Nov 1
This will be my shortest blog yet. But it says something that challenged me enough today. I hope it will challenge you too:
“Do not look back. And do not dream about the future, either. It will neither give you back the past, nor satisfy your other daydreams. Your duty, your reward — your destiny — are here and now.”
– Dag Hammarskjold, Markings
A little girl Steve met on a trip to Karen state.
Oct 9
Notice Marley's smile. He is happy his mummy is back.
Here are some things I have learned today:
Jetlag is a real condition. It feels like a combination of a hangover and a cold. Pretty miserable.
I have too many clothes. I have spent the day unpacking my suitcase, and, lo and behold, my closet was already full. With my new outfits that I inherited from a friend in the US and accidentally bought at REI, there is a slight shortage of space. The solution: Move the summer clothes to a different venue and I have space for more.
Norway is colder than Colorado, Michigan and Minnesota in October. Makes me miss Colorado, Michigan and Minnesota.
When I go and buy groceries for the week in Norway I spend 170 dollars. That is a lot more than I would spend in other countries. (Mind you, I did not buy fillet mignon, wine or imported cheese, just TP, flour, veggies, bananas, microwave popcorn and that kind of stuff.)
Even though the floors were spotless and clean yesterday, they got dirty today.
Kids haven’t necessarily learned how to pick up after themselves even though mom has been gone for three weeks.
Kristin got new shorts, t-shirt, socks and soccer ball from America. She did not care that it was only 5 degrees Celsius (40 F) outside.
Burma hasn’t changed much even though I was gone for three weeks.
I came back too late to pick the cranberries in the forest.
One needs a scarf when going outside in October.
I take crappy photos.
Our dog Marley loves me so much he dances to make sure I know. It is the truth.
Jetlag is real (like I already said).
I am in Minnesota now. Minnesota is a place to go if you want to feel treasured as a Norwegian. They like us Vikings a lot here!
We went to the Norwegian church called Mindekirken and joined about 100 men and women who had some kind of connection to Norway. We sang the prayer before lunch in Norwegian, and the lunch was…you may have guessed it: Waffles with jam and sour cream, open faced sandwiches with brown cheese or meat and a strong cup of coffee. Just like in Norway.
The walls were decorated with Norwegian art and photos. The rooms in the church were named after places in Norway. The people I talked to were into genealogy and history. Many of them knew Norway better than me. Marilyn, a sharp lady of about 70 gave me some geography questions about my country that I could not answer. She told me the answer, and now I will ask my friends the same questions next time we play trivial pursuit. They announced Lutefisk dinners and other events.
I was there,in Minnesota, with people whose ancestors came from Norway, sharing about the people of Burma and about living in Thailand.
From the Scandinavian corner, we went to the Burma corner. We went to the office of KOM, an NGO run by Karen and Americans who are helping the Karen who have resettled in Minnesota. We talked about issues concerning the Karen in the US and the Karen in Burma, and agreed that we can work together to make the lives easier for the Karen in both countries.
In ending the day I am reflecting on how lucky I am to get to meet so many interesting and committed people. And I am amazed at all the men and women I have met who are giving their lives to serve and to help. I am understanding that the world is run by volunteers and committed people who believe that they can make a difference.
Oct 1
Tonight I went to the Friends’ church of Fairbanks annual fundraiser for Partners. It was a great event.
This is the story I shared:
Emily Paw was three. She wore a bracelet and two ankle bracelets. Her hair had small curls. I took a dress out from my bag and handed it to her. It had belonged to Kristin. Now Emily Paw put it on quickly, stood up and smiled. She twirled around for some seconds enjoying the attention she got. In her mind she was nothing less than a princess. While the adults kept talking she kept dancing, stopping only to pick up one more candy that was in a bag on the low table.
Her dad had died a month ago. He had been young, only 24. His little girl and his beautiful wife of 23 were his biggest treasures. When the Burma Army surrounded their village, made an army camp close by and started enforcing unlivable rules on the villagers, life became miserable. Their little village that had been a paradise before the soldiers arrived now felt more like a prison.
No leaving the village after dark, they said. No leaving the village to go to the rice fields, they continued. Land mines were placed on the trails so that the villagers who broke the rules would suffer severely. We need people to work on our camp, they demanded. We need some of you to carry our equipment. We need some of you to be mine sweepers. We need some of you to clear land for us. The villagers were now not just prisoners, they became the army’s slaves as well.
Emily Paw’s family was hungry all the time. They were not allowed to leave the village, so how were they supposed to find food? One night her dad snuck outside, hoping it would not be noticed. He went to hunt for an animal. They needed some meat to eat.
When he had shot an animal he snuck back on the trail. He smiled as he thought of his little girl’s joy when she was given a warm, nice meal to eat.
He never made it home. The soldiers had noticed that he was gone, they went to find him and met him on the trail. Without mercy they tortured him, killed him and left him on the trail where the villagers found him the next day. His dead body was meant as a warning.
Emily Paw’s mom was telling me the story. She spoke quietly and without much emotion. But Emily heard the name of her dad mentioned as she danced by in her new dress. “Daddy?” she asked. “Where is Daddy. I really miss him?”
Our vision in Partners is Free, full lives for the children of Burma. Some people wonder if that is all. Don’t you want to do more than just help the children? They wonder. There are so many other needs.
But how can the children in Burma experience free, full lives?
They must be able to live in a country not controlled by a brutal army who commit the most heinous crimes with impunity. That is why we want to focus more on advocacy in Partners. We are the advocates for the children who have lost their parents, their homes, their right to go to school , their right to get medicine when they are sick, their right to play in the forest without stepping on land mines, the right to worship the God they believe in without discrimination, the right to dream, the right to plan, the right to preserve their own culture and heritage.
They must be able to eat when they are hungry. That is why Partners focuses on bringing rice and other food supplies to the people in hiding. It is also why we focus more and more on development. We train the people in the villages in agriculture and aqua culture so that they can be self-sustained, and increase their crops. We show them how to grow new vegetables, fruits and herbs in order to enrich their diet. Everything we do can be reproduced without our help.
They must be able to get treatment when they are sick. That is why Partners spends so much of our money and resources on buying medicines that get sent to Burma with relief teams. This is why we spend so much time, energy and resources training medics that can go to the villages and to the displaced populations to treat the sick. This is why we train village leaders in basic community health. This is why we teach women how to help deliver babies. This is why we bring people with severe sicknesses to Thailand for professional care.
They must be able to go to school. This is why we support thousands of teachers that teach in small, local village schools in Karen State, Karenni State and Shan State. Children should be able to go to school in their own community instead of being sent away to go to school in refugee camps or towns far away. Children will be tomorrow’s leaders. By building and supporting schools we build a nation.
They must be able to feel safe, loved and cared for even when they have been orphaned or sent away by parents who, for whatever reason, is not able to care for them. This is why we support orphanages and children homes.
They must be able to play and have fun. This is why we spend money on sport equipment, art supplies and music instruments. For a little while they can experience the carless you of childhood, and develop their skills and talents in sport, music or art.
Their soul must be cared for. This is why we have developed child trauma care, and train leaders in how to minister to children who have been traumatized.This is also why we want to do soul and trauma care for the adults. How can they help the children when their own wounds are open?
They need to know that they are loved and not forgotten, by God, by us and by the world. This is why we always remind them of that.
Free, full lives for the children of Burma. Is it a vision too narrow? No, I don’t think so. But can it happen? I think it can. It may just take a while.
Sep 26
One of the many things I am learning (the hard way) is that Jesus so often speak in the places I didn’t expect it, and then he is remarkably silent in the places I thought he would say something. Today Jesus moved me to tears. By speaking through a Karen young woman and a couple I have just met.
Naw Doh stood in front of the Karen congregation in Arvada, Colorado and spoke into a mike. “Nobody has loved us like you have,” she said and looked at Kirsten and Paul who were sitting on two chairs in front of her. “Other people say they love us, but you are the ones who have sowed us love. You are the ones we can call, and wherever you are you will pick up the phone and talk to us. You will always come and help us with so many things.”
These people can love so it shows
Solemnly and beautifully the Karen elders, dressed in their finest costumes, stood up and walked over to Kirsten and Paul. They kneeled down in front of them and put a handmade garland around their necks. A symbol of honor and love. Then they gave them an envelope, a love offering from a group of people who love them. “We would like to go back to our country and help our people, but we cannot,” they said. “Therefore we want to give you this gift, to help you with the work you are going to do.”
I had to wipe my eyes. In front of me were two brave people, Kirsten and Paul, who in a few days will get on an airplane and move to Thailand to join Partners. Soon they will be living with the Shan people, sharing their lives with them, and helping them in many ways. I am pretty certain that Paul and Kirsten will do fine. The people in the room were the evidence of that. They have already been loving people in action here in their own hometown. They have helped deliver babies and fill in forms, they have had dozens over for dinner, and helped find jobs in a place where jobs are scarce.
“Other people have said they have loved us, but nobody has showed us love like you have.”
How easy it is to throw out a “love you,” and leave it at that. How easy to say things, but how hard to do them. Jesus’ love, I was reminded today, is the kind of love that you can see, smell, taste and touch. You can eat it, you can sleep on it, you can speak to it, you can hug it, you can call it, you can visit it. Jesus’ love is not a noun. It is a verb.
Not only did the Karen give a love offering to Kirsten and Paul, they gave one to Partners too. This is a gift from people who barely make ends meet, but who also know how to show love.
Aug 17
It’s the kind of rainy day that was made for inside activities. Part of me feels cheated. Hey, I have not had my portion of sun yet this season! We are heading towards Norway winter, and, let me tell you: it is dark and cold. I need all the sun I can get.
Then I thought about the rain as the tears of heaven. And as I think of that, I think it rains too little.
I think of the dying children on the horn of Africa—their mothers holding them, wishing only for one thing: Enough food for their babies to eat. At the same time as we, here on the mountain, throw away enough food to feed many villages every day. At the same time as we in the West encourage farmers not to produce food on their land because we have enough, and it is cheaper for them not to produce, than to produce and then have to turn it into garbage.
The mothers in Africa would like some of that food.
Politics are complicated. And economics even more so, but, holy cow, can it be that hard? If people like me raised our voices in unison and said: This is bullshit! There is enough food in the world for all of us to be fed. If only we distributed it a little differently and some of us stopped overeating.
Could we change the world then?
Cherku Paw the way she looked when she first arrived at the hospital
A coupe of years ago I received some photos in my inbox. It stayed with me for days. For weeks. It was of Cherku Paw, a young girl in Burma, who, when she was six, was standing in front of the fire in their village, trying to warm herself. The cold season is cold. The people seldom have warm clothes. Little Cherku Paw got a bit too close to the fire. A spark fell on her polyester shirt and she caught on fire. She caught on fire.
The pictures I got was of her two years after the accident. For that long she had suffered pain, humiliation and terrible discomfort. For that long her parents had hoped there would be a doctor or a hospital somewhere who would help their little girl. For that long Cherku Paw had not been able to stand up right, close her mouth and run around with the other kids in her village.
Her father had heard of a hospital that could help his girl. For three days he carried her in his arms through the jungle. When she got to the hospital, run by one of the people I admire the most in the world, Dr. Mitch, the doctors were moved the way Jesus would have been moved. Money was raised for Cherku Paw and she was sent to an even better hospital in Chiang Mai.
Months later I received another email. This time there was a photo of a cute little girls, smiling shyly to the camera. I heard that when she thought she was alone in her room at the hospital, the nurses would see her dance on the floor. Joy filled her as she moved her legs, looked at her face in the mirror, touched the parts of her body that before only had been the source of incredible pain. Soon after I got the photo she went back to her village together with her daddy who had been with her the whole time at the hospital. She could walk with her head raised high and a smile on her face. Soon she could join her friends playing games.
Cherku Paw and her dad some moths later at the hospital.
I heard from her again today. She has just been back to Chiang Mai for check ups and we were asked to help pay for the doctors’ fees. I am so glad that I will be able to help. I am so proud that I can.
It’s still raining. Heaven has many tears still because there are so many children like Cherku Paw left to help. In the news they talk about financial crisis around—a world crisis they call it—and I understand the fear. I too fear it. I don’t want to end up on the street. For all these years we have spent resources that don’t belong to us in the first place. For generations we have enjoyed freedom that has been paid for by others’ bondage. Is it time that we realize that and change our ways? I think it is. But I also fear that even through this crisis, it is the ones with the least who will suffer the most, as usual. Not the people like me, who have my security in a nation that only gives from our abundance.
So, it still rains. For the children in Africa. For the children in Burma. For the children on the streets in the big cities around the world. Rob Bell writes about hell in his book, Love Wins. Hell is here on earth, he says. And for too many people, that is true.
But for little Cherky Paw, hell was turned into heaven because generous men and women gave their time, resources and dedication to help her.
Today, let’s try to bring heaven a little closer. Let’s try to bring the sun back in the lives of those who need it the most.
Heaven seen in little children in a refugee camp (photo by Kris Ryan, my friend)
May 17
Kristin and friends walking in the parade.
Today is May 17th. A big day in Norway. It’s our Constitution day, and it is celebrated from early morning to late night. It’s a day to be proud of our country.
I had the honor of giving a speech at the small community of Ekne today. In this community was an infamous concentration camp during the war, thousands were held there, many were executed. I had my speech at the monument in the forest near the camp. It is a somber feeling to stand there and try to say something that wake people’s hearts up.
This is what I shared: (Feel free to skip the first few paragraphs if you are not Norwegian. And remember, it the speech was done for the Wegians, so a bit of patriotism is OK)
This is a day when we can allow ourselves to be proud of our country more than any other day of the year. We celebrate that we are Norwegian. We celebrate that we are free. We celebrate that we are rich. We celebrate that it is spring. We celebrate that summer is almost here.
There is a lot we can celebrate. We have a lot to be proud of. There are many reasons to gather together on a day like this.
We may even allow ourselves to become national romantic. The birch tree that casts it’s green light over the black field where the farmer is ploughing and sowing. Children dressed in light clothes running down the road picking flowers for mom. The sound of seagulls, the smell of cow’s manure. It’s as if one can hear Grieg play in the background and there is a motive to paint behind every curve.
For more than 20 years I spent 17th of May in other countries. But even there the day had to be celebrated, and one will never feel more Norwegian than when in a foreign country. With my green national costume I did get some attention on the streets of Tokyo, and we did while walking in a parade during the hot season in Thailand as well. Without a hint of embarrassment I told the Japanese and the Thais that we were celebrating being Norwegian.
Celebrating May 17th in Chiang Mai, Thailand, 2002
It feels good to belong and to be proud of one’s country. It is OK to see our flag in the wind with a blue sky and a birch tree as a backdrop and say: There cannot be a more beautiful flag in the whole world.
We love Norway. We love being Norwegian. We are thankful to all who have helped build our country into what it is today.
But here we are on one of Norway’s history’s saddest places. “You cannot hear the birds sing here,” I have been told. I don’t know if this is true, but if the birds have stopped singing here in Falstadskog, then their silence is a witness to a time we cannot forget, a time of sorrow, fear, suffering, pain, despair and hatred so intense that words cannot describe it. We cannot forget, must not forget, the Falstadskog’s silent witness about man’s cruelty.
How could this happen, we wonder. How could a man and a machine like Hitler and his military machine get the power and influence they did get? Where were the ones who could have stopped him? Why did they not do anything? How could the Nazi’s ice-cold ideology get any kind of following here in Norway? We knew better. Then we give ourselves a pat on the shoulder and say: It could not happen again today.
A month ago I sat with Naw Muu Wah in a small village in Burma. She is a Karen woman who had walked for four days to meet me. On her back she had carried her youngest child, a two-year old daughter. Together with her was another woman. Nay Say Ler Wah. She had walked for five days to meet me.
The women had come to tell their stories. “Let the world know,” was their encouragement. The same kind of encouragement I had gotten many times before. Naw Muu Wah’s husband had seen the soldiers come and warned the village. But when he had hid their sewing machine and ran back to get food for the family to eat while they were running, he met the soldiers. “They shot him right there, in front of our house.”
“Do you know why they do this,” I asked. The answer was tragic and startling. “My whole life they have persecuted us. They have done a lot of evil to my family. They have killed my husband, my brother, my cousin, my brother in law and my father. I don’t know why they do this to us. We don’t know what they want from us. The Burma Army never tell us anything and never explain anything.”
“Do you know what I feel like? Like I am a bird that is not allowed to fly.”
The other woman. Naw Sey Ler Wah, had a similar story. Her husband was shot while her village fled. He was going to warn the surrounding villages, and was delayed. That became his death. “We have not eaten anything bur rice and salt for a year now,” she said. She has five children to care for. “My husband used to hunt so we would get fish and meat occasionally, but we don’t anymore.”
The stories from Burma are as tragic as the stories from WWII. The victims just as innocent.
How could it have happened, people may be asking 70 years from now. How could innocent people be killed this way and the world not do anything?
It’s easy to think about world history’s tragic stories and tell ourselves that we would have never taken part in such cruelty, such injustice, such dishonesty. It is easy to put the blame on others for what has gone wrong. Then we can take a comfortable seat in the recliner and think that at least the world is no worse with us in it. We are innocent, we are honest, we are well off and we appreciate our privileges. We create no waves, neither good nor bad ones. Slowly, but surely we cover ourselves with a blanket of what I think is our time’s biggest dangers: Indifference.
Elie Wiesel, Nobel’s Peace Prize laureate and a Jew from Romania who spent time in Nazi concentration camps said this: I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. The opposite of love is not hate, its indifference.
Have we come to a place in our prosperous lives that we think we deserve our peace and our freedom? That it in a way belongs to us, without any commitments? If this is our attitude, we have stepped shamefully wrong.
Our well-known poet, Arnulf Overland admonishes us in his most famous poem:
(This is not so articulate in English as in Norwegian. I don’t have the gift of poetry translation)
You cannot sleep! You cannot sleep!
You must not sit so comfortably in your home and say:
How sad, poor them.
You cannot endure well the injustice that does not affect yourself.
We are here today, in the world’s best country and we are the recipients of privileges most of the world only dream of. What do we do with what we have received? What do we do with what the ones who died in Falstadskog and other concentration camps gave their lives for? Do we take it for granted? Do we think that it is our reward and we need not share with anybody?
We have received our lives as a gift, our freedom and our riches. Of course most of us have worked honest hours to earn the money to pay for our benefits, our houses, our vacations. But so has a woman in Calcutta or a man on the streets of Romania.
This is my challenge to the people on Ekne, a community that in many ways comes across as a small paradise, with spectacular nature, a store, a school, a choir, a community where children and youth can feel safe, with organizations and activities to choose from:
Don’t grow dull and indifferent. Don’s sleep! Invite an immigrant home for dinner and hear his story. Engage and learn. Meet refugees from Burma and take them for a hike. Write to our government who so boldly has announced that the situation in Burma now is satisfactory. Get involved!
This is a day to rejoice, to dress up, to celebrate that we are Norwegian. It is a day for hotdogs, ice cream and games. It is a day for music, Norwegian flags, blisters, scabs and stained clothes. But it is also a day to remember. Remember the ones who gave us this freedom, and the ones who are still fighting for theirs.
Mar 28
We are back in Norway after a long trip to Thailand and Burma. It feels good to be home and unpack my suitcase. It feels nice to walk into the kitchen in my PJs and make the cOffEe. It feels nice to look out through the window and see white fields, the grey ocean and mountains in the distance, not smog, cars, concrete structures and garbage piles. It feels nice to think about what to cook for dinner and to plan my own mEals. Less refines sugars and flour. More fresh food. More fiber. More organic. I like my new pots my mom got me for Christmas.
I like opening my closet and spend some minutes thinking about what to wear. Something that matches my mood is nice. Today I wear my rAinBoW hoodie.
But there is a nagging feeling in the back of my head and it will not go away. No matter how hard I try to enjoy my luxuries here, I still think of those two dads I met a week ago.
The two village leaders that walked for hours to talk to us on behalf of their people.
“If nobody helps, we will die,” said Saw Ree Buh.
He had walked for four hours together with his friend to talk to us. He was wearing a stained white shirt and carried a hand-woven shoulder bag, the kind that the Karen always carry. In the bag he had his machete and a worn notebook that he had wrapped in an old plastic bag for protection. He was the village chief of Paw Ner Mu Lu village. 102 people live there and they are all hungry. “I lay awake at night and worry about what I am going to feed my seven children the next day,” he said quietly. “We don’t know what to do. We have no food now, and we have thought of all possible ways that we can find some rice. Last year we grew chili peppers, and we sold those and got money for rice. But this year we have no chilies either.”
My kids were there and listened to what the man said in dumbfounded wonder. Was it true? They really had no food? “Well, let’s get them some!” There is only one thing to do when you sit face to face with a starving father: You give him food.
We had a little money. “Can we give you this?” We asked sheepishly. The two men looked at us like they thought we understood nothing. “We cannot EAT money,” they said. “When we say there is no rice, there really is no rice.” Of course. They don’t have Costco in the jungle, do they? Their villages are surrounded by the Burma Army so they could not go to the store even if they wanted to.
In the end we were able to mobilize local leaders, get rice and had it sent to the villages that have the biggest needs. 3000 dollars worth of rice we sent. That will sustain them for three months if all they eat is rice.
I am so glad I was there to hear of their need. I am so glad we were able to help. I am so glad we are more concerned about getting the help to the people quickly and effectively than by spending time on bureaucratic waste.
But I am sad that in this world of abundance, people are starving. In this world where we are trying our hardest to keep the kilos off, there are children who have nothing to eat for breakfast.
I may not be able to do a lot, but I want to make sure these 1050 people I have heard about get enough to eat for the year. We have the first three months covered. Five more to go. You can help me if you want. Got any ideas?
