white as snow

They are white as snow. I wish I could say I was talking about my friends in the red light district.

My Thai friends recently knit beautiful white scarves for me and my friends as a present. I wish I could say my Thai friends were also white as snow – they are workers in Thailand’s sex industry.

They can be white as snow though. It’s my prayer they will be – that they’ll accept the sacrifice of the One who was slain.

All but one friend hasn’t yet, but it’s a new year and a new chance.

In our weekly English class we talked about our wishes for the New Year. Wishes is easier to translate and say than “New Year’s Resolutions.”

I asked them what they wished for. They answered: more money, more customers, better health and to have their own home.

I told the men and women my New Year’s wish was to grow closer to God this year. He makes us beautiful, I said.

They are beautiful outside, but inside, they are still searching, still lost.

One of my new favorite songs is “Beautiful Things” by Gungor. The song talks about God making a beautiful creation out of us.

“You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us.”

He created us from the dust and we are beautiful because of His Gospel’s transformation in our lives.

He also makes us new.

“You make me new, You are making me new,” the song says.

I pray that this year He will make these men and women new. He can create something beautiful inside of them. They are already beautiful outside and He can make them beautiful inside too.

Beauty comes from the dirty ground. Beauty isn’t instantaneous and it often involved pain. Is beauty worth the pain of transformation for these women and men?

As Gungor’s song says:

“All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all.”

Yes, yes it can. Because He makes beautiful things out of us.

These men and women in the sex industry are beautiful creations of God. He’s working in their hearts and will make them beautiful if they allow Him to make them white as snow.

That’s my prayer, that this year they’ll allow the Lamb who was slain to make them white as snow.

Here’s a link to listen: Beautiful Things

When a heart breaks

She walks out of the massage parlor with the sun-glassed man. Japanese, I think. He leaves quickly. She sits down on the bench, avoiding eye contact.

Everyone around knows what’s just happened.

As I’ve sat and listened to my friend teach English the past 30 minutes, she’s been upstairs in a room with this man, most likely doing much more than a massage.

She’s in it for the money. Most of these women are. Many come from poor families in eastern Thailand and many haven’t finished high school. They are left with few opportunities. Some can’t read Thai.

When she comes back she pulls out a deck of playing cards and starts playing a game, most likely to get her mind off of what just happened.

Watching her that day broke my heart. Every time I go down to the red light district it break my heart. Every single time.

We’re hoping and praying that these women and men will use the English we’re teaching them to get out of the business. But, we’ve just heard that some women are going to another massage parlor to learn English sex talk to help “empower” them.

When your heart breaks, what do you do about it?

I chatted with a woman today who’s married and has three daughters. We talked about how the flooding in Bangkok has affected her sister. I asked her about her daughters and about the massage parlor’s business.

I don’t know if her husband knows what she does. He might. She left our English lesson early to wrap her arms around a Western man and lead him upstairs.

When your heart breaks, what will you do about it?

There’s a new girl who works at this massage parlor. She lied about her age. She said she’s 18 but she’s only 17. She has a boyfriend, she told us, he’s 16. She also left the English lesson early with a customer. I don’t know if every time these ladies have a customer if it results in more than a massage. Many times it does.

When your heart breaks, what are you doing about it?

One of our regular students brought her 17-year old son. She doesn’t look nearly old enough to have a son that age. He’s looking for work. We want to make sure he doesn’t end up working in the red light district like his mom. His mom left the English lesson early today with a man. She escorted him right past her son. Does he know what his mom does?

When a heart breaks, what should you be doing about it?

call me rude

Rihanna’s “Rude” plays in the background of a darkly silhouetted bar. Western men lean in to whisper dirty nothings into the ears of petite and scantily-clad Thai women.

These women work in Thailand’s sex industry. Many come from eastern Thailand to find work in the city. Some come under false pretenses. Some know what they’re getting into. The journey to Chiang Mai and Bangkok work in bars, massage parlors, clubs and strip clubs.

Men from around the world come to Thailand to hook up. Many of these men are 50 + and many come to find a woman in her 20s. Many of these men are old enough to be these girls’ father and some are old enough to be their grandfather.

Every night children wander up and down the aisle of bars selling roses. These children are under 10 years old and selling flowers to the Western men to buy for their woman of the night. The money the children make from selling roses goes to an adult at the end of each evening. They walk past these bars late at night and they see all that goes on.

They live in red light.

Last night several friends from the U.S. went with one of my colleagues and I to prayer walk in this area, in Chiang Mai’s red light district.

We had the chance to talk with several of these flower-selling youth for a few minutes.

It breaks my heart. At their age I was playing with Pet Shop Animals and Polly Pockets – not watching drunken men seduce women to the tune of this week’s favorite hit hip hop artist.

“God bless you,” I said in Thai to one of the girls as we said our goodbyes, leaving the children to make their rounds.

“God bless you too,” she answered.

Does she know who God is? Does she know Jesus loves the little children? Does she know true love isn’t a one-night stand?

I don’t know.

She knows the tune of Rihanna’s song.

Will you pray for these children?

sleep deprivation, sports and social media

Calling all sports fans.

“Go my favorite sports team!” (Brian Regan, for those who’ve missed his hilarity.)

When you’re a sports fan living in Asia, you’re called to make some sacrifices. I’m specifically talking about sleep sacrifices.

If you want to watch your favorite sports team, many times it means waking up early or staying up late. Losing sleep for sports sounds silly to many.

This past weekend I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. to watch The Battle of The Brazos – that’s Baylor vs. Texas A&M, for non-Texans. It’s the official rivalry between these two universities that’s been intact since 1899 – that’s 112 years folks.

It’s the last year it’ll happen since Texas A&M decided to leave the Big 12 conference.

It was a heartbreaking game. Do I regret staying up?

I did initially, I mean, really, who is thrilled at watching their alma mater succumb to the Aggies? But now, looking back, I wouldn’t have changed anything.

During the World Cup last year I stayed up and woke up early to catch the games. I had mornings that started at 4 a.m. and nights that ended at 2 a.m. I cheered during the heart-wrenching penalty kicks in the USA games.

I’ve stayed up late to watch Chelsea FC games since London is a good six hours behind us.

Thank goodness for social media and free streaming Web sites.

When I watch games I tweet and post status updates on Twitter and Facebook.

It’s been fun finding camaraderie on Twitter. I am sure I annoy most people my blowing up their Twitter feeds with sports updates, but it’s almost like watching the games with others even when you’re alone in your room in your pajamas.

There’s something about knowing others are pulling their hair out waiting for Landon Donovan to take his PK.

There’s something just something about seeing tweets of jubilation when your Baylor scores.

There’s something comforting in knowing others are frustrated with the referees calls against Chelsea.

There’s something energizing in knowing you’re not the only one losing sleep to watch the game/match.

It’s the sense of community that social media has allowed. I’m not able to be at the games in person or watch with others, but I can have a shared experience via Facebook or Twitter. It’s like being in the stands, almost.

There isn’t any tailgating on Twitter/FB yet. There is yelling and cheering though.

I’ve met fans I’d never have met otherwise because of Twitter. I’ve connected with friends I can’t be with in person on Facebook and Twitter. I’ve learned stats and information about the games because of social media.

Sleep loss can be shared and tweeted.

Sports are universal. Sports have united people around the globe and it’s been made easier by media.

So, I’ll see you late at night or early in the morning on Facebook or Twitter. @thaitessa

Art of Misunderstanding

It’s easy to misunderstand. This is especially true when your home country isn’t the one you grew up in.

There are a lot of things about American culture that I don’t know about having lived in Asia most of my life. Going to college was enlightening for me in many ways.

There are still many times when I miss a cultural cue or pop culture reference, just ask my friends. They have many a funny story of me embarrassing myself or saying something silly.

It happened again recently.

On a recent media coverage I met a girl who just got engaged. I asked how they met.

“Playing Cooties,” she answered.

I wished my coworker had taken a picture of the expression on my face at that moment. Having lived in Asia, I do try to monitor my facial expressions, but sometimes it’s just plain hard.

Boys have cooties, that’s what every elementary and early pre-teen girl thinks. But, how do you play cooties? This doesn’t sound PG and I am not sure this is something you tell someone you just met.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Yeah, we were playing in the basement around New Years’ Eve.”

Sketchy. I think this might be TMI. I won’t tell you what I thought she meant by that.

“Will you tell your children that’s how you met their dad?” I thought. I had enough of a filter not to say this out loud.

She explained that Cooties is a game that many kids in America play growing up. I completely missed this phenomenon. She said you play it by adding parts to a cootie bug. You add limbs etc.

“It’s really intense,” she said.

Really intense? Adding plastic legs to a cootie bug is an intense game? I don’t understand.

I did look up the game and it is a legit Hasbro game, so she was not a sketchy of a person as I had initially thought.

Oh the joys of being a third culture kid. Experiences like this add to my arsenal. Next time, I’ll be prepared to joke about how wonderful cooties are.

Promise of unconditional love

Americans wear rings on their left hands, right? To show you are married?

Last night I went down to the red light district to visit my friend John.* His grandmother wants him to get married and have children so she can have great grandchildren. John is gay and I don’t think his grandmother knows this. We haven’t had a talk about it yet and I am praying for wisdom when we do.

John’s grandmother’s wishes sparked a conversation on wedding rings, husbands/wives and marriage.

“Are you married?” Hannah,* asked,  pointing to my ring finger. I just met Hannah last night.

I explained that my dad gave me this ring as a promise for my future husband and I’d give the ring to him when I married. Natasha,* a man who underwent sex reassignment surgery to become a woman, listened in.

I asked Hannah if she had a significant other.

“I have a son,” Hannah told me. “But no husband.”

Her boyfriend left her and now the responsibility of raising their son rests on her.

“Is your son in Chiang Mai?” I asked.

“No, I am not able to care for him,” she said sadly. She pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of him. He’s living with family in her hometown. She came to work in the red light district to make money to send back to him.

I’m discovering that many Thai women who work in Chiang Mai’s red light district have boyfriends or husbands who’ve left them. This also happened to Angie,* my friend who recently became a believer.

Many times women will meet a guy in their teens or early 20s and see a future with them. The girls are “all in” emotionally. They invest everything, but the guy isn’t as attached and when the responsibility increases, sometimes with the birth of a child, they leave. Their love was conditional. The girls are hard-pressed for money to care for their kid, so they head to the place that guarantees quick money: the red light district.

Red light districts attract hundreds of Western men who’ve come to Thailand specifically for the sex trade. Some “stumble upon” it. The red light district also lures Western and Asian men who travel to Thailand on business trips.

It makes me sick. And sad. And angry.

My heart hurts for these women. I want so badly for them to leave this industry. I want them to know they are fearfully and wonderfully made and God loves them. I want something better for them. I want them to know unconditional love, God’s love.

I want them to know promises aren’t always broken.

*name changed

Moon cakes, Little Mermaid, It’s a Wonderful Life & Agatha Christie

Tonight I bought a moon cake from a mermaid.

Though I wish I could say I bought this traditional Chinese pastry from Ariel from Disney’s “Little Mermaid,” that isn’t quite true. I bought one with a coffee filling from Starbucks. The Starbucks mermaid was imprinted on top instead of Chinese characters.

Traditional Chinese moon cake

Today is the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival, a harvest celebration that commemorates the end of the fall harvest season. The date changes based on the lunar calender. This moon festival is thousands of years old and is celebrated in China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Malaysia, Singapore and the Philippines. It’s celebrated some in Thailand too.

I’ve been a part of Mid-Autumn Festivals since my family moved overseas when I was two and half years old. My parents have pictures of my grinning cheesy-ly and holding a cute lantern.

Families will traditionally eat moon cakes and admire the harvest moon. They’ll also carry lanterns and light and release other lanterns. It’s similar to Thailand’s Loy Kratong festival that takes place every November. Dragon dances are also involved as is incense-burning and worship.

I didn’t do any dancing or lantern lighting tonight, though that would have been fun. I took my moon cake and went to my apartment’s roof to admire the moon.

For some reason, tonight I kept thinking of the quote from George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That’s a pretty good idea. I’ll give you the moon, Mary,” George said.

Mary then replies:

“I’ll take it. Then what?”

“Well, then you can swallow it, and it’ll all dissolve, see… and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair… am I talking too much?” George asked.

Tonight though, the moon was shrouded by clouds. No super-duper lasso would have roped it.

I did see a few lanterns floating upward though. They reminded me of fireflies who seemed to be following an invisible treasure map to the moon. They weren’t headed toward the moon, but they ascended anyway.

Finally, I happened to catch a quick glimpse of the moon. The clouds removed their veil long enough for me to behold the moon. It’s there, even though I couldn’t see it. It’s like a bride who lifts her veil at just the right moment.

It reminded me of our relationship with God. We’re like the lanterns, we fix our gaze above and move forward in faith. Sometimes in life it feels like we can’t see or hear God. During trials and hard times it seems like He is far away. He’s there, He always is. We ascend and trust with the path that’s been shown to us. This teaches us faith and perseverance.

It’s awesome when you have those mountain-top experiences where you see the moon and life is clear. What’s harder is following the treasure map from the valley. But it’s oh-s0 worth it.

It’s like the ending of a murder mystery TV show or book.

I really like murder mysteries. I grew up reading Agatha Christie and watching Diagnosis Murder with Dick Van Dyke. My family watches Midsomer Murders, a BBC mystery series, and we watch House and Monk. There’s something about the mystery and suspense that’s always fascinated me about this genre. I like trying to figure out “who done it.” You follow the clues and piece them together to see the whole picture. When it’s over, you have the satisfaction of seeing all the pieces fit and you have the answer to why everything happened the way it did.

This life is like a murder mystery, sans the murder. We follow the commands and instructions given in the Bible and the revelations He gives us until we reach heaven, This is the conclusion and resolution. Then, all the pieces, places and people in our life will make sense. We’ll understand our Father completely and worship Him always.

What an awesome day that will be.

It truly is a wonderful life. God’s been so gracious and good to me recently, as He’s always been. It’s been an awesome treasure hunt so far and I’m excited to move forward and learn more about life’s mysteries and the God who created life.

 

 

 

 

 

twin grievings

Ten years ago I was in Chiang Mai, Thailand, just like I am tonight.

I was 14 on September 11, 2001. Now, I’m 24 (I’m great at math, can’t you tell?) and I am back in the Land of Smiles on September 11, 2011.

I was getting ready for bed when the planes hit the Twin Towers. It was Sunday evening our time, we’re 12 hours ahead, and I was preparing for another school day at my international school. My parents called me in the living room to watch the coverage. I plodded out in my PJs and sat cross-legged on our couch and watched in horror as the buildings crumbled like sand castles under the weight of a wave. I also watched the reports on the Pentagon and the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania.

I grieved over the lost lives and the men and women who met their eternity without knowing Christ.

Today a friend and I visited my friend John’s home and met his 83-year old grandmother. John works in the red light district. He recently became a believer.

I grieved today again for those who lost their lives but also for John grandmother.

She’s a wisp of a woman–she looks if you hug her too hard she might break. She’s missing all of her teeth, but that doesn’t stop her from smiling.

I couldn’t help but notice the veins in her arms and hands. They tell of a long life– a life without knowing her Creator.

They’ve lived in this house all of John’s life.

A poster of a senior monk hangs over her bed. His grandmother talks about going to the wat, or temple, whenever she’s able, which isn’t as often as her earlier years because of her age.

We shared, but mostly John shared, about how we believe in God and go to church instead of the temple.

It’s all good, she said, all religions are good.

She showed us pictures from her and John’s youth. She struggled to keep her reading glasses on her nose as she flipped through the worn photos.

“He’s so cute,” she said. “Such a big baby he was.”

We talked about life and memories. We did a lot of smiling and laughing.

Before we left, we said a prayer over her. She held our hands and strained to listen to our English and broken Thai. She came over and hugged me, laying her head on my chest. This surprised me, hugging isn’t too common in Thai society.

Her sweet hug is a moment I’ll always remember.

I pray that she’ll love Jesus. My heart grieves to think of her not. It’s not too late–her eternity hasn’t come. But, like the fateful day 10 years ago, we’re never guaranteed another day.

Today is the day to share with that person your heart grieves for.

 

Kickboxing with Bonhoeffer

It’s easier to fight visible enemies. Actually, fighting enemies in general is easier. I’m not talking about Muay Thai kickboxing.

Many times it is easier to try to fight the woes that ail us, thinking that our struggle will result in victory and sage-ness. With every Jackie Chan-like kick, we think we’re taking one giant step for man and one giant leap for mankind.

That’s not Jesus’ way.

Many people thought His coming to earth meant a physical battle. They thought Jesus would duke it out with Caesar.

That’s not the way of the cross.

I’m in the midst of reading, as I have been for quite some time, “Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy,” by Timothy J. Keller. It’s a biography on Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

Keller writes about German pastors and their struggle against Ludwig Müller, the Nazi-appointed bishop of the German church. Ludwig agreed with views of an “Aryan race” and wanted to purge the country of Jews.

“While Hildebrandt, Niemöller, and Jacobi were thinking about how to defeat Müller, Bonhoeffer was thinking about God’s highest call, about the call of discipleship and its cost. He was thinking about Jeremiah and about God’s call to partake in suffering, even unto to death,” Keller writes.

Discipleship. It has a cost. Bonhoeffer knew that and chose to occupy his thoughts with God’s calling instead of inventing his own ways to struggle.

Bonhoeffer was first concerned with God and His calling on his life. He knew the key to victory was trust in Jesus. Through focusing on God, he fought his enemies. By choosing to look first to God and concentrate on discipleship, he allowed God to take control.

Bonhoeffer stood up to Hitler. Though I haven’t gotten to this part in the book, I know that Bonhoeffer didn’t sit around and he wasn’t resigned to his fate. Bonhoeffer was involved in a plot to assassinate Hitler and was later hanged for doing so. He fought. He fought hard.

I’ve struggled the past few months with a fear of failure and crippling worry. Though these enemies are nothing like the Fuhrer, they were very real to me. I’ve been incapacitated at times from writing. I questioned my calling. I’ve heard and seen things not many people get the chance to see or hear and wanted so badly to do their stories justice.

I spent hours fighting, kickboxing at these fears, praying for strength as I did so. Many times it was a “in the midst of a crisis” prayer.

It’s easier to fight on your own sometimes, because you feel like you’re at least trying, that you’re doing something tangible to annihilate the problem. It’s harder to let go and allow the Spirit lead.

It’s downright scary. What is the Spirit going to ask me to do if I let go?

What I’ve learned is that I need to concern myself with discipleship and its cost. Being a disciple means suffering–it means blood, sweat and tears. Bonhoeffer knew this. He died for discipleship. He didn’t spend time trying to do things on his own without first submitting to God. He also knew he must faithfully suffer.

“Simply suffering-that is what will be needed then-not parries, blows or thrusts such as many still be possible or admissible in the preliminary fight; the real struggle that perhaps lies ahead must simply be to suffer faithfully,” Bonhoeffer wrote.

He kept his eyes fixated on the cross and followed his Savior’s lead. In Bonhoeffer’s case, it meant death. He already considered this though and had accepted it the cost of discipleship. The cost varies from person to person, but the calling to follow Him is the same.

Reckless abandon, fixation on the cross and wholehearted obedience.

That is what He wants from me. That is what He wants from you. He wants you to follow Him with reckless abandon. He’ll slay your enemies for you. It may not be the way you expect, but He makes good on His promises.

Hitler met his demise. Bonhoeffer’s struggle was not in vain.

Looking to the cross doesn’t mean rolling over and accepting evil is in the world. It means allowing our King, who knows better, to take kick in the Muay Thai arena in your life.

Scrabble : triple word score

It’s easy to give up. It’s even easier to mope – especially when a seemingly debilitating and career-ending injury makes it look like you’ve reached the end of your dream.

Drew Brees didn’t give up or mope for too long. I’m taking notes from him.

This NFL player incurred a shoulder injury that almost ended his career. He had to re-learn how to throw a football. In his book, “Coming Back Stronger,” Brees shares about his injury and how he came back from it.

The book is also about New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. The book chronicles the NFL and city’s comeback from devastating circumstances.

It’s a good lesson in perspective for me.

Sometimes it’s easy as a writer to take one defeat – a poorly written story, or multiple poorly-written stories – as signifying the end of a career.

This story is a great reminder to continue in what you’re called to do. Where it gets tricky is allowing God control and not taking control for yourself. When you work with words, it’s hard let the Lord lead you and not keep typing your own words.

It’s like playing Scrabble. Sure, you can put together words, but are they going to be a triple-word score or a five-point concession?

If I let Him guide me in Scrabble, I’ll be dancing in triple-word scores.

It’s the difference in one letter sometimes – coping and moping. Coping means accepting the tiles you’ve drawn and making something of it, moping means pouting and resigning yourself to your fate. The difference is between the “c” and the “m.”

I don’t have to know the next play in the Scrabble game either. You see what letters you have to work with after you commit to a play and are able to draw two new letters. In life, committing to a “word” or “play” that the Lord has revealed will lead to the next wordplay.

Sometimes there will be low-scoring word plays. Not every one will be a whopper. But, we’re promised peace that passes all understanding and direction better than we could supply.

So, like Drew Brees, don’t let the shoulder injury keep you from pursuing God’s calling on your life.

Tyndale Media Center provided me with a copy of “Coming Back Stronger.” My thoughts and opinions are my own.