As I look at the photos of my old house in the Permsup community being torn down, I cannot help but think of all the memories. Singing, dancing, eating, laughing, crying. Rich fellowship in a poor place. Moments where heaven definitely touched earth. We ate together. We studied the Bible together. We worshipped together. We prayed for reconciliation. We prayed for addictions to be released. We sweated. We cooked. We washed. We listened to kids screaming at each other and heard couples throwing bottles at each other. We sprayed for termites and rebuilt. We caught rats and killed spiders. We talked about the future of the community. We held community meetings. We organized people into savings groups. We held Christmas parties. We trained people in microfinance.

Baan Santisuk. My home for four years, from 2003-2007, and home to the Pukronghin family (Ratchai, Pai, Pat, Nat) for two years after that. Even after I moved to another community for my last year in Bangkok and then moved to Seattle in 2008, Permsup has felt so real to me. Because that’s where I know God moved. That’s where I know I experienced real fellowship. Now that its gone, its still real to me – and undoubtedly to so many others.

When we think of place, investment, development, return, lasting value, worth…a place that is going to be bulldozed in the near future does not usually come to mind. When I moved into Permsup in 2003, we knew it would one day be bulldozed. We actually expected it would happen far sooner than it did. A government road project was coming through and the people were squatters and there was little they could do about it, except prepare for that future reality. I’ve often said, if I knew we would remain there for four years before the bulldozing began, there’s many things I would have done differently. I would have invested more in that place. Improved my house to be more of a community center, maybe created a computer lab for the kids in the slum to learn technology and marketable skills. Made it what you would think of as a “permanent” home and center. But because there was always the threat that we could be evicted in a few months, we never did make more physical improvements to the place. It was indeed used in a myriad of ways for community gatherings and house church meetings and microfinance trainings and so on. But it was always like a tent. My team leader joked that it was like camping out, only for years on end. Indeed, this is the life of squatter slumdwellers, for decades on end.

But was that place temporary? No. Its eternal. The life of the ages was celebrated there.

If I had it to do over again, even if I knew for certain that we only had a six month time frame to be there, I would have invested everything. I’ve often looked back and said, “Yea, who cares if we would have invested $10,000 of our donors’ money and then have our improvements bulldozed six months later? For those six months, the value that those people would have gotten would have been life changing – saying ‘You matter.’ It would not be a waste. For those six months – and forever after, it would be absolutely worth it. And its not like we couldn’t raise more money from donors to invest in the next place later.”

Place does not depend on time. Place is worth it. Time, however short, is worth it. Being present, with all you have and are – that’s what matters. Martin Buber, baby. I and Thou. Be. Present. Incarnation. You. Matter.

Lives matter. And lives don’t fade away when houses are moved out of and communities are demolished. Lives go on, shaped by what they have experienced – and then go on with the potential to shape their future and others’ lives.

Investing in place matters. Place is sacred. Sacred space is space that we dwell in here, now. Not the space we dream of dwelling in there and then. There and then, we will always remember how we dwelt here and now. And that is all that will make us real there and then.

Setting down roots – even if they will be violently uprooted later. Risking, investing. Feeling – pain and joy. Celebrating and mourning, longing. Trying, striving, emptying for the hope of new birth, new life, resurrection, here and now. That’s reality. Everything else is just air.

Permsup, rest in peace. But I know you live on in many hearts, in many lives, in many places. May all the moments in which heaven touched earth in you continue to bear new birth, like yeast in dough, in so many other places.

David lives in the Rainier Valley and is a student in the Master of Divinity program at Mars Hill Graduate School and worships at Rainier Avenue Church.  Before moving to Seattle, David ministered in the slum communities of Bangkok, Thailand with Servant Partners for five years, pioneering new house churches, mentoring Thai leaders, organizing squatter communities for relocation, and consulting micro-business development operations.  David loves researching the Buddhist context and pioneering new ways of sharing the gospel of Jesus.  His pioneering work on Buddhist contextualization has been published in Communicating Christ in Asian Cities: Urban Issues in Buddhist Contexts, edited by Paul De Neui.