Self portrait in a Bangkok Metro Station.
Dear ones, as of today we've been in Thailand for nine days and I haven't given you anything. Anyone who has traveled with four little ones and stayed in a couple of budget guesthouse rooms with spotty internet may understand.
But there is more at play. I'm still trying to process the last year and a half or so and how uprooted and lost I've felt at times. How I have felt empty, wandering, bereft of creativity. How I have felt as though there are parts of me that went away for protection, that hid in a small place inside, afraid of homes and homelessness and all that these things entail.
I'm usually not a big proponent of the separation of spirit and soul; mostly I feel that I am a complete human, that all of me is all of me, created by God and made beautiful by Him, every part. I feel that a life devoted to Jesus makes me more human, not less. It's not as if I have become some ethereal spirit person, downloading code straight from heavenly places. No. I am tied, as Jesus was, to the acts of eating and drinking, of drawing with my finger in the dust, of sitting with my shoulder touching someone else's shoulder, of waking up with bad breath and a need to align myself with the wonder of love that God holds for me. In my life with Jesus, that living wonder of love has rooted itself deep within me.
That said, there is a deep part of me that has been totally fine, in this last year. Maybe it is the part that is closest to that love root. The tree is strong. I've been happy, excited. I've been present and I loved the meditation and worship of the last Arambol season. I loved singing on the beach. I love the people of Arambol, the Goans and the Indian and Nepali workers from all around the subcontinent and the beautiful vibrant traveling community that I'm a part of.
There is also a part that has been anemic. I'm guessing it's the fruits and flowers part of me. I feel lost. If you ask me how I am, I come up with a blank. I have to make something up, quick. And all I can say is that maybe it's this part that wants to scratch out some continuity on the earth. It needs fertilizer consisting of the prospect of days stretching out ahead that don't require backpacks and suitcases and locking the door behind us. It needs to feel safe.
So here we are. We've reached Pai, our new home. After nine days, we are all the way in the mountains among the farmers who are burning their fields. This is the beginning of a new thing, the beginning of everything. I've done this new, first moment before, many times in fact. This time I know a few things. I know not to panic, I know that it takes time. I know that the kids will be okay. I know that God has gifts for every single day, wherever we are in the earth.
And I am so, so happy to be here, so happy to share it with you.