I’m the type of person who happens to life, not vice versa. I seek out adventure, taking life by both ends, wringing it of every last drop of nutrients. Each day is a day of thanks for the chance of newness.

The opportunity arose like most everything else seems to do in this part of the world – spontaneously. It would be just for a few days so I stuffed my daypack with essentials – washcloth, clothes, bug-off paste, flashlight, phone, pocket Bible, language dictionary and notepad with my pencil stub. The dry season had come and I was grateful for the blazing sun but the tolerable temperature.

She was late but time doesn’t matter much here. Ten o’clock could mean anything from 8 am to noon. A bit too eager to be on our way, I shifted my crossed legs restlessly on the tiled floor. The ground floor apartment door stood ajar so I could peer out. When I came to this country I was overly ambitious. I was going to learn Karen, Burmese and Thai. Never mind that all three are tonal languages with their own unique non-Roman script alphabets. My paper Thai letters were scattered on the floor, wrinkled from the humidity. Ko-kai, kho-khai, kho-khuat, kho-khwai, kho-khon, kho ra-khang…I used to like the letter “k” and its sound but now it began to give me heartburn.

I could hear the rumble a block away. The Land Rover grinded to a halt and she honked the horn several times. Finally! Scrambling up, I left the rumpled Thai letters on the floor to fend for themselves. I picked up my pack, locked the door and jumped into the open back of the metal beast. It was almost like a safari…just on a different continent. She frequently changed gears as we drove north on the twisting roads. She chatted with her friend in the cab. I sat in the back on the hard side seat with another gal and her visiting brother. Now and then we exchanged a few English pleasantries but mostly we soaked the sun into our pores, drying out after the rainy season. Wind whipped the plastic window-cover flaps. Half the snap tie-backs were busted. The back door latch rattled, threatening to fly open with every bump.

Extraordinary scenery spanned every visible space – rice paddies, towering jungle trees interlaced with creeping vines, rippling rivers and staggering rock outcrops. The sky beamed with cottony clouds. Its luscious blue was dotted with the V’s of birds’ wings.

My maroon Nokia cell phone buzzed. Unknown. That could only mean one thing – a call from home. In the good ole US of A, it was Thanksgiving Day. My Dad tried to understand my excitement through the wind and cellular signal interference. “You’re where? What will you do there? Why?…Oh…Cool! Have fun!” I take after my dad in this regard – a travel hungry soul thankful for this wide world.

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       We pulled into Noh Boh village’s Bible school. A simple plank church was the backdrop for the dirt soccer field. The area was surrounded by rich flora with the muddy Moei River below. On one side, it is safe to be who you are and it is alright to worship some way different than the majority. The other side of the water harbors semi-automatic guns in the hands of soldiers ordered to annihilate a people group, to punish them for standing against a truculent military regime.

One of the Karen locals asked if we wanted to “tour” the village. Of course! Bamboo and teak walls with dried leaf roofs raised on a platform made perfectly suitable homes for this wet region. Small gardens burst with all varieties of edible veggies. A scrap tin metal sheet from someone else’s shed did not go to waste. The groves eagerly cupped the valuable spicy red peppers set out to dry. Fresh, these peppers are hot. Dried, fried and pounded, they burn going in and burn coming out!

Sugarcane fields spread out to the east. The stalks are over 10 feet tall and it is one of the most labor intensive agricultural products to harvest by hand. We were given fresh chunks that had been boiled and pressed into cubes. Pure. Organic. Life-giving. We ate too much. I never knew you could get “drunk” off of sugarcane.

Up the hill and to the west, there stood a lookout of sorts. Well, it was more of a small bunker. It was completely enclosed except for a small archway in the back and a window opening in the front facing the river. A splendid view of Burma greeted my smiling eyes. The outside of the cement wall was poked. My imagination said it was from enemy bullets. I didn’t ask.

That evening, we prayed and sang together in the rustic church. We relished the freedom and fellowship. To the locals, it was just another day. To the American in me, this was Thanksgiving. The meal was typical of Karen fare – rice, soggy vegetables to cook the germs out, broiled fish and, of course no meal is complete without nga-peat-yay (fish paste sauce).

I’ve tried to like the liquid. Really, I have. The smell is so foul; the stomach churns with instant nausea. The taste is even worse. But I’ve learned how to suppress the automatic vomit reflex to ingest enough to be polite. By “enough” I mean one itty-bitty teaspoonful splashed on two mouthfuls of rice. Quickly downing this followed by several shovels of plain rice, I made it without creating the usual Western response of crinkled-nose-in-disgust. After the watermelon for dessert, my mouth returned with a natural smile.

Sitting at the long wooden table in the “barn” behind the church, I watched as students laughed, joked, smiled and vied for the usually shunned duty of clean-up. They gathered plates with fish bones and watermelon rinds. They were at ease and enjoying the chance to share with others. This is the Karen way, year-round.

It didn’t matter that I couldn’t understand much Karen and many of them didn’t comprehend much of my English. All that mattered to each of us was mutually understood – the desire for peace, safety, community. We all ache for the chance to grow, worship and seek new adventures. When we have this, we are rich and have much to be grateful for.

Thanksgiving is not just about one day. It’s not about the food or the football or the shopping on Black Friday. It’s not even about the location. I’m convinced that’s it’s about the heart attitude, the fellowship and the journey together. And this is life how the Creator meant it to be. So I take life by both ends and I ingest it with thanks. What are you thankful for?