8th
This isn’t summer camp
Tomorrow morning, I will be heading up to the mountains again. With all of the security concerns in this particular part of the world in which I’m serving, I don’t get to be much more specific about my location than that. Out of town. Up in the mountains. To a place that feels like another world sometimes.
Since I’ve travelled to this place before, this time I know what to bring with me. Toilet paper, for instance. An extra battery for my headlamp. WARM socks.
Unlike Chiang Mai (Thailand), this place is a bit colder. It sits at a higher elevation, so the weather can sometimes be a bit stronger, a bit more unpredictable. That being said, I’ll also bring rain boots. God knows how much I’ll need them!
Heading back to this place, a small piece of me feels like I’m going to summer camp. I get to wash my clothes by hand. I usually don’t have electricity. People sit outside their rooms and play music together. I watch. I learn. I am stretched.
If you spend any time at this place, you will learn quickly that there is a strong resilience in the people here. They carry heavy loads, but they fight on. They are fiercely intense about the freedom of their people, and of their land.
If you are blessed with a chance to hear one of their stories, it will be one that bears the marks of battle, loss, displacement, and often times death of ones they have loved.
I want to learn all that I can about these lovely people. Much of the world has overlooked them. Many of them cannot return home, yet they have nowhere else to go. They’ve got no status. So they gather here. They rebuild. And they probably drink a little too much.
After all, this isn’t summer camp.
