Change for Sale

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in Starbucks, drinking my coffee and doing some work, when I heard a man behind me say “I promise you, it will change your life.” Naturally, I was curious. So I shamelessly eavesdropped while the young man promoted a weight loss product to a young woman. He promised her that she would lose 100 pounds; claimed that his family had experienced radical change by using the product; and told her that spots with his promotion team were filling up fast and she would need to give him $500—soon—to reserve her place with the company.

I know that this high-pressure sales technique is simply what the young man has been taught, and my guess is that it’s working for him. But all the talk of “life changing” made me rather skeptical. After all, is radical change really something that can be bought and sold?

I started to think about whether I would be susceptible to such a pitch. What would I do if someone told me they could help me change my life? What would I want to change? I briefly considered asking this guy (and his captive audience) if his life is as satisfying as he would have us believe. Is it deep-down change, or does he just have more money to spend?

As Christians, we talk about the fact that our lives are different because we know the Lord. We believe that we have been irrevocably changed, don’t we? But what does that promise truly mean when someone sits across the table from us, offering a chance to change our lives? According to Paul, it means that “we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming” (Ephesians 4:14). It means that we can cry out to God and say, “Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days” (Psalm 90:14).

My prayer for all of us this week is that we would regard the changes that God is working in us as proof that it is only through Him that we can experience true and lasting change; even more, I pray that we will be satisfied with Christ’s love, that we will be glad and sing for joy.

Home Sweet Home

Let me bust a myth for you: Not all "missionaries" like to travel. I know this is quite the revelation, so let me explain. I, for one, am not a huge fan of air travel. I like airports, I like the intrigue and mystique of new places and the comfortable familiarity of home. But the space between those, the one where I have to sit suspended above an ocean in an aluminum tube for hours on end—this is not my favorite thing. Yet I do it, and do it regularly, most recently flying "home" to Ohio where I'm trying to do a little thing called 'writing my dissertation' in the span of a few months.

Being back in the US is weird for a number of reasons. First, it's been awhile since I've been so much a part of day-to-day life here. Usually my trips are a whirlwind of activity, bouncing from here to there and trying to soak up as much time as possible with people I haven't seen in months. They are also filled with business, visiting and talking about work, recruiting volunteers, and always, always talking about Cambodia. The slower pace of life now is taking some time to get used to; it's a unique feeling after so much idealization of life in the States as compared to daily living in Southeast Asia.

Here's the thing: living abroad is exciting and worthwhile, but I think overseas workers are apt to fall into the "sacrifice mindset" where we think about how much we've given up to be where we are. Oh, I think it's natural and it's not everyone, all the time. But there are days when I definitely think it would be worth it to jump a plane and find an In 'n Out burger waiting for me on the other side of the ocean. I'm sure it sounds odd to hear someone say that the servant life has its downfalls. As an example, I went into the dry cleaner today, and when I gave my name and phone number, I didn't have to repeat it five times, no one commented on my marital status or how long I had been living in the US, no one mentioned my very clear use of the English language. It was, for lack of a better word, easy. Sometimes I miss easy.

Yet, this long period of being back in the US is also a stark reminder to me of just what I'm not missing by living abroad, a good reinforcement of the unique experiences I'm having by being exactly where God has placed me. Why sometimes it's better for life to be harder, to appreciate the things that God has put in my path, to learn the lessons and participate in what He is teaching me with all that I am. I think it's a lesson He has for all of us, when we find ourselves in places we wouldn't choose, circumstances that seem awkward or difficult. Because let's be honest, there are also some really amazing things that happen when we find ourselves in places we didn't expect to be. In Cambodia, that means I get to be part of an exciting ministry. In the US, I get to meet my six-month-old niece for the first time this week. In both places, God is blessing me, blessing us, as we live out our calling and live in the richness of His grace.

Life Gone Mad

This is my niece, Tori. This picture perfectly illustrates how I felt this morning when I arrived soaking wet at the office (early morning rain). Why? My cell phone just stopped working last week and can't be repaired. There are doubts as to whether my visa will be renewed and my passport returned by the time I am supposed to get on a plane next week. I need documents translated and can't do it myself. I had to wake up early this morning. I am wet and cold. I'm worried my data entry won't be finished. My travel agent won't return my emails regarding a transit hotel during my 12 hour layover in Korea. I have a 12 hour layover in Korea next week.

All in all, it's nothing that's really bad, just some minor annoyances. I just hope that underneath my "angry-face" I'm as cute as Tori is. We'll see.

Big Fat Liar

I've been whining about how it hasn't been raining, as you all know. So of course, as soon as I mentioned the drought... what should happen but daily rain showers, thunderstorms, and downpours. Usually at inconvenient times. In fact, just now I am drying off at a coffee shop after getting caught out in an impromptu downpour. Your prayers are working.

I thought that I had more to update on, but as I sit here, staring at the computer, it seems I don't. I am preparing to return to the US for some time. Many of you know that I am trying to finish my dissertation this fall. Right now, my flight is scheduled for September 20th. Please pray (since I know it works!) that I'm able to finish up some things that are left to be done around here, and that I make good progress toward completing my degree. It is often hard to focus here; there are distractions, and competing projects. I could come up with many excuses, but I'll just again request some prayer and moral support. Until I'm finished, I imagine updates will be pretty sparse. Also, since I'll be in the US, I might not have anything interesting to say!

And with that, I am going to venture out into the chilly Cambodian afternoon (okay, it's probably around 75 degrees) because I need a book that I left at home. Oh, and some dry clothes. The ones I'm wearing smell like rain.

Hot and Dry

Remember how I was complaining about the lack of rain? I wasn't joking. Cambodia's suffering from a drought.

This will affect lots of things, like rice harvest, then rice prices, migrant labor... the list goes on and on. So please pray for rain and pray for a good harvest this year. World Relief works in some of the most heavily affected provinces, so please also pray that we would be a blessing to the people there as we reach out to them.

Like a Child

I'm staying with my friend's children this week, as she's had to take her oldest son to Thailand for medical treatment. It was rather spur-of-the-moment, but I've stayed with them before, love them dearly, and think they are a lot of fun (although homework time is not always a barrel of laughs). The youngest (age 5, almost 6) and I were in the car today driving home from an after-school class he has. I had some cookies in the car, from a store called "The Shop" and he was eating one. Here's our conversation.

"Kate, where did you buy the cookies?"
"At 'The Shop.'"
"What shop?"
"A shop called 'The Shop.'"
"No, what shop?"
"It was a place called 'The Shop'. The name of the restaurant is 'The Shop.'"
"The shop is called 'The Shop?'"
"Yes. It's kind of confusing, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Can I have the other cookie?"


Abbot & Costello have nothing on Jonathan & Kate.

January 7th Market

It's been almost two months since I moved to a new apartment. We've settled in, gotten used to things, have been rejoicing in the cooler temps over on this side of the neighborhood. The move was only maybe a quarter of a mile away, but the new place has such a different feeling than the old one did.

For instance, we now have a pack of dogs who like to howl. When a siren sounds, when a cart rolls by playing some silly tune...the sound of howling is shortly to follow. This is, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) not restricted to nighttime howling. At 3 pm on a Tuesday, I have been forced to look up from an article about HIV interventions when the howling became too much.

The street is much busier, so there's more traffic (quite a difference from the quiet house before), but it means that moto taxis and tuk tuks are available whenever we want them. It's also closer to get into the center of town, which means the weekly trips to the grocery store take a lot less time, and it's not such a chore to run errands.

I think what's most interesting is our proximity to the market. Most Khmer go to the market at least twice a day, purchasing food and other little things that they need for their meals, or for their houses. In the mornings and afternoons, there are always lots of women out on the streets, market bags in hand, walking to or from the stalls with food, and sometimes a child in tow.

We used to live near a market, but not as close as we do now. That market was pretty well known, as was the school that we lived near, but I rarely went inside to purchase things, stopping occasionally for fruit on the side of the road instead. The market we're near now is a lot smaller, but people know where it is. I had to re-learn how to give directions to the house (everything is done by landmark, rather than street number), so I asked some Khmer staff the name of this new market. Psar bruhm-peul makara, they told me. Psar means "market" and bruhm-peul is the word for "seven" (literally, five-two). The last word, however, I didn't know, other than as a name for one of my Khmer friends. Turns out it means "January." I've not had to learn the names for the months, as most of the younger Khmer refer to the months by number, rather than by name (Month-1, Month-9, etc.).

So now I live near January 7th Market. Now, being American, I'm used to markets having some interesting names. I mean "Kroger" isn't really a word in the dictionary, nor is "Vons". But we accept these names because they were probably the name of the man who started a very small store and grew it into an empire. January 7th? That just seems like a random date. Until you dig a little deeper.

On January 7, 1979, Vietnamese forces finally captured Phnom Penh and ended the Khmer Rouge rule of Cambodia. Of course, this only prompted more fighting, all the way up through the late 1980s while the Vietnamese maintained a puppet government in Cambodia. I don't know how the troops made their way through the city, but I do know that our neighborhood, in the northern part of town, close to the river, is a place where there is a history of political violence, and it has only recently stabilized. And certainly, when a city is under siege, violence isn't limited to one area.

I'm not sure why the market picked up its name. After all, it could be for lots of reasons; to commemorate a day that brought freedom from oppressive rule, to remember a day when Cambodia fell to armies from a neighboring country, as a reminder of all the rebuilding that took place after that day...I might never find out. In any case, it's humbling to live so near to something that, because of its name, is a symbol of a different time, a difficult time. It's strange to let this piece of history into my thoughts, to know that even as Cambodia struggles to put the past behind, some things will always remain. And until a giant supermarket comes in and bulldozes Psar bruhm-peul makara, this small testament to what came before will stay a part of many people's daily lives.