By month eight of the Race, I’d ridden in some interesting vehicles. A motorbike in Mozambique, our all-too-familiar van in India (long live The Traveler), and tuk-tuks in Cambodia. At this point I assumed I’d seen it all, but waiting for us in Thailand was a new one: the songthaew.
I can’t pronounce songthaew, so we just called it a red truck – that’s essentially what it was. It was this modified, covered pickup truck with benches and an open back, and my team was tasked with fitting all of our gear, all of our groceries, and ourselves inside of it to get from Chiang Mai to Wiang Pa Pao. It was a long, winding ride as we zig-zagged through the mountains, and my team assumed our usual travel day positions: Lyndi taking pictures, Racquel asleep, me staring intensely out the window to fend off motion sickness… but we made it to our destination no worse for wear.
I knew two things about our upcoming month: we would be at a children’s home with 40 girls, and half of them played guitar. Needless to say, I was pretty excited about this prospect. When we arrived, the girls were there to greet us, and I could tell that there was something different about them. I’ve volunteered at a handful of children’s homes, but none of the others had the atmosphere of Sending Hope International. These girls acted their ages – unlike some kids I’ve witnessed who are basically adults in an eight year-old’s body. They were excited to see us but didn’t cling to us as if they were starved for attention. When it comes to residential “orphan” care, (most children in institutions have relatives somewhere) this place was doing it right.
We soon found out our tasks for the month. Each morning, we would walk the girls to school, and then return for bible study and English lessons with the staff. The afternoons would be spent doing a variety things – sometimes we would help with landscaping or construction, plan activities for the girls, teach at local schools, and sometimes we had time to ourselves. Every evening we would teach English to the girls, and then everyone would come together for chapel. On weekends we would plan activities for the girls, and on Sundays one of us would give a message for church. Having a set schedule like this on the World Race? Almost unprecedented.
That first night, we went to chapel. Having been to a few dozen church/chapel services at this point, each one different from the next, I had no idea what this was going to be like. What it ended up being like was some of the most joyful, authentic worship experiences I had ever been a part of. And it was all led by thirteen year-old girls.
Yeah, this place was special.
Before we knew it, a busy, fulfilling, wonderful month was underway. Our first order of business: putting together English lessons. This wasn’t our first rodeo when it came to teaching – we had done it in both Vietnam and Cambodia – but this time we didn’t have a curriculum. We split the girls into three classes based on age with two of us teaching each class, and for one hour a day, every day, these were our students. Lyndi and I taught the oldest girls, and while it took a little bit of trial and error (and a whole lot of improvisation) to get started, it ended up being pretty great.
Really, the whole month ended up being about teaching and learning. We taught a few English worship songs to the girls, while the staff taught my team a song in Thai (which we attempted to perform, with hilarious results). We shared Bible lessons on Sundays and learned how to worship with child-like joy. We learned how to serve others better, to be more selfless, to be more grateful, to be more flexible. To be better people.
Somehow we ended up in a cultural parade, carrying Thai flags regardless of the fact that we were obviously not Thai. Somehow we taught a two-hour English class in a local primary school regardless of the fact that we had maybe ten minutes to prepare. Somehow we spoke and sang at three church services all in 24 hours in a village. Somehow we met another entire World Race squad completely by chance.
All of this and more made it one of my favorite months on the race by far, and Sending Hope was my absolute favorite ministry partner.
None of us wanted it to end, but inevitably that end came. On our last night, we had one final bonfire with the girls and the staff. We sang songs together, performed skits, and then, one by one, they washed our feet. It’s a symbolic gesture in itself, but especially in Thailand, where feet are considered culturally unclean and are not to be touched. It was beautiful, and I’ll never forget it.
Many of the girls had made us cards, and every time one of them came up to me, hugged me, and gave me their note or drawing, it added another level to this already impossible farewell. They would say “I love you,” and I would have to respond with “Jesus loves you more.” (You’re not supposed to say “I love you” to kids on short-term trips. It doesn’t matter if you love them – you’re leaving.)
As the fire burned down to embers and it was time to go to bed, Natnaree approached me. Even though I would never show it, she was one of my favorites. She’s a sweet, intelligent, talented girl and she speaks great English for her age. “Will you come back?”
Her simple question broke my heart. That’s another thing you’re not supposed to do – never promise to come back, even if you have every intention to. “I don’t know.”
This didn’t faze her. She looked at me and smiled like she always did. “Okay. Then I will come to New York.”
You know those moments where you’re laughing and crying at the same time and aren’t sure what emotion to feel? That was most definitely one of them.
The sun rose on our last few hours in Wiang Pa Pao, we walked the girls to school one more time, said goodbye, and walked back solemnly. We began our ride back down to Chiang Mai and our beloved mountain sanctuary faded away in the distance.
But here’s the thing – something I learned many times over on the Race – and it’s an important one: When you end your time somewhere feeling like you have nothing left in you, it’s because you gave all that you had. The heartbreak is worth it every time.
