The nights were when I most came alive. That was when Jesus and I and my brothers and sisters went to war. Our weapon was the light of Christ and our only foe was the darkness there which immediately lost its power when the light shined.
The bar street had become the most normal place I’d ever walked. And while on the one hand, there was nothing normal about what I saw every night-things that were never a part of the original plan-on the other hand was a normalcy I’d never allowed myself to be immersed in before. What was normal was how natural, how real it was for me to love each person I encountered. What was normal was the camaraderie I developed with so many peculiar people, each going through something different but standing on the common ground of desiring to be seen and loved. Why had I never allowed myself to develop this camaraderie on the streets I walked everyday at home?
Normal became seeing the beggar who had lost a leg because of a land mine and sitting with him on the sidewalk trying to decipher the riddlish English he spoke as tourists walked right over us instead of walking around us. It became normal helping Marina set up her lady boy bar while acting sassy to anyone she met. It became normal to joke around with the small Thai man who taught boxing lessons each morning. It was normal the way we walked down the street and actually stopped to ask people how they were and wait for their honest answer. The way we made up clapping games with the little kids who walked around without a parent. The way Will bought a coke for the mother of the little girl who tried to sell us flowers so that she could stay and play with us a while and just get to be a child. The triplet bar girls who became my best friends in Thailand, and we mostly communicated through laughter. Leap-the Christian bar girl who is joy and a gentle reminder of the Father’s grace. It was normal that we ate at the same place every night. And it was normal that the little girl’s mom brought her food over to us so she could eat with us. Normal was the way we went to talk to Aran every night, even on the nights he seemed indifferent, because we care about the pursuit, and sometimes, consistency and persistence are the thread that make all the difference.
So is it normal to walk on a bar street every night and see prostitutes and child beggars and really broken people? Not according to the standards of normalcy we typically understand. But it was normal for me. Because loving people is normal. I know these people by their face, by their voice, by their little giggles. What could be more normal than that?
