Although there were moments, during the hottest part of the days during our time at JSMK, when it felt like it would never come, we exited the jungle this week.
I could use this blog post to tell you about the final days and details - getting sick the day before departure, lying on the floor of our hut in the sweltering afternoon heat repeatedly taking off my shirt to soak it in a bucket of water and then putting it back on wet to try to bring my (not-too-high-but-still-miserable) fever down, and the pounding of the dehydration headache and turning of my stomach through the long, hot afternoon.
But I'll keep that part of the post short: we got sick, we recovered, we hiked out to the supply village and then rode on the back of Honda Wave 125cc scooters the 20km out of the jungle on the route we had previously entered via tractor. It was very exciting, at moments, and you should definitely ask Gabe, "What happened to the soap?" the next time you see him, and you can ask me, "How did you commune with the water buffalo?" if you want, but those stories would be better shared in person (when we're home safe and reading about them on our blog doesn't terrify our poor mothers!).
Instead I want to spend this post talking about the feeling I experienced hiking out. I was behind our friend Klo Law Law Say, in front of Gabe, who was in front of another ranger. We knew we were going into the zone of space as we left the jungle that is within a few miles of the Burma army, but with the present ceasefire, we didn't have to be quite so cautious as in past days (we heard that they used to only hike the trail at night, now we can hike during the day).
Although I had my heavy pack on my back, and I wasn't feeling 100% anyhow, and I was certainly a far cry from speedy on the mountainous terrain, I realized as I watched Klo Law Law Say's back disappear around a bend in the trail in front of me: I felt safe.
Oh, I'm not talking the kind of safe one feels when they're sipping hot cocoa in front of a cheerful fire on a dreary, rainy Washington day, or even the kind of safe possible to experience when one crawls into bed in a place where there are no venomous centipedes - I'm talking about that safe feeling that isn't dependent on creature comforts or surroundings, but rather on the presence of someone strong, someone good, someone brave, someone who you know has already made up their mind to do the right thing, no matter what the circumstances involve.
You see, not only was I with Gabe, who is certainly that kind of a person, albeit as foreign in this territory as I am, I was with two Free Burma Rangers. And because of that, I knew I was safe.
If someone or something should attack us, they would put themselves between us and the danger. If I grew too weak and weary to continue carrying my pack, they would carry it for me. If I slipped and fell and hurt myself - broke a bone or hit my head or got stuck in a ravine, they would do whatever it took to help me, to get me the medical care I needed, to get me out.
That's what they do - and for just a moment, in a very limited, narrow, Galawa (foreigner) tinted way, I felt what the thousands of Karen and other minority tribal people of Burma have experienced when walking trails just like the one I was on in the presence of a Free Burma Ranger: come what may, I have a strong, friendly, trained, warrior type of person here with me, and I know that I'm going to be OK. They won't leave me behind, they won't abandon me, they know this land and this trail, they will go through whatever I have to face, and they will do it with me.
And then, as such feelings and thoughts often - and perhaps ought to! - do, I realized how limited my scope of view was, as if walking in the presence of a good, strong, committed, resourceful, brave, honorable being on a possibly dangerous path was limited just to being in the presence of a Free Burma Ranger.
Do I not walk EVERY path with a personal, relationship-oriented, friend-God? Is not God's Spirit - brave, strong, good, honorable, resourceful, and even all-knowing and all-powerful - with me EVERYday, living inside me and accompanying me on any trail I travel, be it an urban or literal jungle, or figurative or physical mountains, carrying emotional or spiritual or tangible weight on my shoulders? But of course! "Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me" (Ps 23:4), and "He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along" (Ps 40:2).
It was, despite the liter(s!) of sweat pouring out of my forehead, stinging my eyes, and making my vision wobble and stretch, a moment of clarity: "Put your hope in me, Dani. Travel steadily along my path (Ps 37:34). I know this trail, even if you don't. I won't leave you behind; I'll help you carry your pack when it gets too heavy. I am prepared, I am ready, I am walking before you and behind you. You can be at peace, even if there is war on all sides of you. You are safe."
What a tangible moment! What a visible revelation!
Later, when Gabe and I were talking about our thoughts on leaving, we decided that if something were to happen and we were to be told that we had to leave the US and never come back, abandon our people, and no longer claim association with them, BUT we could choose one people group in the world to ask to adopt us and take us in as their own, we would ask the people of Karen State (home of the Free Burma Rangers). And we would understand if they told us no, because we are so unfit and unknowledgeable about how to survive in their way of life, and we would bring so little to be able to offer them. But if they said yes, we would be so honored!
Our time at JSMK has redefined my mental image of a hero. Now, if Gabe and I were asked to picture our hero, we would immediately envision a small, dark-skinned person, wearing basketball shorts and flip-flops a couple sizes too small, carrying a huge, camo-colored backpack up a 45 degree angle mountain in blazing sun for thousands of vertical feet, perhaps stopping in a few square feet of shade cast by some tiny, scrubby shrub to say, "Ah! Teacher! Is so hot! I am so tired!" Before flashing a big smile, taking a deep breath, and hefting the pack onto the shoulder of their olive green t-shirt with a badge across the left breast that states: Free Burma Ranger.
My heroes keep climbing. There are supplies to deliver, people who need hope, justice to stand for, and they still have a long way to go.
- Dani
I could use this blog post to tell you about the final days and details - getting sick the day before departure, lying on the floor of our hut in the sweltering afternoon heat repeatedly taking off my shirt to soak it in a bucket of water and then putting it back on wet to try to bring my (not-too-high-but-still-miserable) fever down, and the pounding of the dehydration headache and turning of my stomach through the long, hot afternoon.
But I'll keep that part of the post short: we got sick, we recovered, we hiked out to the supply village and then rode on the back of Honda Wave 125cc scooters the 20km out of the jungle on the route we had previously entered via tractor. It was very exciting, at moments, and you should definitely ask Gabe, "What happened to the soap?" the next time you see him, and you can ask me, "How did you commune with the water buffalo?" if you want, but those stories would be better shared in person (when we're home safe and reading about them on our blog doesn't terrify our poor mothers!).
Instead I want to spend this post talking about the feeling I experienced hiking out. I was behind our friend Klo Law Law Say, in front of Gabe, who was in front of another ranger. We knew we were going into the zone of space as we left the jungle that is within a few miles of the Burma army, but with the present ceasefire, we didn't have to be quite so cautious as in past days (we heard that they used to only hike the trail at night, now we can hike during the day).
Although I had my heavy pack on my back, and I wasn't feeling 100% anyhow, and I was certainly a far cry from speedy on the mountainous terrain, I realized as I watched Klo Law Law Say's back disappear around a bend in the trail in front of me: I felt safe.
Oh, I'm not talking the kind of safe one feels when they're sipping hot cocoa in front of a cheerful fire on a dreary, rainy Washington day, or even the kind of safe possible to experience when one crawls into bed in a place where there are no venomous centipedes - I'm talking about that safe feeling that isn't dependent on creature comforts or surroundings, but rather on the presence of someone strong, someone good, someone brave, someone who you know has already made up their mind to do the right thing, no matter what the circumstances involve.
You see, not only was I with Gabe, who is certainly that kind of a person, albeit as foreign in this territory as I am, I was with two Free Burma Rangers. And because of that, I knew I was safe.
If someone or something should attack us, they would put themselves between us and the danger. If I grew too weak and weary to continue carrying my pack, they would carry it for me. If I slipped and fell and hurt myself - broke a bone or hit my head or got stuck in a ravine, they would do whatever it took to help me, to get me the medical care I needed, to get me out.
That's what they do - and for just a moment, in a very limited, narrow, Galawa (foreigner) tinted way, I felt what the thousands of Karen and other minority tribal people of Burma have experienced when walking trails just like the one I was on in the presence of a Free Burma Ranger: come what may, I have a strong, friendly, trained, warrior type of person here with me, and I know that I'm going to be OK. They won't leave me behind, they won't abandon me, they know this land and this trail, they will go through whatever I have to face, and they will do it with me.
And then, as such feelings and thoughts often - and perhaps ought to! - do, I realized how limited my scope of view was, as if walking in the presence of a good, strong, committed, resourceful, brave, honorable being on a possibly dangerous path was limited just to being in the presence of a Free Burma Ranger.
Do I not walk EVERY path with a personal, relationship-oriented, friend-God? Is not God's Spirit - brave, strong, good, honorable, resourceful, and even all-knowing and all-powerful - with me EVERYday, living inside me and accompanying me on any trail I travel, be it an urban or literal jungle, or figurative or physical mountains, carrying emotional or spiritual or tangible weight on my shoulders? But of course! "Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me" (Ps 23:4), and "He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along" (Ps 40:2).
It was, despite the liter(s!) of sweat pouring out of my forehead, stinging my eyes, and making my vision wobble and stretch, a moment of clarity: "Put your hope in me, Dani. Travel steadily along my path (Ps 37:34). I know this trail, even if you don't. I won't leave you behind; I'll help you carry your pack when it gets too heavy. I am prepared, I am ready, I am walking before you and behind you. You can be at peace, even if there is war on all sides of you. You are safe."
What a tangible moment! What a visible revelation!
Later, when Gabe and I were talking about our thoughts on leaving, we decided that if something were to happen and we were to be told that we had to leave the US and never come back, abandon our people, and no longer claim association with them, BUT we could choose one people group in the world to ask to adopt us and take us in as their own, we would ask the people of Karen State (home of the Free Burma Rangers). And we would understand if they told us no, because we are so unfit and unknowledgeable about how to survive in their way of life, and we would bring so little to be able to offer them. But if they said yes, we would be so honored!
Our time at JSMK has redefined my mental image of a hero. Now, if Gabe and I were asked to picture our hero, we would immediately envision a small, dark-skinned person, wearing basketball shorts and flip-flops a couple sizes too small, carrying a huge, camo-colored backpack up a 45 degree angle mountain in blazing sun for thousands of vertical feet, perhaps stopping in a few square feet of shade cast by some tiny, scrubby shrub to say, "Ah! Teacher! Is so hot! I am so tired!" Before flashing a big smile, taking a deep breath, and hefting the pack onto the shoulder of their olive green t-shirt with a badge across the left breast that states: Free Burma Ranger.
My heroes keep climbing. There are supplies to deliver, people who need hope, justice to stand for, and they still have a long way to go.
- Dani
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