speechless

This blog has become a sharp pain in my side..a grey cloud hanging over my head..a mother's nag. (haha)-

It's been two weeks now since I've returned here to Bangkok and I am fully aware that I have yet to post the details of my Christmastime escapade. I like to take my time and carefully construct a well-worded blog for your reading pleasure; however, the blinking cursor stares back at my perplexed mind and motionless fingers as I have tried to write this entry several times.

How? How in written reason and ryhme am I to describe what I experienced in Bali? Words cannot explain. Pictures, I've found, were pointless. The first few days I was in Bali, I carried my camera like a small child, close to my side, awaiting any kodak moments that might pop up. Digitally scrapbooking my experiences has been one of the great joys of being here- a hobby I've found enjoyment in; rather, this trip could not be captured on film. In fact, my journey wasn't even captured by my mind. Every morning I woke up at the chidlren's home I would go through the same routine. Wake up, read a bit, shower, breakfast, and then...sit and watch in amazement.

I didn't feel like "myself" while I was there, and, I do believe it's because I truly wasn't myself. It wasn't "me" to go off and do something of this nature. It wasn't me to be sociable with native Indonesian-speaking, foreign orphans. None of it was ME; and, as one of the only things I've ever been positive of in my entire life, is that this trip not being MINE but HIS, is what made this the best experience I've ever had.

God presented this opporutnity, carried me there, and delievered to me the timeless gift of company, wrapped in worn-clothes and dirty flip-flops. Christmas without the trimmings and frills of holiday bliss traded for the naive simplicity found in the faces of these children.

I spent the majority of my time at the home wanting to help with the varied chores and duties of the children; however, rather than lending aid, the children insisted on treating me as a royal guest. The children sleep 3 to a bed, in geco-infested, un-airconditioned rooms- and yet, I was given an air-conditioned room with a small bathroom to enjoy. Never did I imagine I'd have so much privacy in a home crawling with over 60 children. During the daytime I would have to search for the children, as they were busy working in groups performing tasks around the house.

The routine of these children gains nothing but my utmost respect. At 5:30am they wakeup and pray together. Afterwards, the older girls take a shopping list to the local market and buy food for the day as Sandra (the owner,) insists that the children enjoy only fresh food. Meanwhile, some of the younger girls begin folding and ironing the laundry (and believe me, it's a MOUNTAIN of laundry,) while others begin mopping and dusting. This home is run like a well-oiled machine, and yet, no one complains.

5:30am everyday? That would be my first complaint.
Ironing? Complaint number two.
Rice? Again? number three.

Obviously, I'm nowhere near as mature as these children. Their innate love and respect for each other, and their willingness to serve not only guests, but their subordinates, has been a continous challenge to my own heart.

I've learned that obviously, I'm far from the maturity and humility of an orphan.