Confessions of an adventure-seeker

As a school-weary, unemployed, recent Bible-school graduate, I stood in dire need of an adventure. So, when God called me to Thailand to live with five orphaned, HIV-positive preteens for the summer, I listened. After all, I had to do my duty.

But what precisely is your duty, oh Western middle-class mediocre Christian? How can you help (if you can help at all) without burning down Thailand and creating a little Canada in its place?

A major endeavour of mine has been to increase the number of fruits and veggies entering the orphanage from “none” to “some,” but is my never-ending quest to get a carrot into my boys just an example of western hubris? After all, the Thai have been defying the Canada Food Guide for centuries (their food pyramid doesn’t even have a section for dairy), and they seem to be doing fine. My ancient neighbour is proof-positive that some of them, at least, do grow old. And certainly, they are a tiny people, but do we all need to be tall and fleshy? Every one of the children at the boys’ school is in the lowest possible growth percentile (not that they care), but that’s because they’re poor, not because they’re Thai.

How do we help in a way that’s Thai? Is it best to contribute money and Operation Christmas Child boxes? Maybe. We’re not all called to overseas compassion work.

Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here, wallowing in my pride and FOODSAFE (health course) certificates. But then, a handful of the kids I teach at the boys’ school have been coming to our Wednesday kids club at church, and last Sunday, seven kids accepted Christ. Whatever my cynical beliefs may be about the faith decisions of children, this bunch is bordering on the age of responsibility, so their confessions mean something.

“You’re such an incarnational presence here [at the school],” said one of my colleagues. Is that a fancy way of saying that I’m being Christ to these kids? That God is rewarding my faithfulness, even if it’s liberally seasoned with envy, greed, sloth, and . . . what were the other four? Those too.

Does God really use imperfect vessels to do his work? Is his power really made perfect in my weakness? Must I feel so completely and utterly failed as a Christian, just so I will note the power of God held in this jar of clay? I have been used as an instrument of God in Thailand, not by might, nor by power, but by the Spirit. Thank God!

Rachel Plett is doing her best to love the socks off five boys and one baby in Chonburi, Thailand.