To my Burmese Family
When we were in Thailand this past March, there was a little girl there who had the most amazing smile. In my heart, her name is Hla, which is Burmese for beautiful. She was about 8 years old, and from Burma (Myanmar). Her parents had sold her to traffickers when she was very small to help pay for feeding the rest of the family, and she does not remember where they were from. When I inquired further, one of the staff at the home told me that they moved down to the capital city, Rangoon, shortly after selling her.
Hla is a testimony to the beauty and innocence of childhood. She has the greatest smile that makes her eyes shine and pulls on my heart every time I see it. She is incredibly smart, and knows a remarkable amount of English, considering it is just what she has picked up vicariously along the way. Probably the most profound thing about her young life is that she willingly trusts adults that are in her life now. She allows them to hug her and will often reach out to hold one of their hands, despite the pain and abuse she has suffered at the hands of adults that have been in her life in the past.
I have been thinking about little Hla all week, as I anxiously watch the devastation of the Cyclone that hit Burma. This morning I woke up to the headlines that said that UN officials fear that there are more than 100,000 people dead as a result. As a result of what? Of a cyclone and tidal wave? No, they are dead as a result of an evil regime that refused to even warn the people that it was coming. They sat back in their wealth and comfort and literally ignored the impending doom that was about to strike their shores. As I look at pictures of the devastation, my heart breaks. What can one person do in the face of such total destruction? The evil of poverty is that it always leaves it’s victims open to exploitation, danger, and to be victimized.
And the whole time,I think of little Hla’s face as she blurts out English words that she is proud to try out on me. I think of her little hand in mine and remember that her parents could possibly be trapped somewhere in that devastation - or worse- have lost their lives there. Hla believes in her heart that they will someday return for her. Amazing…the very people that through desperation or sheer ignorance, gave permission to people to exploit her and steal her innocence, are the same people that she longs to be reunited with. To her, they are worth trusting again and believing in.
In those piles of bodies that we see in the pictures and reports, there is more than just rotting flesh. There are letters that were never written, words that were never spoken, reconciliation that was never achieved, love that was never lived out, dreams that were cut short, and injustice that was never avenged. There are mothers and fathers, and sons and daughters that were separated forever and all because the force of nature combined with the selfish irrationality of humanity is a deadly cocktail.
Tonight, I will pray for Hla and for her long lost family. In fact, I pray for all my Burmese family. I can’t call myself a person of compassion if I don’t see their plight as my own. I believe that they need someone to believe in them and for them, and to take action because of what that compassion can produce. I can do that. I can see them through the eyes of compassion and non-judgment. Because I love their sons and daughters, they are my family too, and my mom once gave me wise words that I continually remind myself of all the time: “You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family”.
So, Burmese family, wherever you are tonight, I pray that you are safe, free from harm, and that you would go to bed in peace knowing that someone believes in you…I will be your voice, and my love will have action in all that it professes.