Years ago, a young man named Allan courted a young woman named Joan. He was in the US Army, a veteran of the Korean War. She was on stage on Broadway, and claimed a cameo role in a “Lone Ranger” episode. They married … then moved to Thailand for full time Faith work.

Decades later – during our border trip, as nearby hills burned to clear away unwanted brush — I watched as Allan shared the nuts and bolts of his own faith for the umpteenth time.

Note what Allan is using to talk about his faith: pictures.

His faith — the thing that matters more than anything in his life, the thing that he’s staked his life on — is shared in simple, evocative images. After so many decades, he’s learned that there are few tools more successful at TELLING HIS STORY across cultural and language gaps. Images seem to break down barriers … allowing one man to share his soul with another.

The man who’s listening to Allan’s image story in the near-dark is a quiet, thoughtful man named N who has often been on the run from the Burmese army. He is a leader in his village and his decision to join Allan in Faith would be complicated. Near midnight, N explains that he needs more time to reflect on Allan’s story of — and invitation to — Faith. They shake hands … and go to bed.

Turns out, N touches souls with similarly evocative images in SONG. This one was recorded during a chapel service at a refugee camp inside Burma.

N’s song is about how a village was burned in 2010, how the people were scattered, how they were reunited … and how their community church was rebuilt. Evocative stuff, full of sensory imagery … even though we don’t understand the language. It’s perhaps one of the most evocative recordings I’ve made on this journey.

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These two men — Allan and N — came together for us during our border trip in the life of our trip leader, D.

Allan is D’s father. N is D’s comrade in a border region organization he leads to help displaced ethnic minorities under fire.

Like Allan and N … D knows the power of stories and images. He’s constantly telling a story, pointing to this hill or that mountain where battles once raged. He puts his arm around people he reveres in stories. He shares the details of how he messed up seasons of his own life. He acts out scenes of heroism. He talks freely about Faith.

D’s personal story is powerful on its own merits — the child of a missionary, a soldier in US Army Special Forces, a new recruit to the mission field, a failed first marriage, an ordained second marriage, bullets and bullets and bullets dodged, and the ongoing fruit of a sprawling organization in a conflict zone. There is only one answer to his question: “Easy way, or hard way?”

Still, it’s D’s stories that break down barriers. It’s his stories that compel men to follow, in battle … in Faith. It’s his stories that connect souls so powerfully.

It’s his stories that burn inside the hills of men like fire.

A pastor’s wife met us during our border journey, on the way to a refugee camp inside Burma. Her family set out two boxes of ice cream on long tables in the shade, along with fresh watermelon, soft drinks, and water. Then S asked her for her name.

“I was born at night,” she told us through translation. “My name means Night Blooming Flower.”

We met and heard about others with similar, descriptive names: “Sweet Sweet” and “Get the Job Done.” I like how these names are so tailored to individuals. They’re unique … and, in a way, they help define the starting point for who people are and where they’re going.

The name Night Blooming Flower is much more than a story of a woman’s birth, of course. She and her husband patiently pastor a church in a small village. The chapel features a full-wall, hand-drawn copy of da Vinci’s The Last Supper. It was painted by their son, Poda.

To us, this family has moved BEYOND their names, beyond their beginning … to living out a Call to be in that place … offering whatever it is that they have to neighbors and strangers. It’s simple … yet something deeply powerful.

And it’s very similar to what happened in the pictures at the beginning and end of this post.

S was asked to teach young teachers some fundamentals about how to teach. She didn’t have a lesson plan, she didn’t have much time to prepare. So, late at night, she taught her impromptu students how to tie knots with string … using the lesson to show these young teachers the value of showing, helping, encouraging, joining, and watching.

She lived out a Call to be in that place, offering whatever it was that she had.

Simple, yet something deeply powerful.

Our sons became actors of international renown on our recent trip along the Thailand-Burma border. Our traveling group of a dozen performed the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abedenego three times — once in church, and twice in refugee camps. E, H, and W played the part of the heroes … while someone narrated the story with a translator.

You’ll recall that the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego is in the book of Daniel. King Nebuchadnezzar commands all his subjects to bow down to a golden statue of the king or get thrown in a super fiery furnace. The three heroes refuse … with this crucial line:

If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.

You can imagine our conversation with the boys when it was floated that they might be acting in a skit during our border trip. In front of people. In public. On stage. Possibly in Burma.

A few days later, E, H, and W were a bit more willing … when our trip leader D.EB invited them to listen in as he narrated pictures and video from recent clashes with the Burma army. D.EB had convened a meeting in a border church for district commanders in his organization; S had convened a meeting of our boys in a back pew to get some schoolwork math done.

A sound file of war footage is embedded in this photograph.

I’ve forgotten to ask our boys what they remember about that briefing … or whether they connected the dots, perhaps, between the Trust of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace and the Trust of ethnic fighters when real bullets were flying. It’s possible that it was just really raw footage that gripped them in profound ways.

Whatever their lesson that day, it’s yet another reminder that I CAN’T CONTROL EVERYTHING about what they learn, what they see and hear, or even the path they choose in life.

That’s Trust, too. Right?

My prayer has always been “Lord, please protect my boys.” It’s not a bad prayer, necessarily … but I struggle with letting them go. I want to manage their protection. I struggle with what it means for them to be free, with what they’ll face in that freedom. I struggle with the prospect of them facing a fiery furnace.

So, I’ve been praying a new prayer for our boys, based on what we experienced on our border trip: “Lord, please guide my sons in the path that they’ve chosen.”

It’s a small step. But I’m working on Trust.

Reverend Simon leads a Bible college inside Thailand’s largest refugee camp. A walkable mountain and plain separates the campus from  war. Most of his ethnic minority students leave their homes inside Burma’s controversial regions to spend a year or two or three studying English, world history, theology, and the art of missions.

During an evening celebration to say goodbye to one of the college’s professors, Reverend Simon told the crowd about his doubts for the 2012-2013 school year. It began with a massive fire inside the camp. Much of the Bible college was destroyed. And he wasn’t sure his students would return.

They did:

It’s the kind of courage we observed in spades during our trip along the Thailand-Burma border. Not just single acts of courage and faith — but entire lifetimes, buoyed by an ongoing refusal to buckle in the face of fear.

The same is true of Ilya, another man we met. He is many things … principally: a man of faith, a husband, a father, a leader, a medic, a war hero. He met our trip leader in the heat of combat … then, over many years, saved our trip leader’s life more than once in the heat of more combat.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that Ilya celebrated a birthday during our time with him, a few days after my own birthday. And I don’t think it was a coincidence that he turned 42, just like me.

Ilya sang a song for our group on the day we said goodbye. It’s a song about war, family, love — and choosing to Fight in the face of fear.

It’s Ilya’s song.

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There are two sound files embedded in this image of Ilya singing for us.

Hover over the image with your mouse. Hear an introduction to the song by clicking on the upper link on the large post, and hear Ilya sing his song by clicking on the link just to the left of W’s head.

We’ve just returned to Chiang Mai, Thailand after accompanying an aid group to the border region between Thailand and Burma.

Move your mouse over these images from the trip to hear some of the sounds from our journey.

Our time with the EB family began with E hanging off the side of a bucking pony. He struggled to free his foot that was stuck in a loose and sagging saddle before being thrown under the distressed animal.

Days later, W was sampling cooked dog by candlelight at a jungle camp along the Thailand-Burma border.

In between, our family engaged with and struggled through experiences that fleshed out freedom, danger, and risk in new ways. These experiences were grueling, dirty, difficult, hot, uncomfortable — and unforgettable.

We spent a little over a week with the EB family and the aid ministry they lead along the border. D of the EB family often describes the work — and their way of life — as “all in.” That is, there is no choice or compromise between injustice and justice, courage and fear, excellence or pain, life or death. If God calls us to someone’s need on the other side of that mountain, we climb the mountain. Now.

The trip, of course, wasn’t about us. It was about people caught in a long war who live without homes and profound needs. Still, we remain a bit bewildered by the experience. Not confused, just in an extended state of reflection about what the EB family and the week means for us in the days and weeks and years ahead.

D.EB says his father always insisted he was “hunting for tigers” on hunting trips. It sounds a lot cooler, even when you come home with only a rabbit.

In some ways, we went hunting for tigers with the EB family. In the process, E survived the bucking pony. W thought the cooked dog was “chewy.”

And, though we didn’t come back from the trip with any tigers … we think we returned with something profoundly more powerful and glorious.

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