Cyclone Nargis

***report***

I have been doing a report on Cyclone Nargis. If you are unaware Nargis was a cyclone that devastated the delta region of Myanmar in early May, killing tens upon thousands of unexpected victims. Currently, 55, 917 people are missing and 77,738 have been pronounced dead. Millions more are homeless without running water or a viable source of income.

Because the government stopped counting bodies, it is feared that the death toll could rise to one million.

If this is true than Nargis is the worst cyclone in recorded history.

Following the cyclone, Myanmar’s military led junta closed its borders to foreign aid. Behind the government’s blockades, even more needlessly died from disease and famine.

I have read some firsthand and have heard secondhand accounts. Here are three:

- One grandparent, while struggling to stay afloat, had to release one of her two grandchildren go in order to survive a giant a wave. Soon a second wave came and took the second child. She survived by holding to a tree.

- One survivor watched the 120 mph winds take away all his family members.

- One woman saved both herself and her child by grabbing a tree with both arms while biting her baby’s neck.

The cyclone severely affected the Karen, an intensely persecuted and marginalized people of this region. A huge portion of the victims who died was from this tribe, many of whom are believers.

Where is God in the midst of intense suffering? It is one of the deepest theological questions that many struggle with.

One relief worker told me that after the cyclone there has been a harvest of conversions- people who have found new hope in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

“I don’t understand why it happened like this,” he said. “We just have to say that God allowed it to happen. The believers are more close to God because they cannot depend on anything; even though some (relief workers) have donated, many can’t come. So they just trust God. “

With each visit, dozens and hundreds of people have turned their lives over to Jesus, he said. In various areas, church communities are beginning to spring up in the aftermath of this tragedy.

“On one side something bad happened, but on the other side there is the Lord’s harvest,” he said. “One side is very sad, on the other side God’s doing something.”

Nearly five months after the cyclone, the immediate trauma of the event has alleviated. The government has informally opened avenues for some international aid. However, Myanmar’s borders are still strictly regulated against outside agencies. Those who live in these regions have begun the slow process of piecing their lives back together- first by rebuilding their homes.

While the rehabilitation is underway, the long-term effects are evident. Many survivors, and even animals, cower and hide whenever strong weather begins to arise. These psychological effects linger and may remain for many years.

Hope for these victim’s futures are weighted in their perseverance to rebuild. But they are still in great need of assistance. With Myanmar’s rigid borders, the local people need to be empowered financially and spiritually so that restoration can move forward. Surrounding communities with access to the local people are the best avenues to give help.

One organization’s network of churches within the affected region is working towards empowerment through the local church. This network of churches and denominations has time-tested methods for crossing borders. God is bringing new life to a region flooded with death.

***

Personally, processing an event of such tremendous magnitude is draining. It would be easy to displace myself and think of something else. But that’s not why I’m here. Again, my mission is to act as a liaison between you and the people of the ARNA. Here are some of images that help articulate the grief experienced by the Burmese people. As a word of caution, some of these images are graphic.

You can contact me if you want to partner with a relief agency.

Nargis Photos

A poem I wrote as I process this tragedy:

"CONVINCED"

In the wake of the wind,
There is forgiveness for sins
In the midst of weeping and wailing,
His mercies are never, never failing.
No. I am convinced.
Death’s stench cannot quench,
The river of God’s love,
He sees the tears,
And heals the wounds of the mourning.
On May 2, a million may have died,
But I am convinced.
His mercies are new, new every morning.

I Need to Shave

Thin Ice

***a personal & reflective journal***

I am the best judge of my emotional history.

When I first started walking with God, I was young and very zealous. I just wanted God’s strength and power to be a part of me. I wasn’t concerned about being weak. In fact being weak was the last thing on my mind (very typical male, I know ☺).

The reality was, I carried much emotional baggage. I discovered quickly that deciding to follow Jesus didn’t mean I could just check all my struggles at the door. Past pains and abuses had made me susceptible to very deep emotional lows. Even though I’d pray to God and read his word every day, the pains from my past always seemed to linger. I hadn’t drowned them out yet. It was so deep that every week I would find myself entertaining thoughts of suicide. In those moments, I thought that I’d rather die than live in so much pain.

I sought God, but I was only concerned with being strong- I couldn’t see myself as a child, hurting and in desperate need of God’s mercy.

It was during that season that a verse from the Bible had a powerful impact on my life. Today, it is a huge reason why I believe that the Bible is “living and active” and gives “light to the eyes” and “restores the soul.” It was Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:14-15 that helped me turn a new corner.

“If you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

My pain was so great; I didn’t feel a tinge of mercy. I only wanted the person who hurt me to know the depth of my pain. Jesus’ word to me was that if I truly received God’s forgiveness for all my sins against Him, than I should be able to forgive others.

I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t in me. It was only by looking into the compassion and majesty of my Savior that I was really able to forgive. I realized that being able to forgive those who have hurt and destroyed me- that was true power. It was the realest testimony that I had received divine forgiveness.

So I forgave with a forgiveness that wasn’t my own. It was simple and with words, but profound in terms that I think God saw me from heaven and was pleased. When I, in action, lived out God forgiveness to me by forgiving others, I received not only restoration, but also power and a new life that only comes from God.

I am thankful that God’s ways are not our ways. In that season of growth, God was teaching me that my weakness was his way of making me depend on his strength. By showing me that I needed to live out of my weakness instead of my power, he was teaching me that I needed him as the sole source of my life. The whole time, as he was instilling me with the truth that “his love is better than life”, he was healing my brokenness.

***

Today I walk the streets of Bangkok. I look back at that season of my life and laugh and remember fondly the vigor of my youth (although I am still young).

I have been wary of my emotional history, and have intentionally treaded softly in these last weeks. I have taken small steps, gauging my heart along the way. I have tested the ice beneath me, pressing the weight of my emotions on top of it, waiting to see if it would crack. I am thankful that because of Jesus’ healing in my life, I have discovered that the ice beneath me is not as thin as it used to be. I am stronger now.

God has prepared me for this season of my life.

While I am renewed by his strength and forgiveness, I have still found it difficult to completely embrace my new life in Asia. As I am trying to lay hold of a new season, I am learning that a part of me still wants to hold on to the past. I guess that is natural.

It’s not really the lifestyle that I miss. Surfing, snowboarding and food I can live with out (but I’m betting that missing Laker basketball will prove difficult ☺). I made up my mind a long time ago that I would never make God adjust his plans to my lifestyle, but rather, I would be the one to adjust to wherever he sends me. So it’s not the lifestyle, but I think it’s the relationships that make it hard.

In California, whenever the pressures of work, school or ministry weighed heavy on me I could always find an escape. I could make the drive down the 91 to see my parents, play with my dog and eat all the food my mother cooked. Or I could call my trusted friends to just hang out. At home I had relationships to lean on where I could just be myself with no apprehension- completely unfiltered with all my flaws.
There’s something about living in another part of the world, or anywhere new, that strips you of all your dependencies.

Each night I have been in Bangkok, I find myself dreaming that I’m back home spending time with a different person I love. It’s ironic, because while I am dreaming, part of me wants to be back in Asia. But when I’m awake I think about being home. Morning comes and I open my eyes and have to remind myself of where I am. It’s a good thing I think, because with every new day I’m reminded that God has faithfully brought me to this point. In my youth, I am thankful for the degrees that he has broken and humbled me. I’m so unworthy, only willing.

So while I have not posted, I have journaled much. And I promise that some of them are pretty funny and not as serious as today’s. I just haven’t posted them. Honestly, I have felt a little apprehensive about putting them up since now I know you all are reading! But I promise to be as candid as possible. Please accept my miscalculated judgments and fleshly inclinations! To His Name be the Glory.

Missing you,

eb


"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." 2 Cor. 12:9

The Office

**narrative journal**
Time: 11am Bangkok Sept. 5. First day in Bangkok

The air in Bangkok was humid. At the *** offices, someone had plastered a colorful sticker on the sliding glass door. It said “Rejoice”. I slid open the door and was immediately engulfed by the office’s icy temperature. Two female receptionists, who looked around my own age, were in the first room. With more awkward bowing, I pressed my palms together and introduced myself

“I am EJ,” I said. “from America.”

Both of them spoke softly and were hesitant with their English. The receptionist’s were two cousins named Rita and Pam. Rita, the daughter of John (the scraggly Laotian who looked like Alfred E. Neuman), sat at the desks closest to me, was tilting her head with a quizzical look.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“The US.” I answered.

“But where are you from?” she asked again.

“Well, I was born in America,” I explained. “But my parents are Filipino.”

“Ohhh! Okay.” Both of the receptionists nodded their heads in understanding. I was told later that when they heard that an American was coming, they immediately thought of a very tall, very Caucasian man. Of course, I am neither of those.

“Is Mary here?” I asked.

“I think she is upstairs.” Rita answered.

I moved on through the office, which was half-home, half-work place. Dark-brown wood covered the floor and a crescent entry way divided the first room in two parts. It was quaint and welcoming and was kept meticulously clean. The second section served as the workplace for John and a Burmese pastor named Tuba.

When I opened the first door, I found myself no longer in an office but a living room. There was a couch, a tv and bookshelves filled with Bibles, dictionaries, thesauruses and dozens of books on missionary work. Over the dining room table, someone had hung a colorful world map.

I was making my way to the staircase when I saw a woman through the backdoor. Her frame was slighter than most Asians, and her eyes were cast downward, focused on something she was doing. She was older, bespectacled and dressed simply. I went towards her to introduce myself, but then, something made me hesitate.

I turned back to the staircase. Where there was another sliding glass door, this time with an “I Love Jesus” sticker pasted at eye level (I guess they put these up so no one will walk into the glass). I pressed my palm against the door to slide it open, leaving my handprint on the glass.

Upstairs I found three more rooms and a bathroom. Two rooms were used for office space and the third was a bedroom. Looking for Mary, I peeked through the first door, but she was nowhere to be found. I moved on to the second office, which I found out belonged to Paul, the director of the organization. When I entered, he was pacing the room.

“Eric,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”

He had spent at least a decade in the States, which had given his English accent a Western drawl. He extended his hand to me and I shook it gratefully. After all my awkward bowing, I welcomed a nice, strong handshake.


I told him I was glad to be here and I made my way back downstairs where I was surprised to find the bespectacled woman bent down at the door, windexing my handprints of off the glass! She was the house servant! In America I was never used to having servants. I remembered that in Asia, it was a regular occurrence.

Her name was Dee, a Cambodian who had converted from Buddhism to Christianity a very long time ago. After she had given her life to the church, she moved forward and never looked back. Now she was serving at the office, living in a small room behind the house.

I sat at one of the desks in the first room and waited for Mary to arrive.

***

At around 4pm Bangkok time, I walked the 20 feet to the adjacent house where the weekly chapel was being held. Over a dozen workers and missionaries sat around a white conference table, where large maps of over a half-dozen countries hung on the walls. I took my place at one of the open seats.

They sang a worship song, which I remembered singing in church from the mid 90’s.

As they sang, my eyes began to flutter. It was around 2 am back home. The jet lag was making it my eyes sink like quicksand. Luckily, the AC was again, blasting an Arctic breeze, which was probably the only thing keeping me awake.

After the music, John welcomed me. In a clockwise direction, I was introduced to each member of the team.

The first was a Chinese man named Z ***names have been changed for the safety of workers. Recently engaged, he had a boyish face that made him look almost too trusting. He seemed to grin at all times. Z worked in one of the most closed countries in SE Asia.

Next was Goku. He processed papers for everyone’s travel.

Ping-Pong was the comedian of the group. Now that I think of it, I have never found out exactly what his job was. But he did all the odd jobs around. He was the most robust and easy going of all and great for a laugh. He was also the director’s little brother.

Tuba was another rounded brother, who played the guitar and sang vehemently. He was a pastor that seemed to have a genuinely good-natured spirit, which I think is a rarity to find. (If Christians are jars that God fills with joy, I have to say- I think this man is filled to the brim.)

Mary was the boss after Paul, and coordinated work in different countries.

Dalma was a petite Filipina: Assistant to the director.

Tuna worked in Thailand.

Lucy was a British woman who enjoyed telling me that I look like Barack Obama- the next president.

Ruth was a Filipina who cooked often, and served at schools and different countries throughout Asia.

Jackie worked with a particular oppressed people group in north Asia.

And then Rita and Pam, the secretaries. And also John.

They gave me the floor to speak. I was tired and didn’t have much to say. I ended up telling them my testimony so that they could get to know me a bit and know something about my history. I told them about my background and a little bit about why I came.

“…. so that’s my testimony,” I said afterwards. “I just wanted to go where there was the most need and God gave me this opportunity. Since I was seventeen, one of my prayers has always been: ‘make me a servant, humble and meek, Lord let me lift up those who are weak.’ Hopefully as we talk you all can share something about yourselves to me.”

Afterwords, they all gave reports about what was happening in their specific areas of work. I was tired, but I found their incredible stories of faith despite persecution, inspiring and re-energizing.

I went home and even though my body was tired, my mind felt like it was going a million miles a second. I slept for just two hours.

No amount of sleep could have prepared me for the next day.

***
next up: "Muted"...

A Fish out of Water

***narrative journal***

Time: 2:30 am Bangkok time just after I was dropped off by the Jabba guy

The creaky elevator labored its way up to the eighth floor of the building. It gave a slight ding and the doors grinded itself open. As I stepped into the expansive white-tiled hallway, the fluorescent lights cast an ominous mood. Down the long hallway, sets of shoes were placed neatly just outside most of the doors. My steps echoed as I made my way to the second to last room. Room 824.

My room was bare but spacious (a bed, two tables, and a dresser). It was actually larger than what I was used to. The air conditioning hummed silently as I leaned my luggage against the wall. It wasn’t exactly Motel 6,but it was accommodating. I even had a balcony. The view was breathtaking. I could see the entire Bangkok City skyline. It was beautiful.

My first night in Bangkok I couldn’t sleep because of jet lag. Instead I practiced taking pictures with my camera on my balcony. Eventually, the sun began to creep up over the skyline. Flashes of light broke through as the clouds began to emerge behind the city buildings. The sky began to bleed a faint pink. It was a surreal moment for me- my first morning on the other side of the world, and one of the most beautiful sceneries I had ever seen in my life. In that breathtaking moment I couldn’t help feeling like God always knew that I'd be standing right there. On that balcony. Thousands of miles from home. I don’t remember what I prayed, but I know I thanked Him for the life I left behind and the life he had in store for me. With my tripod, I took a panoramic picture [It’s posted on my blog].

Hours later I already began to feel edgy in my room. The air conditioner had only one temperature. Ice cold. When it was off it felt too humid. I decided to try to be adventurous and venture out of my room. So I made my way down to the lobby. A glass security door separated the elevators and the lobby. I tried to open it three or four times but it wouldn’t budge. From the other side of the glass the security guard shouted out directions to me in Thai, but I couldn’t understand him so I kept trying to yank the door open. There was actually a button next to the door that unlocked it. Oops. I guess I was just a little nervous.

I walked up and down the lobby hallway a few times. On one end there was a salon, a furniture store and a market. The opposite way led to a pool hall, a Laundromat and a worn down gymnasium.

Just past the Laundromat there were steps that led outside where a dozen motorbikes were parked. It was an underpass for cars to pass thru to the other side of the building. Part of the underpass was cordoned off with a wall and a sign that said “Rompo Gym”. There were pictures of dozens of Muay Thai fighters pasted to the wall. The sign said:

“Training time: 4-6pm If you want to train and look at gym call…”

Hmmm. I peaked inside and saw a gym that looked like something out of Bloodsport. There were two rings on either side with about 7 or 8 punching bags scattered throughout. Concrete floors, dirty mirrors, puddles of water, and rusted weights. On the walls were old photos of boxers holding up belts. It smelled like the sweat had dried onto the walls. A gargantuan man in Thai boxing shorts was kicking the stuffing out of one of the bags. Two others were sparring in the ring.

“Huup! Huup!” He let out a yell every time he unleashed one of his kicks. I thought of that no neck guy in Bloodsport who could take a man’s life with his bare hands. One of the guys started speaking to me in Thai and started making his way towards me.

I smiled and turned around back to the hotel.

***

In my room I picked up the receiver and for the fourth time, tried to dial the number of my boss Mary **names have been changed for the safety of believers**. It was still Friday morning and I hadn’t slept the whole night (jet lag) since I arrived around 3 am. I guess I was too excited. I didn’t know that in Thailand you were required to dial “0” whenever making a call to a cell phone. But the paper that my ***- USA contact gave me said “02”. So every time I pressed the wrong number the phone kept sending me to the front desk of my building and a soft-spoken Thai woman would answer. She kept trying to give me instructions, but I couldn’t understand a word she said. Oops again. I did this a number of times before I finally got thru to Mary at ***.

“Good morning Tita Mary!”

“Good morning EJ. Are you awake now?”

“Yes. I have been trying to call but it was not working…”

Mary said she would send someone to pick me up and I hung up the phone. 30 minutes later a skinny, scraggly Laotian showed up in front of the hotel. John had a wide smile and teeth that pointed out in at least 3 or 4 directions. His face reminded me of a Southeast Asian version of Alfred E. Neuman, that fictional character on the cover of MAD magazines. He had a leathery complexion.

“Hello I am EJ.” Like a dummy I put my hands together and bowed my head. I had read a book on Thailand before I left and it said that's how people say hello. He wasn’t even Thai! Oops again.

“Ookay.” John said as he turned and walked down the street to hail a cab.[I learned later that John was actually the pastor of a Laotian church. He is a well-traveled believer who does a lot for the kingdom.]

It was now daylight and this was my first chance to see Bangkok from the street level. As we rode the 1-kilo over to the *** office, a couple times I almost screamed. Apparently in Bangkok there is no right of way. People drive like they’re playing bumper cars at Knott’s Berry Farm. Except somehow, one person knows to stop right before impact. In addition over half the people are fearless motor bikers who pummel through traffic with no discernable regard for their own lives. I almost had a heart attack. At the office I opened the creaky blue gate and stepped into the driveway. There was an old van with a sticker that said “Christ to Thailand” and a rusted badminton net stood against the wall. I was greeted immediately by hoarse barking.The dog, named Ping-an (Peace in English), was a lot uglier than my puppy back home.

“He’s just saying hello,” John said.

The offices are actually two adjacent homes, which mirror each other perfectly. The house furthest from the gate uses the second floor to house 6 or 7 missionaries. I planned to move from my building into the house. It would be cheaper and I could get to know the workers.

I slid open the glass door...

(a video log from September 9)

Welcome to Bangkok

***narrative journal***

Time: 1:30am (11:30pm PST)
The flight here was somewhat of an adventure *for more refer to video log on 9-3*

I arrived at Bangkok very much blind. Before we took off out of Taipei, the flight attendants had to slap a sticker on me recognizing me as a special passenger. I received early entry and was escorted to my seat. Truthfully, I could hardly see and I did enjoy the special treatment ☺. After everyone got off the plane the airline escorted me and a middle-aged Thai native (who was in a wheelchair) through the airport. His name was Kris.

When we met he said, “My name is Kris. K-R-I-S.”

He was actually from Chino Hills. As we were walking I stopped to go to the restroom and I almost went into the woman’s restroom. Luckily, he stopped me or else I totally would have reenacted that one commercial where the lady walks into the men’s room!

I guess you could say we were the lame and the blind. His English was very broken and he didn’t say much, but he was an exuberant guy. I think he mostly knew the bad words, because he mostly just cussed whenever I asked him a question.

Our escort led us through customs (we didn’t have to wait in line) and to the baggage claim. Luckily as soon as we got there I was able to make out on the conveyor belt the form of my luggage, which had my spare contacts. I quickly grabbed the case, unlocked it, opened it and retrieved a contact lens. Once my vision came back into focus, I was so relieved. I could see!

The whole situation made me realize how much I need to depend on God. I know losing my contacts was just an accident, but I guess I’m a thinker. The situation made me think of how, as Christians we are called to live by faith. In Hebrews it defines faith as “being certain of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see”. If you know me, in a lot of ways I can be a high control person. I like to micromanage things to give me assurance of a favorable outcome. Perhaps in some way God was reminding me, as I entered Bangkok, that faith is not about what I can control, but trusting that God works out every situation for his glory and my good. I’m reminded that as I seek to grow and follow God’s plan for my life I will have to live by faith and not by sight.

Our escort loaded Kris’s and my baggage onto one cart. As we walked toward the exit I noticed a rather large, Jabba looking man with a sign that said “Ethnos Asia”. I waved to him. He didn’t speak that much English. He came over and I unloaded my lugged from the cart. Kris had told me to tip our escort $5.00, 204 baht. I didn’t know then that that’s actually a pretty large tip, maybe worth 4 or 5 meals.

I shook Kris’ hand and thanked him for his help. He asked for my number but I didn’t have one yet, so I wrote my email on one of his boxes. I said goodbye to Kris, my first friend in Thailand.
The big guy and I walked to his car. At about 2 am the air was warm and slightly humid. As we drove into the city, I dozed in and out. I tried to make small talk, but after one or two tries it became kind of pointless. He had the AC blasting. I tried to make things out, but it was too dark. The only thing I really noticed was that the license plates had funky writing and that I was sitting on the left-side front seat, but the steering wheel was on the right side. Weird.

Hate it or Love it

***narrative journal***

time: Sept. 3, 2008 5:45 PST

I was sitting on the hard floor doing a video log when the flight attendant’s voice cackled from the speakers, echoing across the hallways of the airport terminal. Her English was choppy.

“Eva Air welcomes all passengers to board flight BR 0011 to Taipei, Taiwan…”

It was about 5:45 on a Wednesday afternoon in Los Angeles. I lifted my Dodger hat over my head and ran my palm across my recently buzzed hair. It was finally time to go. I was about to get on the plane and spend the next seven months in every imaginable part of Southeast Asia. No more In N’ Out burgers. I looked out the window and said goodbye to Laker basketball and goodbye to So Cal beaches.

As I got in line, Los Angeles’ diversity quickly disappeared. The passengers were all Asian and spoke their own language. While the line progressed, I gripped my blue passport and tucked my boarding pass in at the picture page. I looked around and noticed that most of the other traveler’s passports were green. I realized then that most of them were going back to their homes, while I was leaving mine.
The crowd grew thicker and more compressed as I neared the front. At that moment I noticed a new scent. It was distinct and unfamiliar. It was the smell of a new and very different culture. A culture with its own food, language and customs. In preparation, I had read enough about Asian culture to have a basic understanding of the Eastern mindset, but the scent was something that took me by surprise.

The summer before my senior year in college I took a course called Intercultural Communication. The class dealt with the adjustment process for expatriates who work in other countries. In that class I learned that people who work/visit another country develop a relationship with that culture. They can love it or hate it. They can separate themselves and maintain their old perspective. Or they can integrate, becoming a hybrid of the old and new- a fresh face in the adoptive setting.

Standing in line, I had a moment to decide how I wanted to approach my relationship with this new culture. I quietly said a prayer asking God to allow me to love the people deeply and see them through his eyes. I took a deep breath and embraced the culture, its people and its aroma. My turn in line came and I stepped forward and handed my passport to the flight attendant. She checked me in and I strode down the entryway, clutching my backpack tightly against my shoulders. The corridor was long and I couldn’t see exactly what lay ahead, but I felt expectant. I was ready…







Prayer Requests:

1) Fundraising: I am still waiting for many to send their support. The Lord has been generous in providing this opportunity and I am confident that he will supply exactly the funds I need. Pray that God would move people to support my mission monthly.
2) Persecuted church: Upon arrival I attended a staff meeting where we received updates on the work in the different countries. The persecution is intense, particularly in Laos. Pray for their perseverance and pray that God can use my feeble skills to be their advocate.
3) Thai government: is currently unstable due to an uprising. The situation has leveled off since I have arrived and it hasn’t reached a “coup” status. Pray that the situation will resolve.
4) Jet lag! I had a tidal wave of culture shock today. I need a church community and friends ☺.

Ready for Takeoff (First Video Log)