No Longer Volunteering, but Rather, Living.

I know I’ve talked about how I spent a lot of December and January feeling sorry for myself in the last couple of blog posts. I had friends leaving the church, friends moving states away, friends struggling with mental health, a torn marriage in my family, health issues of my own, no clarity about the future– and honestly I just felt so low. It was quite a contrast of emotions from how I felt from August until December, traveling with my sweet Robbie. Nothing looked as it did before we left. Nothing. I don’t want to beat a dead horse, but I also don’t want to hide behind a false reality– so I’ve continued to talk about the difficulties of this season.

We have just barely hit three months of being back from our adventure. That means we are a month away from having been back home as long as we were ever gone. How is that possible?? Robbie and I still often talk about our trip, especially when we are lying down for bed, huddled close together. We will reminisce and sometimes tearfully recall the most magical months of our lives as I share his pillow with him (even though mine is right next to it. I can never feel close enough to Robbie). We both miss it, that’s for sure. It is so surreal looking back on it now. I lose my breath sometimes thinking too hard about it–and how no words or pictures could authentically describe the magnetism of it all. I know without a doubt God gave us that time and space to grow together and grow with the Lord before entering into what I believe is our lifelong mission now.

It is so clear to me how our time overseas opened our eyes to our smallness– and how more than ever, we cannot view our lives or our futures without seeing Heaven plainly in sight. I understand how temporary life is (in the ways days pass quickly and weeks and months pass even more quickly) and how nothing actually matters except Christ (and how numb American Christians have gotten to God’s actual call on our lives). I know Heaven is a real, genuine, tangible location on the end of our timelines. It’s not a make-believe fantasy. It’s legitimate and I want my days on earth to look like I’m working toward that end. Working toward making HIM famous, not me. Working toward viewing my time as HIS time, knowing one day I’ll get to rest physically in Jesus’ arms that saved me. I have to wonder if one day we will be in eternity in Heaven with our God and look back on this world and see all the ways we could have cared a little less about being so comfortable here when it was all going to go away so soon. So do I wish Robbie and I were still hiking the Swiss Alps and wandering markets in Thailand??–some days, in my selfishness, for sure! BUT that season had to end in order to usher in a new and even grander adventure. An adventure that is also taking my breath away in less worldly beautiful ways but rather, more spiritually beautiful ways.

I can safely and boldly say that I am finally in a place of so much peace. I can pinpoint the hard and troublesome things that occurred in December and January, but I can still see the ways Jesus is using them to shape my heart and give me resilience in the face of it. I no longer view these apartments as a place where I used to go weekly to volunteer, but rather as my home. It’s a place I miss when I’m not here. It’s a place filled with people I love more like family than friends. They’ve welcomed me into their brokenness and I’ve welcomed them into mine. Refugees look more like Jesus to me than the people with all their needs and wants met. So I find myself desiring more and more time amongst these people who look so different than the world I grew up in. I find myself wanting to be a part of their world– the world that looks like walking directly into someone’s home without knocking and being welcomed graciously, the kind that looks like teamwork *always* for the sake of the family and our neighbors, the kind of world where nothing is “mine” but rather “ours,” and where happiness still abounds immensely even when there’s no food on the table. This world is what I picture Jesus and His disciples living in. Community over competition. Friendships blind to the color of our skin, the amount in our bank accounts, and our educational backgrounds (degrees, awards, accolades). None of it matters. We are image-bearers with the one who created us. I know this now more than ever. Jesus is in their eyes. He’s in their hands. He’s in their love. He must have looked just like them.

You know how usually you don’t see a change in yourself except for over a long period of time? And how it often hits you when you’re reflecting on a season that is about to end or has just passed, but not a second before? I was telling a friend about this this week, and it’s true: my heart is changing so rapidly these days, that I’m seeing radical changes within me in real time. I am aware of changes that are “in process” in me currently and am my own witness to them. I’ve never experienced something like this before; where I know I’ve changed from who I was even a month ago and I’m even more different than I was two months ago.  The biggest difference inside of me now compared to just a couple months ago is my view of time. Time has always been something I hoard. Time is so precious to me. I love being alone (even as the extravert that I am), I’m always vying for enough time with Robbie while also fighting for plenty of time to be with friends and do fun things. In the past several years, on busy weeks where it’s full of more work and volunteering than time for myself and the things I want to do, I’m grumpy, tired, and entitled. Yuck! It makes me sick even thinking about it. This is my sin. But in this short season, I have been witness to the Lord molding and shaping my selfish view of time. The real distinction here that has developed in my heart is that I’m not volunteering anymore, I’m living. I’m just living my life. I’m not looking to serve people different from myself to have something for a resume or to check something off my “Christian to-do list”. No, that’s so silly. My days look much different now than they looked last year and every year before that, and it’s because these people aren’t people I spend time with when it’s not going to take away from time with my husband or friends or my alone time anymore. They’re actually my friends, people I’m eager to find time in my schedule for, people I’m joyfully prioritizing above time for myself, and people I sincerely couldn’t live without now. They’re simply just a part of my life, just like any of my other friends. They’re a daily part of my life (I didn’t realize how deeply I was missing out before this). The moms are women I’m confiding in. The children are kids adding light and joy in the cracks of the very core of my being. So time is interesting, and it’s moving just as fast as it ever has, but I no longer view it as my own. Time isn’t something that is mine at all anymore. It’s Jesus’–to give and own and control. And I like it that way because when I have less time dedicated to me, me, me, I get a whole lot more of it to experience and observe God’s goodness and His grace-filled plan for this fallen world. So I have stopped sighing at the twentieth knock on my door in one day, and stopped feeling burdened by days that hardly have room in them for me to get lunch made between English lessons, doctors appointments, reading and translating neighbor’s mail, phone calls with neighbor’s insurance companies, and grocery runs, and stopped feeling weighed down by the stress of eight kids in my apartment all vying for my attention at once. Because it’s in the chaos, the willingness of once-strangers to welcome my sinful brokenness and celebrate life with me day in and day out, that I get to see Jesus in my living room every single day– just as I prayed for two months ago when this space was empty at the beginning of January. I asked God to be present here, to do a good work, to change Robbie and my hearts into something better. And He did. and He is.

Leviticus 19:33-34: “When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.” 

The past month, new relationships have formed with new neighbors and my heart is leaping. Robbie and I started tutoring with a program called Upward Bound that meets in our very own church basement. It’s a tutoring program for low-income high school students who have good GPA’s and are showing great potential– ones who, if they go on to college, they’d be first generation college kids. The students had to apply and be accepted to get in, and there’s high expectations of them. Robbie tutors math and I serve food for them when they first get there and then tutor English. It’s a great honor to be there, especially affirming for us given that about 60% of the students accepted are Karen. It’s so precious to watch Robbie tutor math, incorporating some of his natural humor and making high schoolers laugh. It’s so beautiful to be on this mission together. And I have developed some strong bonds with a handful of Karen girls and boys (I keep going back and forth about putting “our” kids’ names in my blogs, but for now, I’ll keep them unwritten). One in particular is pretty set on me going to prom with her and I think it’s pretty funny. And there’s a couple of them that actually live in our apartment complex and when they found that out, they were amazed! So these high schoolers have hung out at our apartment a couple times now, and get so excited when they see Robbie and me at tutoring. I love that they have a safe space to come to in the evenings when they’re home alone because their parents work every night– a space their parents have given them permission to come to while they’re out (but nowhere else).

This month I got the privilege of seeing one of my neighbor’s 3 year old sons test negative for lead in his blood and hear the doctor say he is much healthier than he was six months ago. Praise God! Another young boy in the apartments, around 12 years old, could use some prayer because every time he travels in a car, he throws up. I’ve felt burdened for this problem for a few weeks, as I can only imagine how horrible this is for him. I drove him to and from the dentist twice in one week and he threw up each time, and after asking the translator at the doctor about it, he said he’s still not used to cars after never being in one once growing up in Thailand. Poor boy. He’s such a great kid, too. I had the honor of taking another neighbor’s teenage son to an orientation banquet for a program he was accepted to called Close Up, where he is able to travel with other migrant students to Washington D.C. for Spring Break (I just dropped him off at the airport for it yesterday). He is such an amazing guy, so kind and so gracious. I’m so proud of him. He’s come over before and humorously tried to teach me some Karen– it’s only humorous because I apparently pronounce certain words pretty poorly. haha

I have been teaching English to two and sometimes three more advanced English speaking Karen women. Two of them are in their mid-twenties and one is in her mid-thirties. These women are so intelligent, thoughtful, and funny. They’re women whose personalities mesh so well with mine, and our 8 hours we have together per week, are usually spent laughing more than teaching. We sit on my living room floor sharing stories and learn about each other’s cultures. They give me life and point me back to Jesus. We pray together and lean on each other for support. They teach me some Karen and are incredibly encouraging of the small progress I have made. They are constantly involving me in their daily lives and one of them will text me in Karen just to see if I will respond correctly, and sometimes I do and she gets such a kick out of that. I do too. ❤ That particular woman’s father had been living as a refugee in Norway until he passed away last month. She and her husband and children live with her brother and his family here. She invited me to her father’s memorial service they held in his honor since they didn’t have the funds to get to Norway to be at the funeral. I wore my formal Karen shirt she had recently gifted me, and showed up to her other brother’s home close to where I live last Sunday. The living room was full of her Karen friends in town, some who had even known her father in the refugee camp. It was so wonderful, and even as the only white person, I was welcomed in so lovingly. I cried with them all as I sat on the floor, back against the wall, listening to them sing Karen worship songs, and shared memories of her father in their beautiful language. The emotion of it all was so real for me. I felt so blessed to be there, to hold my friend as she mourned the loss of her father and not having been able to say goodbye– something I cannot fathom. I couldn’t understand anything that was said– except the very recurring mention of “Gusiyu-kree” and “Gusiyuah” (Jesus and God, respectively). Afterward, they put out about 50 heaping bowls of Karen food for all to share. It was so lovely to delight in this experience, such an honor to be a part of something so intimate in the Karen community. Her pastor spoke very good English and he and I spoke for a long while over lunch. He encouraged me again and again to check out their Karen Christian church some week very soon. I am eager to do so.

Every week I’m seeing tremendous progress being made among the mamas I teach each morning who know little to no English. I made a connection with the Rose Hill Elementary ESL teacher who has been beyond gracious to give me some of her classroom resources to help with teaching these women. This relationship has been one truly sent from Heaven. One of the little girls in our apartments apparently told her ESL teacher about Robbie and me and she said, “I need to meet these guys!” so she made that happen, and has been an amazing resource for me. With her worksheets, books, and strategies, I’ve seen a mom illiterate in her own language learn numbers and colors and greetings in English. She is so motivated and comes to my apartment every weekday morning expectant. Another mom who is also illiterate, but a teeny tiny bit more advanced than the other, is beginning to sound out words for the first time and I cannot believe the miracles God blesses me with each new day. These ladies along with another one have been bringing their siblings and friends with them to my apartment to learn English and talk together too. It’s in them bringing their loved ones with them to my home, that I experience the trust they have in me. I delight in their friendship as we sit and press into this difficult language together, and see them feel safe enough to practice their English with me even though it’s so hard. And they are so pleased when I practice my Karen with them too. ❤

Our three girls (one is 10 and two are 11) that are over every day of the week, come to church with us every Sunday and they love it so much. They’re always waiting for us at our door at just the right time each week without being asked, all ready to go. We are having awkward, but beautiful conversations about Jesus vs. Buddha and pressing in with the questions they have about both. Would you pray for those? These girls are curious on their own and are so open to learning new things. Their parents have given the very welcome “okay” to them coming to a Christian church with us every week– and we don’t take that incredible open door for granted. I cherished seeing two of them singing to the worship songs a couple of weeks ago, something they hadn’t done before. When I saw them looking up at the cross on the stage, singing words to their Savior, I was so touched, I had tears in my eyes and hoped they wouldn’t see me. haha

We have gotten to know these particular three girls so well the last few months, as they are with us every day. I love their individual personalities, and the way their hearts confide in Robbie and me for emotional support. Robbie has turned from being “Mr. Rob” to “Uncle Rob” and I asked them to just call me “Chase” instead of “Miss Chase” because I want them to know we see them not as students or a project, but as people– our people. They love with great abandon, and my life feels more whole with them in it. They are goofy and wild, yet tender and sincere. They hold my hand and cuddle with me, tuck me in on the couch when I’m feeling sick, and ask Robbie to give me kisses often.  haha They are always asking for Robbie when he’s not around and are elated when he is. I have had tough conversations with them about their behavior at times, which they always graciously lean into, listen and put effort into changing. They are some of the sweetest girls you’ll ever meet. I even had a somewhat humorous (to me) counseling session with each individual girl one day when they were all mad at each other and watched as each confided in me their truths and their tears and then let me come up with a solution for it all at the end with all of them in the same room together. They took to it so well, and we ended the night with food and laughter, all of them having reconciled with each other. I took the girls to Holy yoga with my close friend Ashley, and they loved the new experience (although they were exhausted by it! haha), and got to take them to Target for the first time in their lives and bought them some new sweatshirts. They were in AWE of Target which I find so funny because it doesn’t matter your age or your skin color– women love Target. hahaha One of them comes to get her hair braided by me every morning before school, and I love it so much. Another will come over early some days with her homework to get help with it before school starts if we didn’t do it together the night before. Their presence in our lives is wonderful and special and an answer to prayer in this place.

But it’s the nights with six or eight kids of all ages in our apartment that are each playing something different on the floor, braiding my hair, drawing pictures, or reading books that I look around and take a deep breath. These are moments of redemption for me. Redeeming all the ways I fought against God’s will in the past, but have somehow still made it here. And in God’s upside down Kingdom, He is making messy, dirty apartments and stubborn language barriers a source of my healing. Our refrigerator can’t keep up with all the drawings made for Robbie and me, all the pictures colored for us. Yes, even our kitchen appliance has become a reminder of how worth it this all is. How little worth my time has on it’s own, but how MUCH worth my time has when spent with these people.

One story I’ve been laughing about for a couple of weeks now is this (it’s not funny at first, but the end of it is to me). I walked outside with three of our little girls one day after school, about to go pick up food from the tutoring center at church when we saw one of our neighbors fall on the ice. He was old and frail and I panicked and ran to pick him up. Another neighbor came out and took his other arm as we both wrapped our arms around him and got him back up a couple flights of stairs to his apartment. The poor man could barely move his legs and it took us more than fifteen minutes to get up the stairs with him. Any time the other neighbor and I would stop on the steps to catch our breath while carrying him, the frail man wanted to fall back down to his butt because he wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own. We finally got him to his door, his daughter opened it, and we sat him down on the ground in his apartment. When he was settled, I began to speak in Karen to him telling him I was sorry that he fell, that my name was Chase and I lived in apartment 16, etc. and that it was nice to meet him. He didn’t respond at all— like his face was completely clueless. I figured my accent must be pretty terrible or else I wasn’t saying it right. I was a little discouraged, but the man who had helped me help him, on the other hand, was smiling at me as I said what I said in Karen, and then even responded to me in Karen. So I was thankful for that. One of our littles who had followed us up the stairs said to me as we walked outside after we left, “Chase, that was SO NICE of you!! Like really really nice! But just so you know, the man wasn’t responding to you because he’s Karenni.” hahahahaha ugh! I was speaking to him in Karen, but he doesn’t know that language– Karenni people speak a whole different unique language. I was so grateful to understand why he didn’t respond to me, but also felt a little embarrassed about attempting a language i’m no good at that he didn’t even understand anyway. But I think this story is funny because it’s such a perfect picture of this crazy beautiful world we’re a part of in these apartments– it’s confusing, hard, and oftentimes messy, but people can come together and bond even when language isn’t present. God is good, all the time. (oh and if you were wondering– the old man was fine after he fell, too! so that’s definitely a plus!!).

I will end this post by thanking and acknowledging all of my incredible friends who love on us and our people, support our mission endlessly, and have made a radical difference in our lives by their input, encouragement, and actions. My sister and Jeff have bought us groceries, read to the girls, and made dinner for them. They are a source of love for our kiddos and they love talking about “Brett and Jeff.” Caitlin and Kyle have brought over homemade meals in huge portions so that they can be frozen and reheated for easy but delicious meals for the kids any night of the week. Geri, a woman from church, has sacrificially brought food, meals, groceries, etc. over to our home repeatedly without hesitation every week for multiple weeks. She has a special needs child of her own at home yet she still gives and gives and gives. She amazes me. Gabe and Ashley come over and pour into our kids lives, Gabe will always be remembered for the night he played guitar and sang with them all for a couple of hours. That’s an amazing memory for Robbie and me too. Gabby and Caitlin came over and sat with my afternoon advanced English group of women, asked questions, told stories, and bonded. This is so special to me. Rachel came and beautifully gave of her time in the short amount she had in Omaha this weekend, graciously loving on the kids, playing with them, and taking a family to walmart and paying their bill. My pastor and his wife gave us toys upon toys and books upon books that have been incredibly helpful with being cooped up in the apartment during this long winter. These things do not go unnoticed and I am blessed beyond blessed to get to witness my community come together and give sacrificially. These are things we never would have asked for, but so thankful the Lord saw us fit to receive. I know Jesus is so proud of our friends, His children. I am too.