The drive to the family gathering was mostly quiet — the only thing we really knew was that there was going to be a lot of people, all of which we are somehow related to. Honestly, I’m not sure most of us knew where we were going even. We just knew that our guide and driver had been in touch with family and they were getting directions and locations from them.

When everything happened with the reunion of family last year, Adam and I were not present. We had taken our trip to Thailand in January, and it was mid-February when things went down. This was going to be our first time meeting the great-aunts and other folks who we have heard so much about in the last 10 months.

Turns out the party was at the home of my great-aunt, which was also the location where my mom met her sister for the first time in February. When we pulled up and opened the van door, we were greeted by a posse of Thai family eager to embrace my mom and our family. Both of my mom’s sisters were there, along with her brother, her aunts, and a WHOLE BUNCH of other people. I think she had only previously met one of those aunts in person, and the other two I think she has engaged with just on social media. Even with this being the first time I was meeting all of these people, they embraced me with joy and excitement. There were tears, there was warmth, there was a sense that we belong and we were wanted (I’ll say more about that later).

One thing you’ll notice in all the photos to come in this post is that my mom looks nearly exactly like her older sister. If they didn’t have different hairdos, I’d have a hard time telling them apart. If you look REALLY closely at the photos, you’ll notice that sunspots near one of our eyes runs in the family. My sunspot is next to my right eye, and others have them in similar locations.

Another thing you’ll notice as photos go on: We’re giants. Granted there’s some genetics that explain that, but I’m also convinced that Americans are tall because of all the added growth hormones that are jacked into our foods. Anyway…back to the topic at hand:

We were literally only on the property of my Aunt’s house for about 1 minute before we were all being led away from it. We crossed the street and walked a bit back from the road to enter a house - in the moment I had no idea whose house it was. Turns out it was the home of my great-uncle on my grandmother’s side. He was an elder, frail man laying in a hospital bed and apparently has been there for a handful of years. He desperately wanted to meet my mother and our family, so we were brought there for those introductions and to meet him.

A critical thing to know about our story: everybody in our Thai family knew about my mom’s adoption. It wasn’t done lightly, and it was followed by years of heart-ache and longing for them (more about that later). Apparently my bio-grandmother always had a sense that my mom would return home — the actual return home marked a momentous occasion for the family that fulfilled their hopes and dreams as much as it fulfilled ours, even though my grandmother was not here to be part of it.

After the time spent with great-uncle, we were once again packed into the van and taken to our next location: the cemetery. The task at hand was to bury the ashes of my grandmother. Cemeteries are things I wonder about in nearly every country I visit. In many places, you never see them because they are so tucked away, and in other places they’re like in the center of the city and revered. A wondering both on last year’s trip and on this year’s trip had to do with how people’s remains are memorialized in Thailand— are they memorialized? For as much driving around the area we had done last trip and this trip, I hadn’t once noticed a place that seemed like it might be a resting place for folks. Being that we’re in a predominantly Buddhist country, I’m certain there has to be completely different burial practices than what we might be accustomed to in our Christian tradition. Because our family IS Christian though, this cemetery looked much like others I’ve seen in warmer, sandier places.

I’m not sure when they got there, but everyone who was present at our first stop had already made it to this location…plus at least 50 more people. They all gathered in one area, then we were told to gather with family in another area to form a processional. My mom, her sisters, and her brother were all at the front of the procession, then we all followed and we stood behind my grandmother’s resting spot facing the large crowd. My mom was asked to carry a photo of her mother, and her older sister carried her ashes.

Though we have just met our family in the last year, it was incredibly touching that they included us in every step of this service. There were people gathered who actually knew my grandmother when she was alive, and yet there was intentionality in making sure that we (who never met her) were able to stand together and behind her grave site.

Actual photo of the moment we were waved over to stand with family

Once everyone was in place, there was a lot of talking in Thai, but it was clear that a worship service and memorial had commenced. People who had a pastoral-like presence spoke, led us in prayer, and told which pages to turn to in the song-books that were handed out.

I’m not sure who picked the hymns for the day, or if they were intentional about picking things they thought we Americans might know, but I AM sure that I turned into a puddle when they began singing This Is My Father’s World in Thai.

One of the things I love about our Lutheran tradition is that we are people who sing hymns, which provide us with at least a little bit of common language among other people of faith (I’ll spare you all my rant about how when we try to get too flashy with our worship music we are losing out on having this common language with others). In my experience, no matter where you go in the world, or what flavor of Christian folks you’re worshipping with, or what language you are speaking, there’s almost ALWAYS common ground in the songs you sing. My Thai family members are not Lutherans and despite that…my, oh my could they sing hymns like Lutherans do — and what a moment it was to be able to pull up lyrics in english on my phone and to sing along with them.

It wasn’t just that we were joining together in singing a common hymn though — that particular hymn is one I have long associated with my grandmother who I grew up with. My grandma Dawn (Nan) was one of the most faithful people I knew, and whenever I’m asked to think about a person who had great influence on my faith, I think of her. She was the one who had previously told us the stories of Thailand and the events that led to my mom’s adoption. She was in Thailand because she and my grandfather (Grandpa Ray, a pastor) were missionaries sent by a group of churches from Albert Lea, MN (most of which are now ELCA congregations).

Growing up, my older sister and I spent many weekends on the farm with Nan and Grandpa Donald (her 2nd husband after she and Grandpa Ray divorced), and for almost all of those Sundays she would bring us to church at Scandinavia Lutheran Church. It was there that she served as the choir director, and often times on Saturday night she would rehearse their numbers on her piano — and nearly EVERY warm-up before she rehearsed included playing This Is My Father’s World. So to hear THAT hymn in THAT moment when we were burying the ashes of my bio-grandma…it was as if Nan had popped into give us her blessing and make it known she was with us. In my pastor circles, we would call that a kairos moment — a moment when the pieces fell into place, and there was a critical event happening where there was zero doubt that God was present in in the space with us. Another way that I’ve heard it phrased would be to name it as a moment when there was a hole in the heavens that took away any separation between God’s realm of presence and ours. But those ways of describing the moment are all borrowed from theologians, so to put it in my own words: it was a life-changing, earth shaking, holy-shit-this-is-really-happening experience of God and what it means to be part of the communion of saints.

There was no eucharistic meal at this service, but everything we Lutherans believe about communion being the place where the saints (non-Lutheran friends: think every person who ever lived) of the past, the present, and the future come together to be in the same place at the same time…I felt that in my bones. I imagine it was like that final scene of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi where everyone’s all celebrating and Master Yoda, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Master Anakin are there looking on with delight. Even typing this a few days later, my body is having a physical reaction to the depth, warmth, peace, and awe that moment brought. Because I was using my phone to read lyrics, unfortunately I don’t have any video of this moment, but my sister was rolling with her camera for the whole time, and I hope someday we can share this moment with you.

The cloud of witnesses gathered - the crowd goes further to the right — The cloud of witnesses who gathered. The crowd goes further to the right than the photo shows

It was after that when my mom and her siblings together laid the ashes of my bio-grandmother to rest in their final place. After singing and prayers, my Naa Wichien read some readings and shared a few words of proclamation. We prayed, we sang some more (Amazing Grace), and at the end of it all my Naa Artit shared a few words expressing that though my bio-grandmother had passed in 2021 (the same year as Nan), they had been waiting for the right time to get together and lay her ashes to rest. After they were reunited with my mom, it seemed like the time had come. How fitting it was that all four of her children could be there!

After things were finished, the crowd began to clear out and the cemetery folks moved in to do their thing. I watched as he very carefully laid the missing tile in place and used grout to seal it shut. Earlier in the day someone had mentioned that the row my grandmother was in was also a row of her family. One row over, we got to see the resting place of my grandfather and we were told that row was his family. From a distance, I watched the grout being smoothed over the tiles and I wept at the beauty of the moment. Even in scenarios where adoption wasn't part of the story, not many people can say they have stood among generations of their ancestors all buried in one place. In that moment I was so incredibly humbled and overcome with a fullness that’s hard to describe at just being in the place of so many of my family — both living and dead. I’ve said this multiple times at this point, but it’s an experience I never imagined I would have in my life.

One would think that this is where the story of the day ends — it certainly was a lot by this point! But alas, there’s going to be a part 3 to talk about this day because the blessings just kept rolling.

Saturday -Part 2

Saturday- Part 3

Saturday - Part 1