A visit to the neighborhood

The neighborhood we live in is divided into two different sections by a stretch of a small county highway.  On the side we live on there is a stretch of houses along the main road, then a smaller road winds back away from the highway to the area we live in.  Our house is on the edge of New Life Church of Wiang Kaen’s property.  The church’s soccer field borders our house and then there’s the church, a big cement building with a bright blue roof.  A few other houses are in back behind the church, all belonging to members of the church.  It’s a blessing to live in a Christian section of this neighborhood as the influences of the neighborhood are often dark and immoral. 

Crossing the road to the other part of the neighborhood is a clear line, both in feeling and in sight.  Houses are mostly constructed of wood.  There are bamboo homes, with only grass thatch for a roof.  There are water faucets connected to random pieces of pipes, providing water for dish washing, laundry and whatever else.  The water spills haphazardly onto the ground where broken cement slabs serve as a counter/table for the chores that need to be accomplished there.  

It was to this side of the neighborhood that we walked to today and to a house that is one of the most dilapidated in the area.  Trash lies around outside, longing for someone to put it in its right place.  The walls of the house are constructed of wood planks, spaced in some places, so that light and every other kind of vermin can make its way in without even having to use the door.  The floor is dirt, scattered with old cigarette butts, rusty nails and miscellaneous broken household items.  The old grandpa greets us as we enter, inviting us to eat with him at his small bamboo table nestled on the floor.  It sets next to the indoor cooking fire and a pile of ashes that rise high above floor level.  There is a putrid smell, of smoke I suppose and the closeness of humanity.  A little boy named John is the person we have come to see.  His mother carries him out from the back bedroom to the main room and lays him on a wooden plank bed.  The bed is covered with laundry and long, dirty nails poke out from the underside.  This little boy is Rudy’s age, 19 months old, but he couldn’t be any more different from this jolly little son of mine that I’m holding in my arms.  7 months ago the neighborhood flooded and little John, having just started to walk, wandered away from whoever it was that was watching him.  He disappeared and was found almost 30 minutes later, face down in a rushing stream, stopped by the strong roots of a tree that held him in place.  He was immediately rushed to a big hospital in Chiang Rai, about 2 hours away, where he spent the next 7 months.  At times he was on a respirator.  Recently he was released from the hospital after being given a tracheotomy.  John lies very still on his bed.  At times phlegm and water start coming out of his nose and his tracheotomy site.  His mother works quickly to suction out the areas that are causing trouble as John struggles to breathe.  I felt faint and almost sick watching the site.  It wasn’t the phlegm that bothered me and there was no blood to be seen.  It was just everything that seemed to crush and overwhelm me.  The exhausted mother, the almost lifeless child, the stiff legs, the distant expression on his face, the filthiness of the surroundings, the hopelessness of his condition.  What darkness there must be when one doesn’t know the Lord and is faced with these circumstances.  As a mother a week of sickness in a child is a challenge and a major concern, but this, this is possibly a lifetime of serious and grave concern.  John’s father has deserted the family and the only other person around, grandfather, is hardly able to help with the tasks of caring for this child.  I could see a look of defeat on the mother’s face.  We’ve talked to his mother many times since John’s accident and she always seemed incredibly strong and positive.  This time though I could see that tiredness and hopelessness were beginning to creep into her features.  She is not a believer and although we pray with her every time we visit, I know she won’t have the incredible peace that the Lord gives until she accepts His gift for herself.  Would you pray with me for Ching Muay and her son John?  Pray that Ching Muay would accept the Lord as her Savior and rely on Him to supply all her needs.  Pray for John, that the Lord would heal him. 

I rejoiced in my boys the rest of the day after our visit.  What a reminder it was to me of the blessing of good health and safety.  I rejoiced in the ridiculous amounts of energy that they seem to be able to put out every day, because it means that they are healthy and strong.  I rejoiced in the questions and singing, because it means that they are able to speak and think and that they are developing normally.  I rejoiced in the huge meals they were able to devour, thankful that the Lord is providing for all their needs.  I am thankful tonight for all the things that I so often take for granted.