Craig's Homecoming Talk -
When we first came to Laos, we came with work to do.
We wanted to renovate schools, distribute wheelchairs, teach English, and support people who were already doing this work. We brought with us the habits we had learned from years of working in other countries. We expected plans to move quickly, problems to be solved, and each project to become a little better than the one before it.
Some things worked that way.
Some did not.
At first, we wondered why things did not move faster. A decision that seemed simple could take a long time. Even when a process could be made more efficient, there wasn't always much interest in changing it.
But over time, we began to see something different.
We saw it in our English classes, where government employees came not only to learn English, but also to get to know one another and us.
More often than not, class would end and Lao delicacies would suddenly appear. They would encourage us to join them, share their food, and simply spend a little more time together.
We saw it in the schools we helped renovate, in the children and families who welcomed us, `and in the government workers who partnered with us to provide wheelchairs to people who needed them.
Again and again, people invited us into their lives.
We were not simply people doing projects together. We were becoming part of a circle of relationships.
That made us wonder if we were seeing a different idea of what is important.
The year Joseph Smith received the gold plates, 1827, the Lao capital of Vientiane was destroyed by Siam, the country we now know as Thailand. In the years that followed, tens of thousands of Lao people were forcibly moved across the Mekong River.
Then, six years before the Salt Lake Temple was dedicated, Luang Prabang—the country's royal capital and an important religious and cultural center—was attacked. Many of its temples were burned or badly damaged.
Then came the twentieth century. Laos became a battlefield in larger wars involving outside powers. Villages were destroyed, families were displaced, and after the communist victory in 1975, hundreds of thousands of people fled the country.
In an up-country city, we were distributing wheelchairs to people with polio, paralysis, and other disabilities. `Some had lost limbs when they encountered bombs that had been dropped near their homes or in their fields during the war, but had not exploded.
After thanking us for the wheelchairs, one local official looked at us and said, “It is good that you do this, because the bombs that maimed our people came from your country.”
We could feel the sadness and frustration behind his words. And yet, we were met with kindness and appreciation.
In less than 150 years, Lao people repeatedly experienced governments changing, cities being destroyed, communities being scattered, and families being separated.
Yet something remained.
The family remained.
The village remained.
Friendships remained.
Faith and religious traditions remained.
People continued to care for one another.
We don't believe this history proves that conflict and turmoil created the character of the Lao people. Their kind way of life existed long before these wars.
But history may have reinforced those values.
In Laos, we found that getting things done often depended as much on personal relationships as on formal processes—on trust, patience, and taking the time to get to know one another.
When governments change, relationships can remain.
When a city is destroyed, people can build another home.
When political systems disappear, family and friends are still there.
Among the people we met, we often saw a strong value placed on family, friendship, community, hospitality, patience, and continuity.
They are certainly not perfect. There are difficult people there, just as there are everywhere.
But something about ordinary Lao social life increasingly impressed us.
At first, we measured success by how quickly something was accomplished.
Now we sometimes ask a different question:
What if the relationship is part of the accomplishment?
A society can become very good at making things faster, more efficient and more productive.
But those things are means, not ends.
The people we met there reminded us of another measure of a good life:
Who do we care about?
Who cares about us?
Who do we welcome into our circle?
And what relationships will remain when everything else changes?
We came to Laos to help.
We discovered that we also had much to learn.
Through the people we met, we came to appreciate more deeply the grace of Jesus Christ in our own lives—and how we can extend something of that grace to one another in the ordinary moments of our lives.
Jesus offers His grace to us. His sacrifice draws us to Him, and He helps us through our weaknesses.
There is also the grace we extend to one another: the simple act of sharing ourselves and making room for others.
This is at the heart of what Jesus taught: visiting those in prison, as in Matthew 25; the compassion of the Good Samaritan; and loving our neighbors as ourselves, as Jesus demonstrated.
The people of Laos have taught us that our circle of relationships can always be widened to include one more.
We hope we will carry that lesson with us for the rest of our lives. And we pray that each of us will consider what is really important, widen our circle, make room for one more, and draw more of our brothers and sisters in.
