feeling that was in the room when we were in our final hours with Olive. The longing for her to not suffer any longer, and yet the longing for her to stay with me just a little longer. So many of those feelings hung heavily in the room. Each of his children gave him permission to go ahead of them, and said they would take care of Apee Pae (Luka's mother), until they all joined him in heaven. 

Every day over the last few weeks, as he felt death drawing nearer, his daughter asked him if he had seen heaven yet, and every day until yesterday, he disappointedly said no. Yesterday in Abo Tsa's final hour, the reality of heaven came so near.  He said he saw the hand of Jesus reaching out to him...then an angel.

His breathing slowed, thunder crashed through the sky, rain started pouring, and his spirit left his body to join Olive in heaven.

A humble orphan from Burma, who strove to walk "the Jesus way" has now heard the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

Matthew 5: 3-10 (NIV)

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

road trip to Bangkok (in an ambulance).

After an overnight road-trip via ambulance from Chiang Rai to Bangkok I am at a top of the line hospital with Michael and Heather Colletto.

 Michael and Heather are volunteers working for an NGO down the road from us in Chiang Rai called The Sold Project, and we have enjoyed getting to know them over the last few months.

About two weeks ago Heather woke up with shooting back pain, unable to sit, and barely able to walk. She stayed in bed for the first week before Blah and I kidnapped her and took her to the hospital to see what was going on. There are no MRIs in Chiang Rai, so she had to be transported to Lampang (3 hours away) to get one done. The MRI showed a severely herniated disk in her back, in need of surgery.

The Colletto's thankfully do have insurance, BUT this insurance company is trying their best to back out of giving them any coverage, stating that it is a pre-existing condition (degenerative disk disease)...with NO evidence of this.

Sigh.

Just talking about insurance companies make me queasy.

So if you are up and reading this, please keep them in your prayers. She is in surgery as I write this.

We have been laughing a lot, despite the stressful circumstances, like this morning when the nurse came in and asked Heather, "Have you had a poo poo yet today?" We decided that from now on we are going to ask the nurses in return about their daily poo poos.

Rusty has been in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia this last week with our good Akha friend Gee to check out Timothy Leadership Training put on by the CRWM (Christian Reformed World Missions). He is supposed to return on Saturday. He spent most of yesterday in bed throwing up, but apparently is feeling better again today.

Over and out.

the dreaded pap smear.

The dreaded Pap Smear. The word itself is unattractive..."smear", and the getting one is nothing to look forward to. However, after hearing this story, going for a regular yearly check-up may not provoke as much anxiety in you as it has in the past.

A few weeks ago, an Akha friend of mine  told me that her mother was going to a private hospital in Chiang Rai to get her yearly pap smear, rather than at the local free government clinic where I volunteer.  I confusingly asked why...private hospitals charge about 600 baht for a pap smear (and an average daily wage for an Akha farmer is 100-150 baht), and I knew that her mother was already stretched for money. She told me that yes, it is free to get a pap smear done at the local government clinics, BUT the problem is after it is finished they give the results to the village health worker to deliver to the villagers. 

Sounds simple. Pap smear finished. Delivered to the village health worker, who will then responsibly and carefully deliver the results to the appropriate people. The clinic does this because most of the villagers (at least the older ones) cannot read Thai, so they need help translating the results into Akha.

Here is where the glitch happens. The village health worker decides to make life easier for himself and instead announces the results over the village intercom. For example, "Apee Meeyo, it looks like you have a bad case of genital warts, (insert giggles from the announcer) and you are supposed to go in for another check up next month." However, the bantering doesn't end there...after the village announcements people continue to tease you when they see you about whatever is going on down there.


It is every women's nightmare. So crazy that it made me laugh at first when I thought about how HIPPA would respond to this at home. And then I started feeling AWFUL for these poor women in the village.


Last week I told the head of the clinic where I work about what was going on in the village. She had no idea, and said at the next meeting she would have a talk with the village health worker about this and try to come up with a better solution.


Privacy is certainly not overrated when it comes to our lady parts.

my jumbled thoughts.

It's a strange day. One year ago Olive was born.

The birth wasn't the beautiful birth experience that I was planning for, but one full of fear, tears, and panic.

I remember getting to the hospital and them telling me I was already dilated to six centimeters. I remember thinking it was all just a bad dream. I remember feeling relieved that Olive had at least cried at birth. I remember thinking she looked like a little blue old man and Libby telling me she looked just like me : >). I remember laying on the delivery bed after the birth, talking on the phone to rusty telling him she was at least breathing.

My thoughts today feel so scattered and jumbled...just like this post will probably be. Part of me doesn't even like going back to the day she was born...brings up so many feelings that I'm not even sure how to process through and anxiety remembering the day after.

I'm wondering how things could have been different...if only I would have listened to my gut sooner. If only this...if only that...

Wishing I could go to her gravesite...sit there...talk to her.

Rusty's sister Stacia and her family drove down to Olive's grave last night and wrote messages on balloons and released them. My aunt put flowers on her grave this last week. Mom and dad visited her grave, and I've been hearing about a few others who have stopped by. It means so much to us. Especially when we are so far away.

I'm wondering what Olive is doing today in Heaven. Wondering who is caring for her. Rusty thinks his grandma Polinder is taking care of her...maybe my grandma Laura. The other week we had a conversation with a close Akha friend of ours named Joe and he said he thinks his mother (who died 4 years ago) is also taking care of Olive in heaven.

Death doesn't seem scary anymore. Eternity doesn't seem so scary either...it feels much more tangible...a place that I will go and get to be with Olive again.

Wondering what life would be like if Olive was born term and healthy. Wondering what her life would be like if she were still alive after being born so early. Wondering if her life would have been as hard as the doctors were predicting...and if it would have been I'm thankful she is no longer suffering.

Wondering when this longing to be near her will ease up.

Thankful for the support of so many who love us and who also loved our little Olive Hope.

She changed me in more ways than i thought possible for someone so small.