If

I've been thinking a great deal lately about what it means to live well in the midst of stark uncertainty. Right now, my entire community and world exists between two radically different possibilities. IF there is real peace. IF the fighting returns more intensely than even before. It seems one of these two will happen. It seems there's no in between.

IF there's peace, we can move on a vaccination program and start talking about what education in Shan State might look like one day. We can discuss development and consider sustainable agriculture. We can even use buzz words like micro loans and agriculture co-ops.

IF there's fighting, we'll need every available blood donor. And aide. Delivering food. And love for every traumatized victim. And we will face still further daily uncertainty.

I know, I'm using the word "we," because I live in a community that faces this existence. And this future is, in part, my future. But I won't ever go to the front lines to defend my village. And I'll be allowed to leave whenever I decide all the uncertainty is just too much. And I will get away regularly to reconnect with others, skype my family, who are all safe and sound, and drink iced coffees in cafes while writing blog entries with soft jazz music in the background.

When I think about all of this, the longing for peace, which I find myself repeatedly writing about in every letter, becomes almost overwhelming. The second "IF" emotionally overwhelms me for all my friends. Though 90% of the time, every friend and loved one surrounding me is Shan, it is I in the end who can escape the pain, and I find I cannot stand that reality. I want my community, my friends, those I love to have the same ability as I... but I have a passport, and that changes everything.

So, please, pray as all of us as we live between this shaky reality of what could be and what might be. We live with the dreams and fears entangled together. The hope of one day returning home for those I love is beyond words. But the other IF... All I ask is that you pray. That you remained concerned with our little corner of the world. That you read the news about Burma. That you write any and every politician you find when campaigns are run for the sake of Burma. For we live in uncertainty, and the answer to all of our questions about what might be lies in the hands of a few government and military figures... and I'm naive enough to believe that maybe the rest of the world will influence their decisions. So pray. And act. And read. And talk.

And check out Partners: http://www.partnersworld.org

Or the Campaign for Burma: http://uscampaignforburma.org/

Mud.

Today someone at the Partners staff meeting asked how the drive up to and back down from the camp was. This question greatly perplexed me, because I am not sure how to describe the drive.

Well, there's the first four hours from Chiang Mai to Pai, which are fine. Twisty but paved roads. Beautiful views. Fine really. Lovely even.

And then there's the last four hours, which apparently is only a 45 minute trip during the dry season. Only one word suffices here:

Mud.

Deep, deep red gooey mud. Not the kind of mud that feels nice to squeeze between your toes, but the kind of mud that if you step in, you will literally have strain your muscles to then pull your shoe (and foot) out of. Not the kind of mud that goes up to your ankle, but the kind of mud that swallows half your calf or more. Not the kind of mud that SUVs equipped with chains merely sink into and stop, but the kind of mud where you feel the truck slipping side to side as you get thrust around the back.

Mud on stunning mountain vistas.

Mud on slicing twists of road.

Totally obliterating mud sweeping across the road, reminding you of a recent mudslide.

Mud.