Kulabta becomes Dawkmymy (A New Flower)

My pastor said to me that I was a new person like many of the Bible characters. In view of this fact, it was possible to start out as a fresh individual. As a result, my belief that having a new identity would be right for me. Not trying to hide from anyone, but taking a new name has given me a new direction in wanting my life to be different.

Aware that it is essential to refrain from letting anger control my life may be the most difficult part. It is truly my downfall.

My parents chose my first nickname. It represented something special to them. This time it will be possible to pick out my own special name. It stands for a change in me. Thus, becoming ดอกไม้ใหม่ (Dawkmymy) which means a new flower, in English, will allow me to be a new woman.

I have avoided Bobby because as a Thai woman my Daddy and Momma taught me that a good Thai girl would stay away from him and avoid public confrontation.

I believe Bobby wants to provoke me in front of people. It is evident that his anger was my burden. I did not want my family shamed, because of my angry response. My actions have brought shame on them already. It will be better if we both can save face. An open ridicule of me will cause him to lose face-even if he is right. Wanting to do all I can do to keep from causing more problems is my goal.

My job as liaison to the United States Air Force Command Center brings me to process the paper work for housing and meals, causing me to be in their office three or four days a week. Staff Sergeant Red Savage is the clerk who authorizes most of my work. Bobby was processing in this morning. He looked at me as if he recognized me, but was not sure. I heard him ask Red who I was. He told him my name was Dawkmymy.

Savage's wife is Tira who runs Regal Garments and is recognized as the guru of wedding dresses. She is a friend and Nang Chom's adopted daughter. I confided in her about my situation. She agrees with me that having a head-on clash will clear the air, but to do it privately is best. I understand she is correct, but will it happen that way?

After my experience in the chapel, attending church on a regular basis became my habit. On a Saturday Pastor Goodman called me and asked me to do substitute teaching in the children's class my son attended. He informed me the current teacher was moving to Chatuchak with her husband. I told the pastor that my mother had shopped at the Chatuchak Market for years when we lived in Don Muang.

He said he had a replacement, but she could not start until the next Sunday. Warning the pastor that I had no teaching experience, he said for me to take my favorite Bible story and tell it like I was talking to my own boy. I uttered that I would try.

That Sunday morning was nerve wracking for me. Telling the story of David and Goliath with sound effects, like stomping my feet to sound like marching, was not something I did often. The kids were marching and using a swishing sound to represent arrows and spears. The boys and girls enjoyed demonstrating that they were imitating bows and arrows.

I utilized the wail of clanking to represent swords, and thuds to symbolize rocks. By the time we partook of the account with movement and action the half hour was over and the bell rang to go to church.

The Sunday School Superintendent shared with the pastor that I taught the kids better than any teacher with which he could recommend. The preacher asked me if I could do a shorter version of what I did with the younger girls and boys for children's time during church. I must have been crazy because I told him, "Yes!" Was this a mistake? Only time will tell.

We shrunk the story down to where David was standing before Goliath. I had my class show all the other children how to make sword and rock noises, and I added, "Just because you are little does not mean you cannot do big things." "Amens" came thundering. The congregation stood and shouted, "Hallelujah!" followed with rounds of applause.

Sharing the narrative, like I wanted to hear it the way it would be presented to my son, seemed to be natural. Not wanting attention, and acting like I was better than anyone else was far from my intentions.

Making a pretense was not my thing. Nevertheless, the minister wanted me to continue with the five minute interpretation of Bible stories during church. I rendered an affirmative sooner than I had a chance to think about it. Silently, my prayers began. "Lord help me." I would need his help to follow through.

The next Sunday I shared the story of Samson from Judges15:14-15 using the jawbone of a donkey. I insisted that the little guys and gals were to heehaw and swing imaginary jawbones. I expressed that God would give us the tools we need to finish the job. Those in attendance displayed their praises and remarks like the week before. I was elated that I made an impact on the kids, and they had fun.

The little ones responded to the joint approach of telling Bible stories. It may be silly, but the youngsters were involved. Their parents became ecstatic that the children excitingly have begun participating in the worship service. Once I started telling Bible stories we had six joining in the activities. After a few weeks, it went to twenty.

Thirteen weeks later attendance at children's time went to an all-time high of twenty-six. I needed help. It was extremely difficult to guide that many preschoolers.

I enlisted four girls from the early teens class. They are Shelly, Dak Akura, Mira and Salin On. The four of them are Ling Noy and James Matthews' daughters, and Mira is Tira's sister as well as Nang Chom's adopted daughter. I am told that they are the top students in school. I needed their help.

Their assistance made it a lot easier to lead the fives and under. They inspired the young tykes into partaking. These girls enjoyed the stories, sound effects, and the action movements as much as the younger ones. The newer youths relished the opportunity to assist developing aids to the tales.

The fourteenth week was the most difficult time in my entire life. It was not the Bible narrative. I had shared the depth of my soul with the reverend. He asked me to disclose the journey that brought me to church.

My eyes swelled and the tears flowed abundantly. The smile went upside down with gritting of my teeth. I hesitantly decided to present myself as an open book. I wanted to tell the truth to hear it myself.

At the end of the sermon the minister introduced me to the church as someone who is going to impart her life's walk. I took a deep breath and proceeded toward the podium.

Approaching the pulpit my legs wobbled. I held on to keep from falling to the floor. The first person I noticed was sitting in the third pew on the left next to Alex Page. It was none other than my former flame, the father of my child, Bobby Olander.

I prayed out loud, "Let me get this completed." I heard Aunt Mae Sua say, "Jesus, be with this child who needs your love." Several added, "Amen!" I began, "I am not a saint. Until four months ago my life was messed up with too much anger. I accused people of things that were not true. This caused my best friend and fiancé to hate me. I was an evil woman with a wicked heart.

Three friends suggested that I talk with God. At the time, I had no idea what that meant. I went to the chapel on the side of this church every morning before work, and talked about the mean things a life of rage had produced. While there I met Rakha in the chapel one morning. He explained that God speaks to us in numerous ways, whereby allowing a peace in my heart not explainable. I know it was God speaking and saying, "EVERYTHING is all right.

Many of you know that I have never been married, but I have a wonderful son. He does not know his father. This church has adopted the two of us with no reservation. We love you.

Knowing that I do not deserve nor warrant your forgiveness, but wanting to say I am sorry to anyone that has been offended, has been my personal journey." I looked at Bobby. Tears fell down his face.

Mae Sua, Ling Noy, Nang Chom and several women hugged me. Bobby hugged me, and said, "I forgive you. I hope you can reconcile with your son's father." He does not know that he is my son's Daddy. He thinks I ran around and that his son belongs to someone else. I said, "Me too!"

At least he does not hate me any longer. However, he does not trust me. I may never be able to earn his confidence.

He did ask me, "Why did the only letter I received tell me not to write you?"

"The letter was not written, dictated or mailed by me. Although, there were at least one hundred letters penned in my handwriting, they were intercepted by my Aunt Tela. The mail you sent to me was also seized by my aunt.

The interference was without my knowledge. The dispatches were retrieved after finding them under her bed. I will be glad to share the correspondences with you."

He shook his head left to right. "The messages will be saved for you later."

The notes that I had prepared in my writing for this morning at church were given to him.

"The message you received will probably be in my aunt's handwriting. My job would cause us to cross paths, but I resolve to avoid you as much as possible."

Confusion instigated me to mumble, because the encounter with him was distressing me. I realized the battle was lost. Although a good front was put forward, it caused me to feel ripped apart inside. The seeds of hatred and bitterness were sown. Now I have earned what it produces.

He had not listened. Thus, I added that his buddy Bert Kendrick was the most despicable man living, and deserves his prison sentence for beating me and putting me in the hospital. His reply held no emotion. When he confessed that Bert had written him, he did not mention the battering or recovery.

I was sorry for the grief, and offered to make it up, if I could. That promise went unheard with the assertion that he did not want to be bothered. As if anything from me was too much effort.

The realization in my heart was that I wanted more. The desire for him to put his arms around me and say everything was going to be alright plagued me. The hope that he might express for us to try again was present in my thoughts. He did not. It is part of the penalties which torment my days. I had painted myself into a corner and there is no escape.

More day dreams about my wishes took place. Mae Sua shocked me back to reality when she approached me about going to Regal Garments to talk to the young women about saving for the future. She pointed out that most of this group is experiencing more money than they had while living with their families. I asked about how much do these women make a month.

She responded that they received nearly three thousand Bhat a month ($150.00,) and that is five times what an uneducated woman would earn.

Mae Sua disclosed that these women were abducted, raped repetitively and destined to become dope addict prostitutes. Bobby Olander and his crew rescued these girls from an early death. Now it is up to us to help them to face life. What you tell them will have an effect for years to come.

I expressed that I did not have a baby sitter lined up to take care of Seebhabe. Mae Sua answered that they had evening care for preschoolers for the moms employed at the factory. She revealed that Ling Noy and Nang Chom used the services at the center all the time. They have considerate workers, and he will have kids his own age with which to play.

I was presented to a group of mostly teenagers who had the look of elderly women on their faces. They did not cut up and smile like most girls their age. The young ladies were attentive but gloomy. Several of them were pregnant resulting from their captivity.