Dear world,
Katy here, coming in from Chiang Mai, Thailand, a city full of both parts spiritual darkness, and inviting life. For the first time on the Race, I have a sense that I have landed somewhere very different than anywhere I’ve ever been before. And I like that. I want to tell you all about Chiang Mai, the ministry we’ll be investing in this month, and how jazzed I am about all of it.
But first: rewind.
I missed blogging last month while our team lived up in the mountains. God showed me so many things that I never want to forget.
I saw bamboo forests and learned how make fences and chicken coops out of them.
I saw a micro-farm and 14 people dedicated to digging knee deep in the dirt to create a pond for catfish.
I saw purple sunsets, the greenest valleys, and a thousand stars on the rooftop.
I saw God move in my teammates, my family. We shared our life stories with one another, a new layer of vulnerability, and we all learned a little more what it means to be known, transparent and trusting.
I saw little girls and I danced with them. Once just for silly fun, twice because the girls grabbed my hand and asked what time dance class would be at. Every time after that because God said,
I want to dance with you. I made you to dance; dance more.
I saw God speak into my identity through these little girls sharing dance with me. We went up on the auditorium stage and practiced pointing our toes, and leaping across the floor and saying French words: relevé, passé, chassé. After years of competing, dancing for everyone else, God said to dance for Him.
Not to prove you can, but because I say you can. Because it makes your soul come alive, because I put that in your heart when I created you.
I saw 30 people gather around the stage to cheer the girls on for their “dance recital.” I saw ShynaMae and LizaPearl, hearts beating fast, dance beautifully. I saw God in the crowd cheering, knowing He was cheering even more.
I saw a man named Rhayan, who could have been an actor, a Filippino pop singer, but instead choose to humble himself before the Lord and serve God’s children. From being neglected by his own parents and supporting himself since he was 12-years-old, God has been preparing Rhayan’s heart to love the fatherless.
I saw a group of boys from the streets of Manila set foot on camp in the green hills of San Mateo and come to life. I saw the glue high fade away and light return to their eyes.
I saw the same group of kids in their world. I saw smog and dirt and boys passed out on sheets of cardboard. Dirty feet, glue bottles tucked under t-shirts, and the passerby’s who scorn them, step on them, and call them filthy.
I saw Jesus that same day. I saw a dance party, games, laughter and bewilderment from the same passerby’s, wondering why anyone would spend time with the street kids. Maybe, just maybe, they saw us dancing with them and thought the boys might have some worth after all.
I saw a little boy named Brown, who slide his finger across his neck when I asked about his parents. I saw him curl up in my lap and heard him sing me a song—a song he wrote in longing words I couldn’t fully grasp, but could understand two of: mom, dad.
I got rub Brown’s back and sing over him and I heard God say,
This is why you’re here. I can’t hold Brown in a way that he can see and understand, but you can.
I saw all of this. And now you can see it too.
All my love in Christ,
Katy
