Once a Child

The Savior Who in glory reigns

Who rules the earth and sea,

Whose arms unnumbered worlds sustains

Was once a child like me.

  

       

This Christmas will be different. 

You will not be home.

There will be celebration. There will be family. There will be merry-making and laughter and joy, but you will be missed. In and through the festivities, my mother-heart will go to you, sometimes, and I will reflect on more than two decades of memories. They  will parade through my mind and I will miss you.

 

     

I will see you swathed in cast-off shawls with your eyes radiating wonder as you cradle the baby and lay Him in a make-shift manger. I will hear the strains of those favorite Christmas carols that you learned to plunk out on the piano. I will picture black velvet dresses, French-braided hair and bigger-than-big lacey hair bows. I will  remember the dozens of buckeyes we tucked into tins, the stack of books we snuggled up with each year, the mugs of hot chocolate and cookies consumed by the fire. (The Santa Claus mugs do not go in the dishwasher, by the way.) Stringing popcorn, wrapping hand-made creations, watching traditonal classic (and not so classic) movies were part of the picture . I will see your rosey cheeks at the door with the carolers, hear your glee at a new puppy, feel your hugs. In my mind's eye, I will be almost certain I can spy you on the stairway on Christmas morning peeking through your siblings with excited anticipation. Will you laugh, too, as you think of the year the horses came to Christmas eve dinner, or the time we lit your sister on fire with the Happy-Birthday-to-Jesus candles, or the tree that was horizontal when we got home from church? Remember how the boys dunked their cookies in frosting to finish the project, while we endlessly  applied sprinkles and embellishments?  Our Advent wreath and the melancholy strains of "O Come O Come Immanuel" on Sunday mornings. The Christmas tree china. The manger scene with an anachronism of stuffed animals and random wood toys gathered round. These are our remembrances.

                                    

You will carry them with you, too. You will not be home this Christmas. I will miss you, but it is right. It is good. All is well.  You bear the spirit of Christmas. It lives on through your smile,  your hugs, your laughter, your creativity, your kindness, your countenance  because Jesus lives in you. It is in the love of the Christ-Child and gratefulness for our Lord and Savior, the One whom we celebrate, that we offer back to Him you, our loan for a little while. Carry the light, precious child. Shine on.

Blessings and love this Christmas and always

mother

                                  

There will be less someday--

Much less

And there will be More.

Less to distract

And amuse,

More to adore.

Less to burden

And confuse.

More to undo

The cluttering of centuries,

That we might view

Again, that which star 

And angels pointed to.

We shall be poorer--

And richer;

Stripped--and free.

For always there will be a 

Gift.

Always

A Tree.

Sunrise, Sunset.

One more sunrise over Bangkok.

             

One more tea party.

              

One more project.

                           

                           

One more reading-together time.

     

One more hug.

(Sweet Tristan was on his way out the door to the youth group Christmas party and turned around to spend time with Grandmoni her last evening.)

                             

One more sunset over Bangkok.

   

As I look over this city, brimming with life and color and people (and more people) and traffic (and more traffic) and sin and opulence and poverty, I cannot help but consider how this foreign culture typifies each of our lives....decadent, busy and empty apart from Christ. In a way, the contrast between the darkness and light are perhaps more sharp here. In the States,  we blur the lines. Our idols are not Buddha shrines on corners or sacrifices offered to figures of gold, but the visibility of such in this culture prompts the challenge to consider our own focus gone askew. I am grateful that we have family who have been called to be bearers of Light here. There is no greater joy than the blessing of one's children walking with The Lord. 

Children of the Heavenly Father

Safely in His bosom gather

Nestling bird nor star in heaven

Such a refuge e'er was given

God His own doth tend and nourish

In His holy courts they flourish

From all evil things He spares them

In His mighty arms He bears them

Neither life nor death shall ever

From the Lord His children sever

Unto them His grace He showeth

And their sorrows all He knoweth

Though He giveth or He taketh

God His children ne'er forsaketh

His the loving purpose solely

To preserve them pure and holy

One more night I will sing all four verses of this song that I have sung to my grandbabies since they were little while rubbing their backs and tucking them in at bedtime. Tristan promises to not be too big or too cool for these special moments next time we are together.  Sleepy children peek to see why Grandmoni's voice is cracking and catch a runaway teardrop sneaking down my cheek. In the words of  King David:

                   Shall I offer to the Lord that which costs me nothing?

                      

Not For the Faint of Heart

                                     

Mandy and I dropped Britain and Abi at school (leaving two little sickies at home and hoping we don't tote an epidemic of the stomach flu back to the States) and made a stop at Starbucks right around the corner (now isn't that convenient?) before starting the  adventure of our Thai cooking class.

                                    

We were loaded into a van with four others and driven to the slums to first tour the wet market, open everyday from 2:00 AM to 6:00 PM, where local restauranteurs, hotel owners and individuals purchase all meats and produce that come into Bangkok. Our hostess and instructor, Poo (her real name is 

Shampoo.....check back for another blog post exclusively based on Americans words adopted as 

Thai names) provided fair warning en route to the market that there would be many "confronting sights" and cautioned vegetarians to sit out the tour prior to cooking class. Mandy and I locked arms courageously, grabbed our cameras, took a deep breath and ventured on.

Poo, the Paula Deen of Bangkok, with vision atypical of Thai women, has seen beyond the slums where she was born and still lives, to capitalize on cultural culinary expertise which she now shares internationally. Poo has written a cookbook that has sold 18,000copies in two years and been invited to cooking tours around the globe. Her entrepreneurial pluck has brought awareness to the area where she resides, home to 80,000-100,000, one of the largest slum communities in Asia, as well as created jobs. You can read more about this dynamo at http://www.cookingwithpoo.com. Below, she directs us to the chickens which were moments before, clucking in their little cages.

                                     

                                     

Mandy suggested I may not want to share 8x12 glossy prints of those photos we snapped sloshing through the wet market, but you know what they say about a picture being worth a thousand words.  In the interest  of weak stomachs and small children who might be viewing these images, I will employ my handy-dandy collage app. Be assured, however, that until they come up with a scratch n' sniff app, you are still not getting the fulll effect.

So, without TMI we will direct your attention to the frogs (those hopping together encased in their little nets and those all ready for biology class) along with Chef Boo holding up prize specimens from the insect collection of culinary delights.

                   

Next, we can play a kind of "where's Waldo" game. Guess who is participating in bring-your-pet-to-work day, which specimens bound and tied were still winking at us, which are the deep fried fish intestines and what photo puts a whole new spin on sticking one's foot in one's mouth?

                    

                     

A bit weak-kneed, we rounded the corner relieved to find more palatable aesthetics. The produce section of the market was resplendent with beautiful and bountiful fruits, vegetables, flowers, herbs and spices. Thousands of watermelons, we were told, would be gone at the end of the day. Between 5:00 and 6:00PM  each day the market is emptied by those who push and shove and elbow their way for the markdowns and throw-aways. The area is then hosed down (thus the name "wet market") and it begins all over again at 2:00  AM.

                                 

                     

                                  

These guys below are the web vans of Bangkok, happy to have a job. They make deliveries to establishments who have standing orders at the market. And there was rice....lotsa rice....lotsa choices. The woman is making a sweet, sticky rice stirring in coconut milk. 

                                  

                                 

                                  

Winding our way literally back through the slums,Poo shows us her home where she began cooking and dispensing food from a window several years ago. Her commercial kitchen is a few doors down the alleyway and we are invited in. Sparse, spare and clean, Poo's operation sports all necessary equipment for giving us an introduction to the art she has perfected.

                    

We chopped and stirred, simmered and pounded (or what every you call that action using a mortar and pestle?) Nothing exotic, though, thank goodness. We had a blast and came up with some tasty dishes that surprised ourselves. 

                     

                                   

                        

                                    

And to top off a day focused on food, there  was a farewell cake for Grandenny at dinner. When sad, cake and strawberries and  whipped cream help ease the parting.

                                   

                                    

Friends, Fun & Festive Li'l Trees

In keeping with the teaching of Buddha, the typical Thai countenance is gentle, kind, unassuming and considerate. Even with traffic interweaving precariously there is no horn-honking nor epithets directed at pedestrians or other vehicles. Uniformed "honor guards" often stand sentinel at the door of hotels, apartments and business establishments in a day-long salute of courtesy to all those entering. The standard greeting and expression of gratitude includes palms touching in front of one's chest with a little bow. 

It has been a joy to meet the friends our family has made in Bangkok. At the top of the list would be their ya-ya who has a sweet, servant heart and is adored by all the children. Mandy and Chad are pictured with Esteban and Danielle, team members from the States; Tristan with his buddy Samuel from school; the girls with Honey whose dad is the maintenance man for the building; and the Smithlings with other resident swimmers in the apartment.

                                    

                       

On our way to the local bowling alley on today's school holiday, several visuals caught my eye. The cross-cultural crosswalk sporting both Thai and American signage along with bundled wires and tuk-tuks are exemplary of the eclectic mix. Colonel Sanders and Ronald Mc Donald seem to be univerasal. And then there are the Buddhist shrines on every corner surrounded by sacrificial offerings. Not only are fruits, nuts and vegetables gifted to the statues, but also perfectly good Starbucks cappuccinos and smoothies. Not sure what sense that makes???

Little Miss Gigi fancied herself the keeper of the bowling balls and stationed herself at the return site so she could be in charge of designating whose turn was next. While it is a bit of a trek to flag taxi's and tuk-tuks for outings with the family, the fares are affordable (usually less than a dollar) and one doesn't have to look for a parking place when you get to where you're going.

                       

 

                       

                                    

Back at the ranch, we pulled out silver, pink and pearly pipecleaners for our project of the day. Twisting pipecleaner lengths around a central stem, we fashioned a forest of miniature Christmas trees to add to the already festive ambiance. Grandmoni-Poppin's bag of tricks brought from home did not include provision for tree stands, so we absconded with wonderful little ceramic containers in which yogurt is sold that we filled with rice. (No shortage of rice around here.) What a happy little family of festive trees perched along the dining room wall! And we just happened to find another string of white lights. The girls scooped up small porcelain pitchers and glass bottles to hold pink specimens specially made for the Christmas corner of their room.

                                      

And then to make an otherwise pretty wonderful day complete, Chad and Mandy sent us off for a Thai massage. The hour-long combination of foot washing, deep tissue massage, yoga stretching and a cup of warm tea left us feeling totally relaxed....and to all a good night.

        

Happy Accident

With Mommy and Daddy gone overnight, we were off to great expectations for Monday morning. The French toast breakfast project turned out just fine. Then we moved on to gingerbread men. Eeeek! The only existing cookie sheet was already occupied hosting the wintry vignette with the afore-mentioned, sagging gingerbread house. Not to be discouraged, we determined that the little guys could bake themselves perched on the edges of the muffin tin. This innovation, with limbs hanging over the edges, produced many curious cookies contorted into interesting positions.  

                               

                                

                               

Taking these varied personalities in stride as a happy accident, we mixed up the frosting.  Unfortunately  grandmoni's bag-pinching technique did not turn out to be successful. Icing made with butter and baking ponder instead of powdered sugar is NOT yummy. (Next time I'll taste when I can't read the label.) Frosting batch; take two. 

                               

Moving right along true Martha Stewart style (ahem) we descended upon these poor unsuspecting cookie-critters with mounds of icing, chocolate chips, raisens and sprinkles thus flattening their fragile bodies and  snapping off legs, arms and heads left and right. Nevertheless, a good time was had by all. We devoured gingerbread body parts instead of gingerbread men with our cups of hot chocolate giggling to the last drop.

                     

In addition to getting her height and bargaining prowess from her daddy's side of the family, Mandy must have also attained to her love of adventure through Dennis. He was not at all panicked when our tuk-tuk driver (who didn't understand Dennis's "Thai") was obviously headed in the wrong direction, nor worried when we happened upon throngs of protestors on their way to the demonstration in downtown Bankgkok.  I had to count on his fourty-four year track record of looking out for me and his grand-girls who were accompanying us to the tailor. Sure enough, when we arrived for Dennis's final fitting of his "first-ever-made-just-for-him" suit, the tailor assured us the parade was more like a picnic at that end of town. 

                            

                                  

                                  

                            

  

                                   

True to being a city full of contrasts, we emerged from the jam-packed BTS (Bangkok Transit System) train onto a street corner where we entered Terminal 21, a six story shopping mall extravaganza.  Each floor, theme-oriented after major world cities, boasted scores of designer shops,  world famous labels and more glitz and sparkle than a disco ball. 

 Our little shoppers were quite happy with our major purchase of the day being from the sweet shoppe.

                                 

                                 

These curious, pricey purses that look like they are made of  bubble wrap are everywhere...available in every color of the rainbow. Are you hoping to be a trend-setter and find one in your Christmas stocking, Josie?!?!