This trip to check on my Father’s business came by the
prompting of one of his most trusted caretakers in the mountains of Northwestern Thailand.
This guy that my Father chose for this particular
business is a former martial arts enthusiast from the country of red swastikas and
frothy brew. He sports a broken nose, a thriving beard and jade-blue eyes which
all make an irresistible face – at least to one Thai lass worth a million baht in dowry.
My Father entrusted him with the lives of underprivileged Karen and other tribal kids scattered on the chilly mountain tops by the eastern Burmese border and western Thai border. He teamed
up with the dedicated and zealous local pastors and funds generated from
machinery, coffee and the selfless hearts of Christians from all over the
world.
This trip took me out of my four-walled work station in the smoke-choked metropolis of Bangkok and whisked me through the dizzying yet breath-taking
hairpin turns that link the teak covered mountains of Mae Hong Son and Chiang
Mai.
From here the photos will show the kingdom of my Father and
the kids that are dear to his heart.
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