Three years ago Braverly opened its doors for the first time. On this Fall day, life was business as usual for 99.9% of the world. Kids went to school. Government bodies met and argued about something. Somewhere a recent college grad moaned about the struggles of adulting. 

Life.as.usual. 

But a small group of people in a quirky Thailand border town felt a little anxious and excited and completely full of anticipation. Their hearts beat a little faster, and their steps held a little bit more purpose. On that day, a dream was stepping into reality and breathing its first few breaths on its own. 

Braverly was born. 

Braverly

A quick look at street view on Google Maps shows that simple, beautiful concrete building. From the street, you can see Braverly’s logo—that big, cursive B and the words “bikes. bagels. bags.” But once inside, you see that other word that pulses through the veins of this café and sewing center—brave.

Braverly came from the dream from an American who imagined a place that trained and empowered marginalized and oppressed women—moms, sisters, and aunties trying to build a better life for their family. From there, the idea of a café and sewing center slowly began to form. Not only would these spaces give women valuable business, life, and hands-on skills, they would provide opportunities to impact Mae Sot and possibly even the world. 

Etched on the back wall is the slogan and driving force—three simple lines that inspire everything.

Live brave.
Dream bravery.
Influence bravery.

Every day the women in the Braverly family are challenged to live with courage over fear. They are stretched to dream scary, big, difficult dreams for themselves, their families, and the world. And because of their courageous decisions, they encourage bravery in others.

For three years, this has been the mission, and it has begun to make a mark on Mae Sot. Yet, there is a longing for more. This dare toward courage, this challenge to choose bravery is for the world. It’s a message we all need to hear and be wrecked by and choose every day. So while the café became known in Mae Sot, the dream grew. 

What if Questions Inspire Bold Dreams

What if these beautiful handmade products—bags, wallets, clutches, and more—were sold across the world? What if these story-carrying products created by incredibly courageous women in Thailand found their way to the arms of women in the U.S., Spain, Kenya, and Mexico? What if a simple purse was a reminder for women all over the world to choose courage over fear every day, to dream intimidating dreams, and to encourage others to choose bravery? 

What if? 

It’s the question that seems to start every big and beautiful and terrifying adventure, doesn’t it? What if humans could fly through the sky and reach places we never imagined? What if we could connect the entire world through cables and satellites? What if we took a risk, a step out? What if we tried and failed? What if we tried and succeeded, and the world became a better place because of our courage?

What if?

For Braverly, the questions have always been simple—what if one woman found freedom, wholeness of heart, empowerment, and life in the Father? What if that one person became two became three became a whole family, community, a whole nation? 

Why it all Matters to You

Last week, the dream stepped a little closer to reality when Braverly’s online store launched. Yes, people of America, you can now buy beautiful products made by incredibly brave women in Mae Sot, Thailand. You can show off a unique headband crafted from beautiful Thai fabric. You can carry a one-of-a-kind clutch or bag created by someone you have more in common with than you know. 

The dream of Braverly was never just about Mae Sot, about the people who invest so much of their time and skills, heart and soul into this place. It was always about the world—about you and me. It was about all of us, because if we pause long enough, we just might see that we have more similarities than we ever could imagine. 

You get the opportunity to be part of the Braverly story. You get to choose courage over fear, bravery over insecurity. What if we became a people marked by courage? 

What if we were a people marked by Braverly?

Join the movement, and check out these handmade, story-carrying product here. 

The post Why a Café in Mae Sot, Thailand Matters to You appeared first on Kate Berkey.

I haven't done a lot of work recently.

Don't get me wrong. I have been working and checking off things from my to-do list, but more than not, these last few weeks have been filled with stops and starts. They've been the kinds of days and weeks when what seems the main thing is not the main thing.

As I write this, one of my very best friends is across from me. We're at Braverly on a busy Saturday afternoon, and she is graciously giving me the space to check off a few things from my list. This friend travelled all the way from Indiana to visit me, and it still feels like a dream that she is here, that we have spent the last few days navigating Bangkok traffic, biking through Mae Sot, eating my very favorite foods in town. It seems like a dream that she spent the time and money to step into this world and life that I love so very much.

Last month, my parents stepped away from their lives to step into mine, and at the end of this month, two more friends from Indiana will do the same. And as much as I love these visitors, I've found myself a little at war with the Northern Indiana Kate inside of me.

I was raised in a culture that worships hard work. People in Northern Indiana bow to the idol of a good work ethic, of working hard and working late, of getting things done. We are self-made people, the "pull-yourself-up-by-your-boot-straps" kind of people. We like the kind of tangible results you can hold in your hand.

These last few weeks have held very little that is tangible. They've held more conversations than to-do lists. They've held more moments of doing life together than working late. I think life needs both the hard work and the life together, but these days, I'm more grateful for these moments of conversation and life-on-life moments and the space for exploration.

Here's what I've learned–sometimes what seems like the main thing is not the main thing.

Sometimes the most important thing isn't to check off things from the to-do list or stress over deadlines. Sometimes the most important thing isn't to work late, work tirelessly, work until you can't work anymore. And when we mistake these things for the most important things all the time, we miss the beautiful and holy that surround us–like people, like relationships, like the things you can't measure, like the things that never stick to a deadline.

These days the most important thing has looked like sitting with my parents at the border so they could see No Man's Land for themselves. It has looked like baking with my mom and our women at Braverly. It has looked like sharing the story of the book project with my very best friend. It has looked like having honest and vulnerable conversations about the book's content and being surprised by the way our dialogue leads to richer writing. It has looked like biking through town with my sweet friend, sweating through our clothes in the near 100 degree temperature. It has looked like introducing people I love from the States to people I love from Thailand and Burma and beyond.

Sometimes what seems like the main thing isn't the main thing.

So these days I'm not getting much done on my to-do list. Even writing this blog post has taken much longer than it should have because of distractions. But these distractions, I'm learning, are not always bad. More times than not, they are gifts, things that will slip away in a moment if I don't recognize them.

These days, I'm looking for those moments, those distractions, those incredible, beautiful, holy gifts.

These moments, they are the main thing in this season.

The post Sometimes the main thing isn’t the main thing appeared first on Kate Berkey.

There is this space between Thailand and Burma. It’s no more than a half a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide. It runs right up to the river separating the two countries.

This space of land belongs to no one.

Thailand doesn’t want it.

Burma doesn’t want it.

This is No Man’s Land.

Here, there are no laws. There is no education system. There is no health care. Living inside  makeshift homes are stateless people (people with no proof of citizenship to a country), wanted criminals, drug dealers, pimps, and the like. This small space is a trafficking hub, moving people discretely into a harrowing reality. This small space is a violent one, and I was told that it’s not uncommon to find bodies floating down the river from No Man’s Land.

It’s not a place for foreigners. It’s not a place for Thai or Burmese citizens. It’s a place for people trying to escape something.

Two weeks ago, I found myself walking along the perimeter of No Man’s Land, walking past little stands selling cigarettes and dried shrimp. I saw beautiful people and heard their voices. In the bushes of No Man’s Land, I saw a man moving discretely, trying not to be seen. That’s the goal of many in No Man’s Land.

Don’t be seen. Don’t be noticed. Blend in. Become forgettable.

This is No Man’s Land.

My friends who were with me that day, filled me in on the realities of this place, and as I heard the stories, a deep ache settled in my bones. There are times in our lives when, if we allow them to, stories and places and people have the power to make our entire being hurt. For me, I’m often left feeling breathless, tears at the surface of my eyes.

Even the words for prayer seem so very far away.

As the three of us sat together, kids and moms began to make their way to the river, no doubt seeking reprieve from the 100 degree temperatures of hot season. One of the kids floated on an old igloo cooler lid. Another splashed his friend. A few laughed and played together. One of the moms held her tiny baby close as she waded deeper into the water. In some ways, it was like watching a scene from a beautiful movie, one where friends and neighbors played together. And yet just behind the group was No Man’s Land—a place of little opportunity and little hope.

My heart did not break for the people of No Man’s Land because I wanted them to experience the American version of life in abundance. I didn’t want to see them in a two-story home with a white picket fence. I didn’t want to see them with hoards of money or possessions.

That’s not true abundance. That’s not a fulfilled life. That’s not the kind of hope you can anchor to.

My whole being ached because I so desperately wanted the people of No Man’s Land to experience the abundant hope and life and light that comes from the Father.

That day, sitting in the hot Thailand sun, my friends and I began to talk about the Kingdom of God. The Kingdom is something that is complex and beautiful and wonderful. You can’t hold it in your hands or build a fence around it’s borders. It’s impossible to describe fully, but you know it when you see it.

It’s a place of hope and love. It’s a place where the name of Jesus is proclaimed, where relationship is king, and the rites and rituals of religion take the back seat. It’s a place of belonging and being known. It’s a place where people are seen for who they are becoming, who the Father created them to be. It’s a place where the Holy Spirit is more than an idea. He is alive and active and moving and working. It’s a place that transcends culture and language and customs and traditions.

It’s for all people—westerners, Thai, Burmese, refugees, wanted criminals, stateless people, orphans, sons, daughters, moms, dads.

Everyone.

Everywhere.

On that day listening to the sounds of No Man’s Land, the Holy Spirit asked me a simple question.

Can you imagine if my kingdom was being built in No Man’s Land.

Today, this small space of land is on the list of things I don’t quite know what to do with. As a foreigner, I cannot go into No Man’s Land. Even if I wanted to go in, I can’t speak the language. I am not the hope or the savior or the light of No Man’s Land. That’s not my job. I haven’t quite figured out what role I play in building God’s kingdom in No Man’s Land.

But.

Can you imagine if God’s kingdom was being built in a place like No Man’s Land?

Can you imagine if the hopeless found hope? Can you imagine if the trafficker encountered the father? Can you imagine if the stateless family didn’t have to prove that they belonged to a place? Can you imagine if the criminal experienced redemption and reconciliation? Can you imagine if God’s kingdom was being built in No Man’s Land?

It’s on the list, the list of things I don’t quite know what to do with.

But it’s also on another list, the list of reasons why I will uproot my life in Nappanee, Indiana, and move 10 minutes away from the Thai/Burmese border. I don’t know what I am supposed to do to help build God’s kingdom in No Man’s Land, but I know that I have been called.

This calling is a calling to words, to bring hope through phrases and sentences and paragraphs. It’s a calling to bring words to people’s stories with dignity and respect. It’s a calling to share these stories with people all over the world, to teach them about places like No Man’s Land, about organizations like Outpour Movement. It’s a calling to remind people that God’s kingdom is being built all over the world. It’s a calling to remind people that the Kingdom is massive and beautiful and a beacon of hope in the midst of brokenness.

I believe that someday this will be said of No Man’s Land. Someday it will be a place of hope instead of a place of violence. It will be a place of family instead of of place of trafficking. It will be a place of abundant life instead of a place of merely existing. It will be a place of being known instead of a place of disappearing into the bushes.

This will be No Man’s Land.

“The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed planted in a filed. It is the smallest of all seeds, but it becomes the largest of garden plants; it grows into a tree, and the birds come and make nests in its branches.”

Matthew 13: 31-32

Want to join me in this journey? Click here to find out how you can partner with me as I seek to tell these stories.

The post This is No Man’s Land appeared first on Kate Berkey.