Join me in the journey!

In four weeks, I'll be headed back to Asia with my family. As usual, we're scrambling to get everything finished. We'll start out in Thailand, then India, and we'll end up in Cambodia.

Each of these places holds dear family and friends and a very special place in my heart. I'm especially excited this year to return to Cambodia to see what God has done in just about a year.

On June 27, 2012, I stood in a large and unremarkable field just outside of Phnom Penh with members of our staff and a group of visionary men and women led by Pastor Tim Armstrong of Crossroads Church in Mansfield, Ohio, and we prayed that God would give us the land, and would give us the money needed to build five new homes, a church and a school.

In faith, we kicked of the "Strength for Today, Hope for Tomorrow" campaign.

The Prek Eng Campus on June 27, 2012

Less than one year later, that piece of land has been transformed, and is well on its way to becoming a beautiful, neighborhood-style campus, home to 125 orphaned children now in our care and countless more over future generations!

By August 2013, we expect to have completed the church, the school and four of the five homes. We pray that God will provide the funding for the fifth before we cut the ribbon for the campus on August 3!

Will you join me in this journey? Bookmark this blog. Join us on Facebook or Twitter. Share these links with your friends! I promise lots of great pictures and stories and exciting reports of God's faithfulness.

And perhaps most importantly, will you prayerfully consider making a generous contribution to this campaign or to one of our other initiatives?

We still need to raise more than $100,000 to complete construction and outfit this campus. We need you to participate with us.

This is going to be one of the most exciting journeys we've ever taken. Join us!

To Bhutan and Back

Our time in Gangtok provided our team a wonderful opportunity to see a different part of the country. Upon entering Sikkim state, we passed through a border crossing and were diverted to an intake building. Sikkim borders frenemy China, and is considered a restricted zone; India records everyone entering or leaving the state, and gives foreigners extra scrutiny. After a half hour or so of filling out papers, copying passports and duplicating photographs, we were deemed legit, and we continued on our way to Gangtok.

Larger than, but similar in topography to Kalimpong and Darjeeling, Gangtok is extraordinarily beautiful, especially from above. We arrived in town just before dusk, and checked into the hotel. Nandu insisted that we hurry up the side of the mountain to see the city at sunset. We hailed two cabs – one was a Suzuki hatchback, about 70% as big as a Geo Metro. The other was what I call a Scooby Doo van, shaped exactly like the Mystery Machine, but about half the size and 96% less fun.

Gangtok at dusk from our hotel.

We darted and skidded up impossibly steep grades on two-way roads that, even when completely paved, are still only big enough for one car to travel comfortably and safely. As in most places we’ve traveled on this trip, it’s always something of a game of chicken. Two cars head straight at each other, and one pulls off the berm to let the other pass. The berm, unfortunately is usually either a wall of rock on one side or a thousand-foot drop on the other. Halfway to our observation point, we got stuck in one of those epic mountainside traffic jams where people actually stop their engines, get out of their cars and wander down the hill to see what genius move caused the tie-up in the first place. I never did figure out what had happened, but we finally made our way out of the jam. By this point, our drivers conveyed us with even more urgency to the top of the mountain. As night fell and we careened up unlit, occasionally unpaved roads I began to wonder if any view was worth the risk. When we arrived at the Hindu monastery at the summit, it was too dark to take any good pictures, but I had to admit it: it was pretty spectacular. The lights of Gangtok’s houses studded the mountainside and twinkled like stars. The sun, almost completely in repose, cast a pink and scarlet glow, silhouetting consecutive peaks, each one fading into horizon as the city fell entirely into night.

Gangtok after sunset from above.

Shopping in Gangtok at night.

Unfortunately, the days of adventurous driving had caught up with both Tim and Carol. Carol had been sick for a few days, and had just started feeling better the day before. Tim, who had been rock-solid until that day, had the gibblies jostled out of him by the Himalayan road rally, and had turned a lovely shade of pale green. By the next morning, it was clear that the even-more-dramatic 6-hour drive to Bhutan was not going to be happening for either of them. We decided to send them back to Kalimpong – three hours away – and to have the rest of us continue on to Bhutan as originally planned. Our two taxis drove together to the Sikkim/West Bengal border where we checked ourselves out of the state and then we took our separate ways.

For much of the way, our ride was just fine. We’ve gotten used to blind curves and sheer cliffs and the occasional section of unpaved roads. In fact, when we stopped for lunch in some tiny town in the Teesta Valley, we all felt pretty refreshed.

Our driver dropped us off in front of a tiny storefront restaurant that I would have never picked out as a place to eat delicious and ostensibly safe food. We stooped through the low entry, squeezed around a rickety wooden table and ordered a thali – something like an Indian sampler plate – for each of us. The proprietress yelled something at a tiny girl who had been sitting at the other table in the restaurant folding napkins. The girl jumped up and began washing glasses which she then brought to our table. She was shy, but she smiled when I caught her eye. The lady yelled again, and the girl returned to her work at the table.

I asked Nandu to ask her age. She smiled shyly and shook her head. “She has no idea,” Nandu said. I asked her name. “No idea,” Nandu reported, “They call her small girl. She is a child laborer. Probably no parents.” I remember very little about the rest of the meal, and even today, Small Girl is in my thoughts day and night.

There are literally millions of children like Small Girl living and working in India today. In fact, some of the kids in our Kalimpong homes lived and worked in homes or restaurants, fields or factories before coming into our care. I don’t know if we can help this young girl, and I’m certain we will never even meet one tenth of one percent of the kids who would give everything for a loving home like the ones we’re creating in India, Cambodia and Thailand.

After lunch we continued on our journey. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves in another unexplained, half-hour-long delays, stuck bumper-to-bumper and door-to-door on a steep mountain pass. By nightfall, our 6-hour drive was already turning into an 8-hour one. The flattening landscape and brief stretch of excellent road gave our driver the opportunity to make up a little of the time we had lost, and I began hoping for smooth sailing the rest of the way out. About an hour before reaching the Bhutanese border things got bad. Really bad.

I swear that driving through the tea bushes on the side of the road would have provided a smoother drive. I’d venture to guess that you have never driven on “roads” this bad before. Not only were they not paved, they had not been maintained in anyone’s recent memory, and wore quite poorly the years of abuse inflicted by heavy trucks carrying rocks and construction equipment clearly destined for projects other than road repair. It was quite literally like riding over abandoned railroad tracks for the entire time. More than once our driver had to stop, back up and get out of the car just to determine the best approach to navigate a crater in the road. And just about when I thought I couldn’t take another mile, we hit the final stretch into the Indo-Bhutan border towns, and sailed smoothly to our rendevouz point in Jaigon.

If “rendevouz point” sounds illicit, that’s because it was. Nandu had developed a plan to get us into Bhutan secretly and without a visa. It was one of those “I know a guy” situations. We switched cars twice amid furtive glances and hushed whispers and made our way in a country that has a reputation among our friends in India as being a very unfriendly place for Christians. Greg, Keith and I broke the tension with gallows-humor cracks about our upcoming stay at the lovely Hotel Torturé. “Sir, this Bhutanese manicure is quite…aggressive…” and “Oh, look. They’re washing Keith’s face. But why there a rag over it?” and “I think that next time I’ll pass on the rattan cane foot massage… It was a tad firm for my tastes…”

Long story short, we made it in and out of the country with very little drama. The hotel that hosted us was owned by a member of the Bhutanese royal family and Nandu is good friends with him. “I know a guy,” indeed.

The next morning we checked out of the hotel and made our way back onto the India side of the border. We met with Pastor Benjamin Gurung and spent the day with the students of the Indo-Bhutan Mercy House of Prayer, a training center for young Bhutanese believers. They come for a month of classes, fellowship and worship intended to equip them for a life of persecution as church planters and evangelists in their home country. It was an honor to meet with them and offer them whatever words of encouragement we could muster.

Today we brave the bad roads and head back to Kalimpong. Tonight we’ll do an appreciation dinner for our staff in Kalimpong. Only a few more days here – I hope to spend as much time with the kids as possible. More pictures when better internet.

Indo-Bhutan Mercy House of Prayer.

Young students at the Indo-Bhutan Mercy House of Prayer.

Picnics and playgrounds

About two hours into the loud and lively service at Trinity Grace Church, it was time for me to preach the sermon. Due to the lengthy of the proceedings, I inflicted upon the congregants only a very short homily on the prophet Jonah.

A year ago, when I first visited the church, the congregation was about 20% smaller. Thanks to the addition of the kids from our Kalimpong 2 home, the already-cramped church is now packed to beyond what I would consider capacity. When Kalimpong 3 comes online, they will either have to stack the kids like firewood or find a bigger space.

After church we walked about half a mile down to a small municipal playground for a few hours of rough-and-tumble fun and a very simple picnic lunch of jam sandwiches and cookies. It’s amazing to see the kids playing together, helping each other and just soaking in the benefits of a real, loving family.

All the kids enjoyed the playground in Kalimpong

There’s a clear difference between the two homes. The kids from Kalimpong 1 are older, more confident, better adjusted and more completely individuated than those at KP2. The new kids are smaller, less-well nourished and a lot squirrelier. It’s hard to tell them apart from each other, as they all share a certain shell shock that I’ve seen many times before in Cambodia and Thailand, and that will fade over the next few months as they settle in.

Watching the newest kids – especially the “provisional” ones who will eventually call Kalimpong 3 home – you can get a bit of a sense of the struggle these children had and the poverty and hunger they experienced until very recently. When it’s time to play, they don’t really know what to do. But when it’s time to eat, they pack it away like it’s their last meal on the planet. Up to a few weeks ago, a good meal never came with a promise for more tonight, tomorrow and the next day.

The Kalimpong 2 kids know how to put away the food.

This morning we packed the kids into a bus and drove down the mountain into the valley, where we had been promised a river-side field trip and picnic. Technically, we were at a river, but the entire site was a construction zone. There were no picnic tables, but there were huge, garishly decorated trucks rumbling in empty and out with loads of rocks. There was also a lot of heavy construction equipment – excavators, bulldozers, rock crushers. Not exactly the most serene setting for picnic, but we made do. There was a large swimming pool, but it was empty. No problem, though, as many of the kids used it for Simon Says and Red-Light-Green-Light.

A beautiful, but rugged picnic site.

The staff set up a mobile kitchen and began cooking a delicious meal over campfires, and a bunch of the kids headed down to the river to swim. All of the kids below the age of five stripped down to their birthday suits and jumped right in. We all concluded quickly that this was better left un-photographed, and we left the kids to their skinny dipping.

We spent the better part of the day with the kids, which is good. Tomorrow we’re leaving for three days to visit other parts of the country and another undisclosed location, and I’m going to miss all of them terribly. I have lots of good pictures, but not lots of good internet, so the photos will have to wait.

Please pray for our safety and health as we continue to do our best to encourage the kids and staff of Asia’s Hope and our brothers and sisters in North India and beyond.

Victory Prayer Church and Social Welfare Society. And mountains.

[due to slow internet upload speeds, the photos associated with this article will have to wait for another day. sigh.]

We have returned to the Silver Oaks Hotel, some of Kalimpong’s finest lodgings, and we still have no wifi. We are indeed pampered westerners, and we stress out about the silliest things. Like internet access. We’re gutting it out though, and if you’re reading this, it’s probably because we have gone to the Asia’s Hope India office to use the internet there.

We spent only one night away from Kalimpong, but it seems like, I don’t know. A week? We left early yesterday morning and headed out towards Darjeeling, winding our way down the mountain toward the emerald green Teesta River, which snakes through the foothills of the Himalayas, carrying water from the melting snowcaps at the top of the world to untold millions of Indian villagers living along and uphill from its banks.

We spent half a day with the 50-some Nepali-speaking students studying at the Victory Prayer Church and Social Welfare Society. Many of these students traveled for days from all over North India, Bhutan, Nepal and Bangladesh by train, car, foot and even horseback to participate in a 40-day seminar in basic theology and missiology. The lessons learned during this intensive course will travel with the graduates into remote areas, some of which are extraordinarily hostile to the Christian faith. Some of these students will face imprisonment, torture and even death as they return to places like rural Bhutan, where despite the PR campaign marketing the country as the “happiest nation on earth,” Christians are persecuted daily for gathering together to sing, pray and teach.

When Pastor Nandu asked me to speak to the students (first for three hours – I bargained it down to 45 minutes), I protested heartily, albeit in vain: I have two cars and a flat screen TV, and I basically send emails and take lunches for a living. What could I possibly have to teach these guys, future heroes of the faith? In the end, it didn’t matter. I muddled through a half-baked lecture on moral transparency in leadership, and reminded the students, “Never trust a leader who doesn’t walk with a limp.” Pastor Victor, the founder and head instructor assured us, “It is your presence here that matters. Our students feel so encouraged to know that they have brothers and sisters who care for them and pray for them.” I sure hope so, and I will keep those guys in my thoughts and prayers for a very long time.

After a very generous lunch that could probably be considered a banquet, we loaded back into our jeeps and headed up, up, up to Darjeeling. Round and round we went at impossibly steep angles through blind hairpin curves carved by unimaginable brute force into the sides of mountains, cutting through vast tea plantations and tiny villages. About when we began to despair of ever reaching our destination, we arrived in chilly Darjeeling, India’s legendary northernmost railhead, where generations of British bureaucrats escaped the brutal summer heat of India’s lowlands.

Darjeeling is crowded, noisy and is as shabby as a chimney sweep. It’s also unbelievably beautiful. As in much of the area in which we work, there is no “grid.” Buildings on adjacent streets stack vertically, with back doors overlooking neighbors’ roofs. Each restaurant seems to offer a more splendid view than its neighbor. Unfortunately, it’s been quite hazy throughout our entire trip. We can see only as far as the nearest three or four mountaintops, but not beyond to the real peaks. Last night, however, as we were drinking tea on a rooftop in downtown Darjeeling Greg exclaimed, “Are those the Himalayas?” We all turned to look to the north, and met an extraordinary sight. As the sun began to set, the snow-capped peaks of the world’s highest mountain range reflected pink and orange in the distance where only a few moments before, there was nothing but clouds and fog.

The pictures we took can’t begin to capture the majesty of the vista. To little avail, I adjusted the various dials on my camera and struggled to reflect in my viewfinder the rapturous scene that lay on the horizon. After a few clicks, I put the camera down and simply basked in the glory of the moment.

[Okay. Gut check here. I am embarrassed about the flowery and admittedly maudlin prose. But if I don’t gush over this, I can’t imagine what on earth would stir me to profusion.]

No sooner than it had appeared, the Himalayan panorama faded with the shifting light and the team was left to bask in the afterglow, sighing over our tea and wishing for just one more glimpse.

It rained last night for the first time in months, offering us this morning the briefest of views of the Himalayas on our walk into town. Once again our cameras struggled to capture even a shadow of the grandeur before the great jagged mountains faded to white. Despite the change in weather, we have not seen them since.

I’m so glad that Sam got a chance to see the peaks this morning before departing for Siliguri and then back home. The rest of us will stay for another week, spending as much time as possible with our kids before hitting Delhi en route to Columbus.

I’ve spent so much time talking about the mountains that I haven’t really been able to share about the amazing things God is doing here through our ministry. Maybe soon I’ll talk about kids, land and future plans. Right now I need to meet the team for dinner. I’m guessing something with curry…

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Up to the mountain

“Some days I look down, afraid I will fall” – Patty Griffin

It’s about 5:30 a.m. I slept quite poorly last night. Maybe it’s because, for the second night in a row I’ve had complicated and spirited discussions on finances, philosophy and future plans late into the evening. Maybe it’s the fact that I have a big day in front of me visiting possible sites for land purchases in and around Kalimpong and beginning discussions of price negotiations and fundraising strategy.

It’s also possible that I’m a little stressed about the revelation that, tomorrow, I will be speaking for a couple of hours at an Indian seminary and I really have nothing prepared and feel ill-qualified to teach anything to a bunch of guys who rely completely on God for their daily bread and risk their lives sharing the gospel under the threat of torture or death in places like Bhutan.

Just as likely, I’m still a bit delirious from yesterday’s time with the kids. My back is killing me from careening down a mountainside yesterday stuffed in a jeep with 20 singing and laughing kids, and my face hurts from smiling so much.

After a delicious breakfast of an omelet, masala chai, potato curry and fried parathas, we walked from the hotel to Nandu’s house, which is also the temporary home for Kalimpong 2, and we were greeted by all 50 kids of KP1 and KP2, our staff and (also probably adding to my sleeplessness) a number of kids who are “provisionally in our care as prospective children for [the yet-to-be-funded, yet-to-exist] Kalimpong 3.”

After an hour of songs, another hour or two of games and a quick lunch prepared by the staff, we folded ourselves into the aforementioned jeeps and endured about 30 minutes of bumper-to-bumper traffic in Kalimpong followed by another half hour or so of the steepest, most treacherous switchbacks imaginable on a narrow, crumbling mountainside road with no guardrails separated from a fatal, thousand-foot plunge by a six-inch wide strip of gravel and weeds. Nandu assured us that “these are the good roads” and that cars only “sometimes” fall off the mountain.

I wish I could have taken pictures or video that would do this journey justice, but the car was jostling and swerving the entire time, and even at 1/1000 exposure, my camera would not focus and I couldn’t capture anything better than a blur.

At the top of the mountain, however, was an oasis of tranquilty, a park that on a clear day offers views all the way out to China. We spent the entire afternoon playing cricket, soccer, volleyball, tag, Simon Says and whatever else the kids could think of. At one point, I think I was playing three sports simultaneously – none of them well.

With all of the kids together, it was easy to see which ones had been with us for only a few days. The Kalimpong 2 kids, along with the “prospective” children didn’t understand any of the games, but they did their best. Some ran around from game to game laughing and shouting, others found a staff member or one of our team and attached themselves to their side, shyly watching the proceedings from a safe distance. All, however, experienced the blessing of God through love of a family.

I was moved more than once to the brink of tears as I thought about the journeys that brought these children into our care, journeys far more perilous than our little jeep ride up the mountain. Nearly all of these kids have seen one or both parents die. All have been abandoned. All have faced hunger and fear. Many were abused. Some even tortured. But yesterday, they played Simon Says and enjoyed tea and cookies at a park in the foothills of the Himalayas. And last night, they had dinner, sang bedtime songs, said prayers and were tucked into warm beds by parents who love them, and who will be there for them with a hot breakfast and a hug in the morning.

This, my friends, is the Kingdom of God. This is what it is all about. This is what “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” means. This is true religion.

I wish with all of my heart that each of you could experience this. I believe that I could just transport every pastor I know, every business owner I’ve ever met, every one of my friends here for just one day we would never lack funds for another project, and we’d be singing up partnering churches and opening children’s homes so quickly we would lose count of the hundreds – perhaps thousands – of children being admitted into new, loving families every year in India, in Cambodia, in Thailand and beyond.

For those of you who already support the kids and staff of Asia’s Hope with your prayers,  finances and influence, I owe you a debt of gratitude that I can never repay. For those of you who aren’t yet involved, I’m glad you’re reading along, and I pray that my pictures and stories have encouraged you, and that God is moving your heart toward a life of dedication to the poor and orphaned, whether it’s with Asia’s Hope or with one of the myriad other great organizations working all around the world.

May God bless you as he has blessed me, my family, my staff and kids.

I've loved these days

Sam and I have had a great time this last week, enjoying lots of opportunities to act like tourists, especially over the last couple of days.

On Sunday morning we took the train from Delhi to Agra, home of the magnificent Taj Mahal. Like so many aspects of Indian society, the railways here are a thrilling but exhausting spectacle that manages somehow to be both frenetic and plodding at the same time.

[note: due to a digital mishap of epic proportions, all of my photos from Old Delhi and Agra are gone. The only place they exist is in a Facebook album. Sad face.]

We sprung for the first class tickets. The bump in price provided reasonably clean assigned seats and an absence of livestock. We left at dawn, rode in relative comfort through near white-out fog conditions, and arrived at the Agra station largely unmolested. Exiting the train, however, ejected us into a den of hustlers, pickpockets and touts that latch onto foreigners like fleas on a dog’s rump. Despite their best efforts, we successfully hired a taxi and rumbled our way to a somewhat embarrassingly posh hotel with cricket grounds and a rooftop view of the Taj.

I’m not a jaded traveler. I walk around this part of the world with a sense of awe pretty much 23/7. This said, I was prepared to be only mildly impressed by the Taj Mahal. My first glance, however, left me quite literally breathless.

First, I never had any idea that it was so big. I imagined something a couple of stories tall. The thing is enormous. Like 300+ feet high. Not only that, it’s just absolutely gorgeous. Pictures truly don’t convey the beauty – the amazing symmetry, the scale, the exquisite finishes, the way the marble changes color as the sun moves across the sky. From every angle, it’s a masterpiece, and it is by far the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen. The Mughal architects and craftsmen rivaled the creators of Angkor Wat. Like the ancient Khmer artisans, the creators of the Taj Mahal seem to have been blessed with almost a supernatural level of creativity and skill. Truly, the Taj is so much more than just another world traveler’s box to check before moving on to the Parthenon and the Eiffel Tower.

We returned to Delhi the next day and checked into a modest hotel near the airport and began planning our rendezvous with the rest of our team. Tim, Carol, Greg and Keith arrived together that evening and began their own initiation into travel purgatory. To make a very long story shortish, the hotel had informed us that they would not send a car until they received a call from the team informing them that they were on the ground. Unfortunately, there were no pay phones inside the hotel, so the team had to leave the airport and walk past the area the driver would later come to wait for them.

Complicating matters further, Carol had heard the guy from the hotel instruct her to look for a man with a black car with the hotel’s name. Nope. He said to look for a “man with a placard with the hotel’s name.” An hour or so after their expected arrival time, I asked the front desk captain if they had been picked up. “No. We talked to Mrs. Richardson on the phone, but we cannot find her team.”

Great. So I grabbed my coat and hailed a cab to the airport where I began my search, calling the hotel every half hour or so to see if they had arrived. My search began somewhat leisurely – I fully expected to find them within minutes of arrival. By the time midnight rolled around I was becoming frantic. No one could help me, no one would call the United Airlines office for me to try to locate them, and I wasn’t allowed in the airport without ticket or passport, the latter I had left at the hotel.

Thank God for my Indian cell card. I received a call around 12:30 that they had given up and taken a cab to the hotel. They were all in good spirits when I arrived – I was certainly more stressed out than any of them.

The next day – yesterday – we all got up and headed to the airport to make our flight to Siliguri and produced another travel comedy that I won’t take the time to discuss. Suffice it to say that it was only funny in retrospect. It was like an episode of the Amazing Race without the bimbos and backstabbing.

Eventually we all made it to Siliguri and were greeted by our wonderful director Nandu and his lovely wife Anu. We enjoyed a delicious lunch at a local hotel and headed in three cars – red, white and blue – into the mountains on a beautiful, but perilous journey that was something like a day trip though the Smoky Mountains and the fliming of a sequel to Blade Runner.

We arrived after dark at the Silver Oaks Hotel in Kalimpong, just the kind of quaint, Raj-era lodge you’d hope to find nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas. It’s really much nicer than we need, but Nandu negotiated an almost 50% tariff reduction, and he assured us that the other hotels would not be warm enough. A good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed with a thick blanket augmented marginally by a tiny space heater has convinced me that he made a good decision.

In a few minutes we will meet Nandu for breakfast and then we’ll make the final turn in our transition from tourists to visiting family, walking about a kilometer down the road to see the kids. I’ve loved all of the beautiful and impressive cultural sights, but none of them – not even the Taj – will be any better than the sight of the 50 smiling kids from our Kalimpong 1 and 2 homes, many of whom I have never met.

I will be sure to take lots and lots of pictures. Now the trip is really going to get good. Please stay tuned over the next few days for photos and stories from the most exciting part of our journey here in India. Thank you so much for your support of the kids and staff of Asia’s Hope.

Bhogpur Children's Home

It’s a three wool blanket and one ski cap kind of night in chilly Dehradun. There’s no central heating at the Bhogpur Children’s Home, where we are spending the night as the guest of Calvin Taylor, whose family has served in India for three generations. Sam has a cold, and has warned me that he will likely snore like a freight train. I have headphones and Ambien handy, so I think I should do okay. I also have a pillow nearby that I can use to smother one or both of us if things get out of hand.

The home was founded in 1945 by Calvin’s grandparents, and houses 420 children, all of whom have parents who are suffering from or have died of leprosy. It’s an honor to meet the kids and staff, and to see firsthand such a legacy of commitment to caring for the poor in Jesus’ name. It’s always great to meet colleagues and to share ideas and compare notes. I’ll leave here with lots to think about, and with a new set of kids to keep in my prayers.

We’ll be here for another day, so I’ll have plenty of time to take pictures of the kids and the surrounding area. I decided to just be a guest tonight, and I left the camera in my bag. It’s early, but it’s dark and I’m a bit jetlagged. I will probably head to bed soon.

Sam is already snoring. Time for headphones and sleepy pills.

Good night.

Good morning.

Fast forward a day and a half, and we’re in the Dehradun airport. It’s still cold and cloudy. We spent last night at a hotel – Sam’s cold was sufficient to warrant a change of venue so he could enjoy a hot shower. It seems to have helped, as did a night of relatively warm sleep.

Our time in Dehradun and Boghpur has been great. I pray that, like the ministry we visited here, Asia’s Hope will still be serving kids in 100 years.

We’ll relax in Delhi this afternoon and evening and then head to Agra by train tomorrow to see the Taj Mahal. I’ll be sure to bring extra camera batteries. I hope to do the sights justice.

I’m sure I’ll love the Taj, but I’m already restless. I’ve been poring over the photos and bios of our kids in Kalimpong – I want to call as many by name as my aging brain will permit. I miss even the ones I haven’t met yet! I’m can’t wait to see Nandu and his family again and introduce Sam and the team to them. In the meantime, though, I’ll enjoy being a tourist.

Old Delhi

According to our rickshaw driver, we experienced “the real India” today, bumping along narrow city streets packed with people and lined with shops selling saris and spices.

The day certainly started authentically enough, with Sam and I waiting for hours in queue at the “foreign tourist tickets” room in the Delhi train station. To have arrived at the room at all seems something of a miracle given the dozen or so touts who had set upon us to throw us off the scent. These hucksters stalk hapless tourists and waylay them with all manner of lies ranging from “you cannot buy tickets at this station – my friend will take you to another tourist office” to “the train no longer runs from Delhi to Agra – my friend can take you in his car.”

Eventually, we procured what we’re assuming are authentic tickets to Agra, the site of the incomparable Taj Mahal, which we will allegedly visit on Sunday, after we return from two days in Dehra Dun, site of an orphanage that Sam and his family have supported financially over the last few years. I’m looking forward to building relationships and sharing ideas with other colleagues and meeting those kids.

 After being released from the purgatory of Indian transport bureaucracy, Sam and I escaped by tuk-tuk to the Red Fort, a 17th Century Mughal palace. It was picturesque and red and fort-like. We then hired the aforementioned rickshaw driver who ferried us hither and yon through the back streets – and a few rooftops – of the old city.

As Sam observed, “This would be a lot harder in 100F weather.” Today’s temperature was mighty fine indeed – about 60F – perfect for jeans and jacket. I’ve only been here one day, but I can say with certainty that January is the ideal time to visit Delhi. I’m betting that it won’t be so pleasant when I return with the family this summer, but I’m sure we will have a great time nonetheless.

I can also tell you that I greatly prefer Delhi to Calcutta which, even for an experienced world traveler and extreme extrovert, was non-stop sensory overload.

I would love to write more, but that will have to wait. I’ve taken a short nap, and it’s time for dinner. I’m sure it will be delicious – everything in this country is. If I’m not too exhausted I’ll check in once more before leaving for Dehra Dun. Peace.

Hello, Delhi

After a long — almost 16 hours — but uneventful flight from Newark, I arrived in Delhi somewhere around 9pm, India time. Within a few minutes of disembarking, I began to experience the legendary bureaucracy that invades even international corporations like United Airlines in India.

After waiting for about an hour for my checked luggage to make its way onto the carousel, the baggage attendants and I agreed that it just wasn’t going to happen. That decision plunged me into another two hours of rubber stamps, carbon papers and forms to be filled (in triplicate, of course). Thankfully, I packed almost all of my essential items in my carry-on, so I’ll be okay for a couple of days. If I don’t recover my big suitcase, however, I’ll need to buy a new winter coat and I’ll lose many of the games and gifts I brought for the children. The suitcase will, allegedly, be delivered to my hotel by end of day tomorrow. That would be nice, but I’m not sure I’m counting on it.

After much ado at the airport, I rented a cab to take me to my hotel in Connaught Place, which appears to be the center of the city. At first glance, Delhi is about 50 year ahead of Calcutta in terms of infrastructure and cleanliness. Then again, it’s dark, and there was little traffic on the road. I will tell you, however, that this 30 minute cab ride was much better than last year’s hour-and-a-half deathmarch through Calcutta traffic sans air-conditioning, sans shock absorber.

The weather here is beautiful. I’d guess it’s about 40F at night. A light fog has descended over the city, and the whole place smells vaguely of incense. I am exhausted, but I can’t wait to get out into the city tomorrow morning to look around.

For now, however, I’m taking advantage of the 24 hour restaurant at my hotel, and I’m enjoying a plate of delicious mutton roganjosh and a basket of butter naan. So far, so good.

"In the darkness, there shined a light."

There’s a reason, I think, that as Christians we celebrate the birth of the savior at the darkest time of the year. The poignant juxtaposition of hope and despair, of darkness and light, is the very heart of the Christmas. The story of a people in captivity, barely holding on to belief in the promises of a God who seems to have forgotten them, whose rescue comes in the form of a baby born in a stable — this story resonates with all of us who fear, who doubt and who sometimes hope.

This Christmas has been for me a big jumble of darkness and light, of tears and laughter, of frustration and promise.

Last Thursday, after a full week of feeling buffeted by horrifying news stories of children my daughter’s age being massacred at school, of suicide bombings, hate crimes, drone strikes and fiscal cliffs, I was more than ready to leave the office, pack my up my wife and kids and head south to visit friends, family and Asia’s Hope supporters in North Carolina and Florida for a much-needed workcation.

As restless as I was to get on the road, there was no way I was going to miss my afternoon meeting with Mike Borst, pastor of NorthChurch (Lewis Center, Ohio). I’ve known Mike for years, and have long believed that NorthChurch would one day become an Asia’s Hope partnering congregation. On Thursday, we made it official: NorthChurch is now the sponsor of our newest home, Kalimpong 2 in Northeast India! In less than two weeks, I’ll be flying to India with a group of Asia’s Hope staff, board members and supporters, and I’ll get a chance to meet the 25 kids now living in our 25th children’s home.

I left the office buoyant – what a great way to end the year! I enjoyed a great evening with my family, finished packing my bags and went to bed only a little late. I woke up the next morning to a raft of Facebook messages and emails: one of our homes in Thailand had burned to the ground. As I pored over the pictures of stunned children and staff who, thank God, were not at home when the fire broke out, I felt sickened.

Beyond the building itself, these kids lost much more. They lost all of the letters, photos and drawings from friends, visitors and sponsors. Worse yet, I suspect that some of the children lost the one remaining picture they had of a mother or father. All of it burned up. Only one boy, Pichai, was able to recover a small album of photos. Beyond all of that, the sense of security we work so hard to provide for these children had been jeopardized.

Much less important was the sense of frustration I felt as I watched helplessly the nice, tidy bow I’d wrapped around 2012 unravel and fall to pieces. So many people had worked so hard to help Asia’s Hope end the year in the black and with a ton of forward momentum on a number of capital and operational projects. Now, I was headed out of the office for a month and a half with a huge, unfunded and immediate need.

$75,000 is a lot of money, especially for an organization that operates in the U.S. with a skeleton crew and on a shoestring budget. What could we do?

Clench fists. Breath deeply. Close eyes. Pray. Open eyes. Unclench fists.

Send out emails. Post on Facebook and Twitter.

Breath deeply. Close eyes. Pray. Open eyes.

Within hours, I heard from a longtime donor who sent enough money to meet immediate emergency needs – mattresses, mosquito nets, blankets, toiletries. Other donors called and offered to help. Our Canadian board president called and let us know that they had money to contribute to the effort. Pastors from Doi Saket 1’s supporting church and two Asia’s Hope churches not directly affected by the fire called and let me know that they would be taking special Christmas Eve offerings to help with the reconstruction.

By the time I got on the road, my frustration had dissolved, and was being replaced by something like exhilaration. Stuff was happening. God was doing it!

A week after the fire, we are within spitting distance of being able to cover the entire cost of tearing down the old building and completing the new one. Thanks to the hard work, the sacrifice and the generosity of our board, our partnering churches and dozens of ordinary people committed to stepping up and delivering for the orphaned children displaced by this fire, we’re proving to our Thai staff and kids that they are not alone, and that their brothers and sisters around the world can and will respond to their needs.

So, once again the Christmas narrative plays out in our midst. Out of darkness and despair comes light and hope.

Thank you for playing a part in this drama. Thank you engaging suffering, for unleashing hope. It is a pleasure to serve with you all.

When kids leave Asia's Hope

As we are all aware, our kids — those at home in the West and those living at Asia’s Hope — are growing up. In fact, over the next 10 years, we will see hundreds of kids at our homes in Cambodia, Thailand and India reach adulthood.

As each of these kids prepares to transition from childhood to adult independence, it’s important that we prepare our partners and supporters for this exciting, yet challenging phase. I hope that this letter will provide the context necessary to understand the choices our kids will be making as they leave home.

As you are probably aware, Asia’s Hope has committed to raise the money necessary to provide a college education or post-secondary vocational training course for any child willing and able to continue their education. We have already begun raising money for tuition, fees and other expenses through donations from our partnering churches and through individual contributions to our Scholarship Fund. We’re currently looking for partners to support a network of “student centers,” that will provide transitional housing for university-aged kids to live semi-independently while still under the guidance of Asia’s Hope staff.

It’s clear to us, though, that not every child will have the ability or desire to take advantage of these opportunities for continued education. In fact, some kids may not even graduate high school, and may pass directly into the job market before reaching age 18.

It’s tempting to see this as something of a loss, but I think that oversimplifies the narrative and fails to take fully into account the cultural opportunities and expectations at play in, say a country like Cambodia, where fewer than 15% of young adults are enrolled in tertiary education. Among hilltribe populations like those we serve in Thailand, many children in the villages receive little or no formal education, and marry shortly after entering puberty. In India, fewer than 50% of all kids finish high school. By local standards, every child at Asia’s Hope has been afforded extraordinary educational and social advantages.

It can be difficult for us as middle-class Westerners to not want for our kids in Asia something roughly equivalent to The American Dream: a college education, a white-collar job, a single-family dwelling with a continuous upwardly mobile career path. At Asia’s Hope we fully expect that many of our kids will aspire to and achieve that kind of life. We believe that we will see many doctors, lawyers, professors and executives among our graduates. However, we also expect to see — and will celebrate — kids who will work in factories, on farms, as laborers and shopkeepers, or who will get married and raise families.

Adding to the complexity is the fact that many of our kids entered our care far behind their peers academically due to their tragic life circumstances. We have a number of children who, as pre-adolescents, were their family’s primary breadwinner. We have some kids who have suffered emotional, psychological and neurological damage that will affect their academic potential.

Very few of our kids went to school on a daily basis prior to coming to Asia’s Hope. Thanks to the hard work of our staff and to ministry partners like Brightstart Learning (www.brightstartcambodia.org), many of those children have made amazing strides, catching up to their peers and in some cases surpassing them.

So what does “success” look like for our kids reaching adulthood? Certainly there is no one single outcome to which every child should aspire. We expect that every child will “graduate” from Asia’s Hope with a sense of security and with gratitude to a family and a God who rescued them from a life of poverty, loneliness and peril. We also pray that each of our departing kids will possess the education, the vocational skills and the confidence to live independently as productive members of the Kingdom of God and of their local community. Some kids may return to their villages and take up positions of leadership in their extended family. Some will enter the workforce directly, and others will go on to university before leaving our care.

We will continue to invest in programs and strategies designed to prepare all of our children for successful adulthood, and we will continue to lift them up in prayer and place them in God’s hands and watch them — often with bittersweet emotion — leave the nest.

For those of you who are key stakeholders in our homes, we will keep you updated as children transition out of our care, and will work with you to think through budgetary and strategic issues surrounding recruitment and replacement of new children to replace those leaving.

Important message about Cambodian adoptions

Important information about Asia’s Hope and the resumption of International Adoptions from Cambodia

Many of you may have heard the news that Cambodia has agreed to resume international adoptions and rescind the ban on such adoptions that has been in place since 2009 (http://bit.ly/W2uja4). I’ve already heard from supporters, partners and board members who want to know if Asia’s Hope is planning to make any of its children available for adoption.

The short answer is “no.” But the reasoning behind that answer is considerably more nuanced. I’d like to take the time to lay out some of our thoughts on the matter so you can help us field these questions when they come your way.

First of all, I want to be clear that as an adoptive father of three Asian children, I am wholeheartedly in support of international adoption in cases where orphaned children have no feasible options for long-term success in their country of origin. I’m thankful for all the people who worked hard to care for my children despite limited resources, and for the agencies and organizations who allowed Kori and I to bring Chien, Pak and Xiu Dan into our family. I strenuously reject many popular broadside criticisms of international adoption and find some of the generalizations about the motivations of birth families, agencies and adoptive families to be personally as well as professionally offensive and uniformed.

All this having been said, I also acknowledge that international adoption in general — and Cambodian adoption specifically — comes with ethical, economic and practical baggage that would introduce the potential for multiple negative outcomes for Asia’s Hope and few if any benefits.

Finances and Funding

One of the biggest threats to any organization dedicated to the rescuing, raising and restoring orphaned children is the introduction of a profit motive into the funding model.

Almost every documented instance of corruption or deception in the world of orphan care or adoption has occurred because someone — an agency employee, a facilitator, a birth-family member or a government official — knows that there is big money involved in international adoptions, and that there’s a potential to benefit financially by gaming the system.

As it stands, Asia’s Hope is financially stable, is accountable and transparent, operates debt free, and lives within its means. Because our funding model provides generously for our kids and staff, no one in our organization is incentivized by the potential to profit from our processes, either in the identification and intake of children or in the facilitation of an adoption to a Western country.

Our family based model

Each Asia’s Hope children’s home is based on a family, rather than an institutional model. Asia’s Hope hires a full-time mom and dad for each home. These parents live at the home and raise their own biological children alongside the Asia’s Hope kids. When orphaned children are brought into the home, they are treated not as patients or boarders. They’re considered brothers and sisters, sons and daughters.

Because we work so hard to foster a real family environment for each child in our care, we’re extremely hesitant to consider introducing factors into our organization that would threaten family cohesion. By “adopting out” kids from our homes, they would cease to be families, and would function as waystations, where kids would be passing in and out, and where our staff would be temporary caretakers, not parents. Even if we maintained our high staff-to-child ratio, our homes would surely take on institutional qualities to which we are adamantly opposed.

Furthermore, we would inevitably create multiple classes of children within our homes: those who are likely to be adopted, those who hope they will be adopted before they reach the 8-year old age limit, and those who know that they have no chance of being adopted. This would erode existing sibling bonds that are essential for each child’s current and future wellbeing.

Other considerations

By opening Asia’s Hope to international adoptions, we would forever enshrine a negative perception among our kids that we’re working so actively to dispel — that ‘escape’ to the West is the ultimate goal for a Cambodian kid. Fundamental to our model is the fervent belief that we are preparing our children to thrive in Cambodia as adults, and that they represent hope for Cambodia’s future.

Finally, we recognize that entering into the business of international adoptions would fundamentally alter our excellent relationship with the government of the Kingdom of Cambodia, and with other NGOs operating in the country, and would open us to bureaucratic interference, competition for resources and potential for fraud at a level heretofore unimaginable.

Conclusion

We at Asia’s Hope do not believe that we offer the only model of care for orphans, much less the only solution for the problems facing orphaned and destitute children. We are, however, convinced that we are called and equipped to continue on our current path and to continually invest in innovating and improving our existing funding and care models which have proved so beneficial to our kids and staff. We will, therefore, not be entering into the world of international adoption, and we will continue to raise all of our children in the families they’ve grown to love and depend upon.

Please feel free to contact me directly via phone 614.804.6233 or email john@asiashope.org with your questions or comments.

A few of my heroes

My wife, Kori, and I took some time on Monday to get out of the house and enjoy the holiday. The kids spent most of their morning enchanted by the glow of their various rectangular electronic devices while Kori and I hung out at a local coffee shop and wandered hand-in-hand along the streets of Columbus’ Short North arts district.

After doing a little shopping, we stopped in at home and made sure the kids were still respirating properly and then headed to the Asia’s Hope office for a nice antipasto lunch — olives, cheese, cured meats — the whole shebang. Seth was in South Dakota playing some rock festival, so we had the place to ourselves.

I pulled out some old hard drives from the cabinet, put on some Rich Mullins tunes for old-times’ sake and we took a leisurely stroll down memory lane. Kori is working on putting together a “life book” photo album for Xiu Dan, our seven-year-old daughter, and there are a few pics we couldn’t find on any of our home computers. I found the correct drive on the first try (a minor miracle in itself), so we had plenty of time to look through the thousands of photos I took on our 2006 adoption journey to China. 

Most importantly, we located a dozen or so photos we’ve never published anywhere, and which have seen only by close family members. We found the pictures of the orphanage where Xiu Dan spent the first year of her life; we found the pictures of the tiny apartment where her nanny cooked and cleaned for Xiu Dan and three other babies, the pictures of her tiny crib. We also found some sobering images, most notably the piece of sidewalk where Xiu Dan was found lying, wrapped up carefully and, I imagine, kissed goodbye by a mother she’ll never know.

Most precious to me, however, are the photos of my daughter’s nanny — whose name we never learned — and of the orphanage director, the man Xiu Dan called “Ba Ba,” Chinese for “Daddy.” I don’t know anything about these people. I don’t know their marital status, their religious beliefs, their political convictions, but they’re heroes to me. I owe them an incredible debt. They fed, washed, protected and cared for my daughter when I could not. When she was an orphan, they took her in and gave her what was, from everything I can tell, a loving and safe temporary family.

Xiu Dan's "BaBa," the orphanage director who cared for her for her first year.

Kori, Xiu Dan and Xiu Dan's nanny at the orphanage in Zhangshu, China

Xiu Dan and Kori resting at the hotel in Nanchang, ChinaI feel the same way about the workers at the underfunded, overcrowded state-run Vietnamese orphanage who took such good care of my son Chien while he waited for his forever family to arrive. May God bless them today!

What an honor it is for me to work for an organization filled with caring men and women who have dedicated their lives to caring for orphaned kids at risk of sexual and economic exploitation. Our Asia’s Hope home parents have given up other, easier careers and have sacrificed most of their privacy and a lot of their independence. They never “get the house to themselves.”

Parenting is never easy. But imagine adding 20 kids to your home — 20 kids with 20 different tragic life stories that led up to them joining your family. It’s not just admirable, it’s heroic.

A few of Asia's Hope's many wonderful parents.

It’s a joy to wake up every day and head into the office knowing that I’m working not only for the kids of Asia’s Hope, but for the staff. Please say a prayer today for all of the wonderful staff of Asia’s Hope — almost 150 in Cambodia, Thailand and India — for the home parents, the cooks, the teachers, the nurses and our country and regional directors. Pray that God will continue to bless and encourage them and reward them for their hard work and dedication.

May God bless all of our families and all those who care them.

Heaven on earth, we need it now.

It’s 9:45 p.m. and I’m sitting in the Phnom Penh airport international departure terminal. I’ve been struggling with composing a post for almost a week now, partly out of busy-ness, partly out of melancholy.

The clouds started rolling in over my spirit about a week ago in Thailand, as I discussed with our national director the special medical, psychological and spiritual attention required for one of our children, an 11-year old girl. Starting when she was age 5 and ending only when she came to live with us three years ago, this young girl had been raped by a series of adult men in her village. Today she remains broken in spirit and in body.

Recently, I’ve reacquainted myself with the bios of the hundreds of kids we’ve placed in permanent, loving families over the past few years. Taken together, they read like an encyclopedia of sorrows – abandonment, abuse, death, homelessness. The suffering these kids have dealt with is unimaginable. So many have watched both parents die. So many others have endured being passed around as domestic servants or cheap laborers. It’s heavy stuff.

The clouds began to rain a couple of days ago as we said our goodbyes in Thailand and prepared to return to Cambodia for one last full day in Asia. This trip felt like a whirlwind. It seems like we didn’t have nearly enough time to really connect with the kids and staff we love so dearly.

This morning, I woke up at about 5:30 a.m. and resisted initially the temptation to check my emails for fear that I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep after doing so. Something inside me said, “But what if someone has died? You should check.” Really. That was the thought that crossed my mind. I couldn’t shake it, so I picked up my iPhone and clicked on the email app. 

I noticed immediately the message from my wife titled “Very Important News.”

The rain turned to a hurricane, a flood, a tornado of horror and sadness as I read that my son’s friend Noah had been shot – accidentally -- and killed by another classmate.

Noah was a sweet, 14 year old boy who had latched onto our family over the last year or so. He had spent many nights at our house, and was Chien’s constant companion after school and at the pool. Noah was the kind of kid that really seemed to need the calming influence of a stable nuclear family; he probably enjoyed hanging out at our house more than any of Chien’s other friends.

Just hours before his death, he had been with Chien at our community fireworks display. And now he’s dead? It just doesn’t make any sense. None of the pat answers we tell ourselves and our children about God’s sovereignty and this fallen world seem to help at a time like this, much less the shallow greeting-card-platitudes that get bandied about inevitably when tragedy strikes.

None of that stands up very well against the poignant and excruciating reality reflected in a thousand Facebook posts from a bunch of shocked, dazed and heartbroken 9^th graders: “OMG. I can’t believe I’m not going to see you any more!”

Oh my God indeed.

It’s only July and I’ve already had two friends shot to death this year. I’m beginning to hate these damned guns as much as I already hate cancer. What in God’s name is wrong with this world?

So today, I’ve walked around in some sort of a fog, carrying around this horror like some sort of disease. Nothing really tastes good, and I’ve got a throbbing behind my eyes that crying won’t wash away. My heart is broken for Noah’s family, for his girlfriend, for his classmates, for his friends who watched him die, for the boy who accidentally pulled the trigger. And for my son.

I feel completely helpless. All this happens and I’m 9,000 miles away. Trying to parent via Skype is difficult even in good times. It is most definitely time for me to go home. Time to hug my wife and all of my kids.

So what are we to think about all of this suffering? How are we supposed to reconcile the rape of a five year old girl in Thailand and the death of a 15 year old boy in Ohio with the idea of a loving God?

I’m not sure.

I mean, I can give you page after page of textbook answers. But the only comfort I can receive from my theology today comes from Jesus himself. I’m beyond grateful that God revealed himself to us not as some aloof celestial deity -- detached from all pain, all desires, all earthly attachments – but as a man of sorrows, closely acquainted with grief, a man who loved, who lost, who wept and who suffered an unfair, undignified death in a real country on this same earth we walk today. The One I pray to understands injustice and pain. I’m not sure I could be comforted by any other kind of god.

What other kind of god could offer any solace to an orphan or to child who has lost his best friend?

So I leave you with this prayer of lament and supplication, written by Bono. May God have mercy on us all.

Heaven on earth, we need it now.

I’m sick of all of this hanging around.

I’m sick of the sorrow, I’m sick of the pain.

I’m sick of hearing again and again

That there’s gonna be peace on earth.

Jesus, can you take the time to

Throw a drowning man a line?

Peace on earth.

We hear it every Christmas time

But hope and history don’t rhyme

So what’s it worth, this peace on earth?

“The way bacon – and vegetarians – are made.”

Warning: This post includes pictures of butchery that my disturb sensitive readers.

Seems ironic that I’m sitting in the cool, breezy lobby of a jungle resort in Northern Thailand enjoying reasonably fast internet access ad my family in Ohio is without power and enduring sweltering heat. 

I spoke with Kori a few minutes ago and she said that they’re taking it all with a grain of salt. They’ve spent the last few summers in Asia living out of suitcases and dealing with brutal heat and unusual living arrangements. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Still, another week without power? I wish I was there to help.

Alas, I’m not. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t possibly get much further from home if I tried. We’re in Wiang Pa Pow, a mix of rural, mountainside hilltribe farms and dense rainforests about an hour and a half north of Chiang Mai. In a few hours we’ll have church with the kids at the two Wiang Pa Pow children’s homes, both sponsored by the Wooster Grace Church in Ohio.

Delicious Thai food enjoyed at a roadside restaurant on the way to Wiang Pa Pow

Generally speaking, the children at our Thailand homes are more reserved than those of ours in Cambodia. They tend to give a quick hug, a respectful bow and maintain a degree of polite aloofness. They’ll talk to you, they’ll hold your hand, but usually, they won’t climb all over you. Our kids at Wiang Pa Pow do not fit this generalization. They’re rowdy, rambunctious and not a bit reserved.

We arrived at Wiang Pa Pow yesterday afternoon. When we got to our campus, a large and verdant 13-acre complex we often call “the farm,” the staff and older boys had already killed the pig, and had just started the cleaning and butchering process. Bloody yet fascinating, the skill with which a group of hilltribe men dispatch a pig is impressive. Every time I witness it, I feel like I’m watching something ancient and essential, and I’m proud to see it being passed down to a new generation of boys at Asia’s Hope. It is, however, a bit grisly, and is as I observed last night “the way bacon – and vegetarians – are made.”

These two are lucky -- for now...

This one? Not so much.

The older boys enjoy helping with the slaughter and butchery of the pig, learning and maintaining centuries' old hilltribe ways.

We also spent some time with the widows who live on the farm, and got the chance to see (and even eat!) some of the worms responsible for the beautiful silk that’s being cultivated, harvested, dyed and woven on our Wiang Pa Pow property.

The kids at Wiang Pa Pow learn about silk cultivation and weaving from the widows who tend the farm.

After stuffing ourselves with freshly killed pig, we spent a couple of hours playing with the kids. They sang and danced and we gave them some gifts. It was a beautiful evening. I’m so thankful for the staff of Asia’s Hope and also for the generosity of Wooster Grace for the sponsorship of our Wiang Pa Pow homes. Construction on the second home — Wiang Pa Pow 2 — was finished only a few weeks ago. It’s a joy to be able to provide high-quality housing and loving care for all of these kids. I thank all of you who have helped make this possible, and for all of you who pray for the wider ministry of Asia’s Hope. 

God is doing a great thing, and he’s using you to do it!

Banner day

It has been thus far in Chiang Mai a banner day. The rain is tapering off after a brief but torrential downpour, and the post-shower breeze is providing a delightful though momentary respite from the humidity.

We arrived in Chiang Mai yesterday afternoon. Tutu and her husband Dan surprised us by booking us for two nights at the Horizon Resort, a beautiful hotel in Doi Saket filled with topiary gardens and bike paths. Despite our protest, they’re also picking up the tab – which is considerably more than the $15 per night I usually budget for these kinds of trips.

This morning, we slept in for the first time in weeks. And I mean I really slept in, like to 8:30 or something. It was pretty luxurious. Pak misses Cambodia badly, but is thrilled at the slower pace. At home, if we let him, he’d stay in bed every summer day ’til noon. On this trip, we’ve been by 6 daily. Here in Thailand, the kids are in school until 4pm, so there’s really no reason for us to rush to get up in the morning. And also, I don’t have a car here and there’s no public transportation this far outside of the city, so hitting the streets in the wee hours means inconveniencing staff. So I slow things down. Sometimes that stresses me out; I’m the kind of guy who likes to suck the marrow out of each hour of the day. But today, it’s been nice to relax.

We spent a couple of hours at our main Doi Saket campus last night, singing, playing and worshipping with the kids. It was a blast. The kids were very happy to see Pak and I, and excited to meet Seth. There were, however, a few disappointed teenage girls who were looking forward to another visit from Chien. There’s one girl in particular who has had a crush on him since he first visited as a ten year old. Sorry, Walai. Chien couldn’t make it. Sigh…

Our Doi Saket campus at dusk

After a leisurely morning at the hotel, we went into the city with Tutu. She had some errands to run, and we needed to stop at a store to pick up some toothpaste and other personal items we’d either lost or used up. I also picked up a sim card for my phone so I can be in touch in case of emergencies.

After a delicious lunch, we went to a bookstore to buy Thai Bibles for some of the kids, and then Tutu paid for Seth and I to have an hour-and-a-half traditional Thai massage (all therapeutic, no funny stuff). If you’ve never had a traditional Thai massage, I’d suggest that (after you confirm that it’s all therapeutic, no funny stuff) you go get one. Most of the experience skates the fine line between relaxation and torture: lots of knees in the back and very firm pressure on the shoulders, legs, neck and face. Good stuff.

Lunch with Tutu Bee and Seth Earnest

We’re now back at the hotel taking a short break before heading out of town to our Hot Springs home. I really enjoy spending time with Pastor Suradet, his wife, his kids and the staff. They live about 20 minutes away from most of our other homes, so they’re a bit isolated. They get to visit the rest of the kids on a semi-regular basis, but they don’t enjoy the same kind of drop-by-for-sugar kind of relationship with other Asia’s Hope families.

We’ll have dinner, play with the kids, spend a little time singing and praying, and then we’ll head back. If we have any energy, we’ll drop by the Chiang Mai night market. Tomorrow, we head to Wiang Pa Pow, where we’ll spend a couple of days. I don’t know what kind of internet access I’ll have, so this may be my last communiqué for a while.

The view of the countryside from our Hot Springs home

Evening devotions at Hot Springs

Keep praying for us. We’re all healthy and happy, and we’re not yet completely tired of one another. God is so good. It’s an honor to be a part of this ministry. Thanks for your support and encouragement. 

Ending the day with delicious Roti at the night market

“If you don’t like this, you’re going to be miserable in heaven.”

After another long morning of driving we arrived back in Phnom Penh. It seems hard to believe that our time in Cambodia is almost over. Last year, I stayed in Asia for more than three months at one stretch, most of it with my family. This year, it’s just been my son Pak and my colleague Seth, and we’re only here for 4 weeks. No wonder I’m feeling rushed.

But that’s not all. This trip so far has been jam packed with activities and responsibilities. We’ve had multiple teams from the States coming over to visit the kids, and I’ve been meeting with a group of businessmen from Ohio, casting vision for the proposed campus in Prek Eng. In the past week, I’ve driven the 10 hour round trip journey between Battambang and Phnom Penh twice, and the 8 hour Phnom Penh-to-Siem Reap-to-Battambang route once.

I’m tired. Sunday was probably the craziest day of all. But it was one of the best days I’ve had in Cambodia in years.

We got up bright and early and headed to the Asia’s Hope Battambang campus to join hundreds of kids and staff and dozens of visitors in a couple of hours of raucus worship – songs, dances, and a great message from Pastor Tim Armstrong from the Crossroads Church in Mansfield, Ohio. 

After the service, we walked to our beautiful new learning center, which was just completed at the end of last week. The Crossroads team outfitted it with computers and software they brought from the States, and it’s ready for use. Its two classrooms and computer lab will provide real and immediate benefit to our kids, who will need computing skills to compete in Cambodia’s competitive and rapidly growing employment marketplace. 

Pastor Tim, Pastor Deering and I were asked to cut the ribbon. Until the sign on the side of the building was unveiled, Deering did not know that the building had been named “The Jean Dyer Memorial Learning Center” in honor of his wife who died suddenly last year. The cost of construction was subsidized by donations given in her memory. It was a beautiful and touching event that left very few dry-eyed. After the dedication ceremony, we all walked over to the nearly-completed Battambang 8 home and prayed a special blessing on the kids and upon the building.

The dedication of the Jean Dyer Memorial Learning Center

Prayers for the Battambang 8 Children's Home

We grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed out to a nearby waterpark where we expended recklessly all of our remaining energy, baking in the hot Cambodian sun and serving as jungle-gyms for hordes of excited young kids. After a few hours of horseplay, we took a break and baptized more than a dozen kids and a handful of visiting team members.

We shambled back to Battambang for dinner and then returned to the campus for a dance party and fireworks.

My gracious. 

Despite our exhaustion, all of us danced – at least for a while. The party lasted for only about two hours, but it seemed much, much longer. It was physically draining, but emotionally and spiritually exhilarating. I’ve chaperoned dances in the U.S., and they’re nothing like our Asia’s Hope dance parties. At our bashes, no one is picked on, no one is left out, no one is harassed, and no one gets even close to first base. It’s truly a wonderful experience.

As I said to one of our amazed and delighted visitors, “If you don’t like this, you’re going to be miserable in heaven.”

Seeing these kids dance and laugh and play, you’d be hard pressed to perceive the depth of suffering that each of these children has experienced. You’d never know that Mariya’s father had hanged himself, and that one year ago, none of us could tell if she even knew how to smile. And although she is still a bit shy, you might never know that Srey Oun’s dad was a child rapist serving a long sentence, or that her mother was a destitute day laborer who could neither feed nor educate any of her five children. You certainly wouldn’t pick Usa as an child whose father died in a landmine explosion and whose mother died of a fever before he could even learn their names.

Beautiful MariyaVando, Seyla and some of the kids from our Battambang 2 home

But that’s the beauty of a loving family; that’s the transforming power of hope. Each of our children has suffered tremendous loss. A random sampling of our kids’ bios reads like an encyclopedia of misery: landmines, AIDS, abuse, alcoholism, addiction, abandonment – you name it, we’ve got it. But God is changing these kids, restoring their childhood and giving them not only strength for today, but a real, tangible hope for tomorrow.

Yesterday we visited a village not far from Battambang, where we joined a local pastor providing prayers and some financial assistance to widows and orphans and poor families just barely scraping by in conditions that would have to be improved significantly to qualify for appalling. Spending time in communities like the ones into which our kids were born is sobering, but also inspiring. We all left with an even greater commitment to continuing our hard work to provide the best possible care for as many kids as God blesses us with, not just in Cambodia, but also in Thailand and India.

Widows and an orphan in a rural village

Will you continue to pray with me? We need more churches to come alongside Asia’s Hope to bless orphans with high-quality, loving Christian homes. Our need in India – our newest ministry field – is especially great. I believe that God wants more from any of us than we can possibly imagine. Please join me in begging God for three, four – even five – new partnering churches in the next six months.

Tomorrow we head off to Thailand. I promise more pics and stories after we hit the ground.

Peace.

What Seth said.

After yesterday's all-day extravaganza, I was too tired to post. Today I'm too busy: another full day. 

I will let Seth Earnest's great post serve as my update for now. When I have the time I will do my best to write a suitable entry.