The struggle for peace continues

The previous piece, 'War and Peace', was written some time ago about my relationship with ants during our years living in Thailand. Returning to live in Asia has reawakened old emotions and caused me to reflect on re-emerging struggles. I thought that I had grown through my experiences, come to a place of mature acceptance and worked through my issues with ants but since the hot season has started I’m finding my tolerance waning and the old anger and irritation resurfacing.

I have been scratching an ant bite on my arm for the last week. The swelling and redness is now larger than a fifty cent coin. I’ve seen signs of ant colonies out the front of our house and have started fearing that we may yet again be living on a major ant civilzation. They have been in our towels and in our food despite our little water dishes around the cupboard legs. Can Cambodian ants swim? Last night there were several tiny ants in my bed. I wanted to cry because they are so devious and will use any opportunity to deliberately aggravate and tease me.

It’s possible my emotional response has at times been out of proportion to the actual threat. There is a history, of course, and perhaps even unconscious fears about lack of control lying hidden deep in my psyche.

It seems to me that our growth is often cyclical. We are faced with a problem, uncover the underlying issues, see the larger picture, work through our pain, let go of things and find a level of peace. But inevitably this harmony is challenged. Something will trigger the old disturbing emotions. So how do we find lasting resolution?

This is an area I’ve been doing some reading on. It is suggested that the path to genuine freedom and maturity is found in the transforming work of Christ through the renewal of our minds and the experience of His love right at the source of our pain. Maybe my prayer, then, should not be ‘Lord, take away these ants (i.e. my discomfort and my problems) but rather ‘Come Lord Jesus, meet me here and reveal yourself to me’.

The struggle for serenity continues but not alone and not without hope. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Elliot has just informed me we have cockroaches breeding in the kitchen !!!!

War and Peace

Once, I declared war. Full of rage and righteousness. There would be no mercy.

It was a rash and arrogant decision born of anger, intolerance and fear. But I imagine many wars before mine have had equally flawed beginnings.

They first appeared as a small contingent, single file above the sink. Black scouts sent to assess the threat. We were still unpacking boxes, setting up beds and mosquito nets, fully absorbed and confident. We were moving in, oblivious. They kept coming, marching with military precision. A crumb of food left for only a moment was surrounded and seized. The sack of rice on the floor was invaded by a battalion of thousands. They surrounded the kitchen.

Incensed I armed myself with chemical weapons and attacked, sweeping the lifeless bodies into the bin. A mass grave. We guarded our supplies with moats made from bowls of water in which the legs of the food pantry stand. We drew the battle lines in chalk available from the corner shop, a Chinese defence mechanism. It’s a barrier they dare not cross. I relaxed feeling triumphant.

But the war was far from over. They employed new tactics. An opened packet of cough lozenges became a Trojan horse. We naively placed it in the food cupboard but undercover of night our rivals broke out taking the entire pantry as their own. Tiny red soldiers infiltrated my bath towel, undetected, until I felt the sting of a hundred bites burning my back and legs. With tears of fury, I called for reinforcements. A man with a backpack of fumigation chemicals arrived, no protective clothing or mask, just a willing smile. He sprayed all around the outside and under the house. He cheerfully announced that we were living on the nests of several different types of ants, big and small, red, black and orange. He was reluctant to spray the large orange ants outside on the trees as they lay juicy eggs, a local delicacy. All seemed quiet. Were we finally victorious?

It was only a matter of days before the infantry, this time a brownish midsized regiment, marched with discipline and unwavering loyalty down from the window sill and around the skirting boards of the bedroom. I was worn down. There was no fight left in me.

Admitting defeat I started negotiating a peace settlement.

‘You may patrol the kitchen, but the pantry moats remain. The bathroom may be used for military exercises but no war games in my towel’. This was now safely hanging on a rack away from the wall.

I came to see that in fact it was we who were the invaders. We were in their territory, disrupting a complex civilization that had survived millions of years. My comfort, convenience and privilege were not the only considerations. A harmonious co-existence required compromise, respect and allowing the other to simply be.