no words

Spending two and a half months in Thailand was maybe the best thing our family has ever done together. It’s incredible the quality time that comes from spending a tremendous amount of quantity time doing life all together.

We navigated crowded street markets and unfamiliar shops. We explored new cities and found hidden roti stands. We fed sea turtles and bathed elephants and hunted crabs along the ocean shoreline. & we traveled everywhere in the back of a bumpy truck on the wrong side of the road. But by far the hardest – and best – thing we did as a family was to learn how to love without words.

When we first arrived in Thailand, we weren’t given much instruction. We had a lot of freedom to meet people and give away our time as we saw a need, with one constant woven into our daily routine. Every morning at 9am we would pile into our Nissan Hero for the two minute drive down the road to a little white building we lovingly called the CDC. This Child Development Center was a second home to over twenty bright eyed kids, three of the most loving teachers, and the best cook in all of Thailand. We met them all our first day in Bang Sak, and were told we’d be working there to help the kids learn English. What we didn’t know was that none of them (including the teachers) spoke a word of it. & so the journey of learning how to serve began.

No one told us what to do our first day on the job. We weren’t given a schedule or curriculum or an outline to follow. We didn’t know where we were needed or how our family would fit into the rhythm already in place, and I’ll be honest, that can feel pretty awkward.  But we just kept showing up. Day after day, we’d walk through that sliding door to be greeted with high fives and running hugs, and we found our place.

It’s amazing the things you discover when you’re forced to be observant. When no one tells you how things are done or what they need, you have to really watch to learn for yourself. We studied how the day unfolded; how snack time followed attendance, and the kids needed help washing their hands and getting their drinks. We learned after reading time we gathered in a big circle to sing songs, and Baby Shark was always the one they want to sing first. We got to know every student by name, & knew which ones loved shoulder rides at recess, who soaked up English like a sponge, and the ones who just needed a little extra love and attention.

It was remarkable to watch how good Jonah & Teagan were at this. That by after the first week, they knew how to set up chairs and when to teach the alphabet and which baby powder certain kids wanted after their shower. Jonah had his own special notebook to write down Thai words and phrases, and had most of the students’ names learned long before Scott & I did. They knew they were at the center to help, and stepped right up into that role (even when Teagan was only a few months older than some).

Through real and legitimate language barriers, these were the hardest, most tear-filled goodbyes. & not just to all of those sweet, wonderful kids, but each of the teachers as well. They had loved us right back, in their own incredibly observant ways. We couldn’t speak much, but we lived life alongside each other. Every day we worked and shared meals and laughed at all the ridiculous moments together. They saw the way we parented our kids, and we saw the way they loved their students. They cooked heaping bowls of our favorite meals, and we lent a hand in all the small ways we could. And on the day we left, I got an email from my dear teacher friend with a message that said, “I love you and your family, your coming here makes me want to know God more” – the most beautiful & humbling compliment I’ve ever received.

We’ve started over this past week in South Africa. & a lot of those hard emotions have surfaced again. That small, internal struggle of not quite knowing our place or purpose or where we fit, all the while surrounded by everything that is new and different. We don’t have a big language barrier here, but have traded that for not having a car, washing machine, freezer or Wi-Fi (which is a different kind of hard for us Americans). On my worst days, I’ve tried to figure it all out on my own, and on my best days I’m reminded that God has us here, surrounded by incredible people, for reasons I don’t fully understand yet. & he gives an unexplainable peace right in the midst of all my questions.

All of the lessons we’re learning along this journey – about rhythm and serving and loving well – I pray they stick. That this not just be a story of things that happened to us, but a instead a story of how God is reshaping us. How taking away something (like talking) can help you to love better. How being forced to slow down, comes with it more space for observing and intentionality. & how to not discredit relationships or impact based on those initial (or continual) uncomfortable moments.

I’ll wrap up with Teagan’s prayer from last night, because I think she says it best of all, “Thank you God for all of our new friends, and for our big adventure trip, and for the Alexandria school. Please bless this place. I pray we don’t give up.”

amen.