Saturday June 10, 2017
Myanmar is quite the experience so far. In several ways it reminds me of Chibuto, Mozambique where the living conditions were primitive but the time there could be pleasant depending on your attitude. In fact, right before I sat down to type this blog, I watched as some of the boys who live here got a pig out of it’s pin. I should’ve known better, but my first thoughts were that they were giving the pig some exercise. That was when I saw another boy with an axe. And then I heard the squeal. So, I can say that a pig was slaughtered before my eyes during the writing of my first blog about Myanmar. I was never a fan of pork to begin with, but with the help of Africa and Myanmar that won’t be changing any time soon.
Getting to Myanmar was an adventure of it’s own and the entire time I kept hearing God reassure me that He was going to get all of us into the country. Thinking back on our journey into the country now is comical, but the entire time I can see how God was faithful.
It all began with our entire squad leaving our hostel at 7am and heading to the bus station (we would need to get on a bus to get to a town near the border). Three of us entered the station, daypack and backpack strapped on and failed to hear the king’s anthem playing (when it plays you’re expected to stand in respect and it’s very offensive not to do so. It wasn’t until the people began pointing to the TV screens with the king of Thailand on them that we noticed all the people standing in respect and heard the song playing. We immediately froze and apologized afterwards, luckily the people of Thailand are quick to give grace.
After making an entrance, we gathered outside to find out that the bus we needed wouldn’t leave until 10:45pm (it was around 8 or 9 in the morning at this point). We arrived at our next destination around 7 the following morning and that was when we were at our next step towards leaving Thailand and entering Myanmar.
A former World Race host met with some of the leaders and discussed the process of getting across the border: we would walk across.
I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it must’ve looked for 41 foreigners to be making their way across the bridge that connects Thailand and Myanmar. It was only fitting that the sky darkened at this point and the rain began to fall. I didn’t bother with my rain jacket because it was a nice break from the humidity that was causing us to drip in sweat.
We lined up with our Myanmar visas in hand waiting to present them to the border police. I had mine folded nicely with my passport, and I don’t know why I did it, but I decided to unfold it and look at it.
It promptly ripped down the middle.
My first reaction was to panic, and looking back on it now, I know it was God Who kept me unnaturally calm. You’re going to Myanmar, He said to me. I’m in control no matter what. That was all it took for me to feel God’s peace comfort and assure me that even when little things seem to go wrong, He is still in control of the situation. He didn’t bring all of us this far only to forget about us in Thailand.
I watched as my squad-mates were motioned one by one to come forward, and then it was my turn.
I stepped up to the first man, and sat down in the chair where he would take my picture (my backpack was still on, I’ve learned how to sit with it strapped onto my back). He asked for my passport and visa. I took out the visa which was now two pieces of paper and laid them on the desk. He laughed and said it was no problem.
So, I moved on to the next man, who waved the pieces of paper in the air before laughing, stamping and signing it.
After successfully entering Myanmar by about 9am, we walked to the bus station (which was literally a hole in the wall and buses would stop in front of it). Our bus wasn’t until 4pm, and a church across the street was kind enough to let us store our backpacks and hang out there (it was raining off and on). This was a blessing because they led us to a hut sitting in a tree where all of us were able to rest until 4pm.
(Side note: all of us were hungry and thirsty and we were able to buy water and found a man who was selling chicken on the side of the road. Although it went against my beliefs to eat fried chicken off the road, I did and none of us got sick from it.)
We reached our bus stop at 2:30am and due to a miscommunication, the message that we were in the country never reached our host and we couldn’t get a hold of them via phone. So, 21 of us waited until 6am to try to call and see if someone would answer. In the meantime, several monks asked for money before falling asleep nearby. Against my best efforts, I fell asleep for about three hours.
I’d like to clarify that now all of us are snug inside of the walls of our host’s compound and we have been teaching daily to college students.
I was discussing our travel day with some of my teammates and it wasn’t until one of them made the point that no one in their right mind would want to choose to experience half of the things we did. It was rough, and many of us were at our end. I remember reaching the bus station around 2:30am and by this point I’d gone about two days with 3-5 hours of sleep, sweated consistently, no shower, same clothes, had no access to a toilet-only a squatty, had little food other than the sketchy fried chicken, taken a “tree-hut” nap, ripped my visa in half, and was physically tired from carrying my entire world on my back from Thailand into Myanmar when we crossed the border. I remember I had to sit down in one of the chairs and I asked one of my squad-mates if we could pray. I needed to be reminded that God was in control, and that although He may be allowing us to experience difficult things, didn’t mean that He’d forgotten us.
When we reach our end is where God begins. Who in their right mind would choose to experience the things we experienced? Only someone who has been given grace from God. I’ve been being reminded that I can’t do this on my own strength, and reaching a point where I actually realize that is painful, but essential. When I first left the USA, there was a part of me that believed I could make this journey on my own strength. As each day goes by, I feel God stripping me down little by little and allowing things like crazy travel days to happen so that I can be aware of how dependent I am on Him. I can’t do this on my own strength and I’m not supposed to, because it’s not about me to begin with. This journey has always been about God, and giving Him the glory.
