Embark

Time to say Goodbye

2010-07-28T18:20:00.003+07:00

All good things must come to an end, right? Such is the case here. As of July 2010, I'm moving this blog to a new location with an intentionally similar http address, for maximum confusion: http://katepieper.wordpress.com.

I've enjoyed sharing my thoughts and photos here, but there are some technical reasons for moving, which don't really merit mention. So, while it's always a little difficult to change, even on the internet, it's inevitable. But this is a good change, at least from my perspective.

Please, head over to the new blog, and I'd love it if you'd share your thoughts on change, layouts, and web presence while you're there.

How Long It Takes

2010-07-19T11:07:00.001+07:00

Two months. One year. Five weeks. Six months. Two rainy seasons. I occasionally feel like my life is measured in milestones, in the amount of time that has passed between one thing and another.

Volunteers want to know various things about my life, all of them measured in time. Unfailingly, someone in each group we host asks, "How long did it take you to get used to driving here?" The question used to irritate me because I'd answered it so many times, but now I just smile and explain: I started driving because I had to. Not much room for an adjustment process when you're handed the keys and told to go for it.

Cambodians want to know how long I've lived here. When I say, "Three years," they reply, "Oh, you can speak Khmer very clearly." Sometimes we have this exchange entirely in English.

People ask me about the last time I was in the US, and "how long before you'll go back?" I never know how to answer that one; the process of scheduling a visit can be tricky, balancing work and family visits, trying to leave and return when we're not so busy here.

A friend asked me yesterday, "How long did it take before you felt content in Cambodia?" I appreciated the nuance of the question. It's not "at home" or "comfortable" or "settled," things which I feel intermittently in varying degrees. Instead, it's contentment, something that I can (and do) feel now. For the most part, I have made a home here, I feel comfortable, and I am settled. Even after all of that, I still choose contentment, choose not to long for other places, things I can't or don't have.

At this point, the only question I can't answer is the one I'm asked most often: "How long will you stay in Cambodia?"

These days, I'm tempted to reply, "However long it takes."

Laos: Water & Waterfalls

2010-07-15T13:30:00.010+07:00

I've done a fair bit of travel in the region recently, beginning with my trip to Southern Laos in April, but I haven't mentioned it much here, mostly because I've been distracted. Now, though, I'm going to post some photos from wandering around Cambodia and Laos, with a few thoughts. Then, tomorrow, I'm off again, this time to Bangkok for a weekend.

We'll start with Laos. The bridge above is from Pakse, the biggest city in Southern Laos, located approximately 90 minutes from the Cambodian border, and less than 100 km from the Thai border. We were astonished to find that it's much bigger than Cambodian provincial cities, despite Laos' smaller overall population. We didn't spend much time in Pakse, other than eating one night at one of the nicer hotels, and then staying another night on our way back to Cambodia at the end of our trip. Instead, we spent most of our time finding and enjoying waterfalls.

These photos are both from Khone Phapheng falls, on the Mekong river near the Cambodian border. We swam in the pool created by the water in the second picture. It was very cold, although the three naked kids who were also swimming there (and are not pictured) seemed to be enjoying it. We traveled to Laos during Laos (and Khmer) New Year, so at each of the places we visited, there were a lot of other people picnicking, swimming, or cooling off. April is the hottest time of year in Cambodia/Laos, so sitting near enough to the falls to enjoy some of the spray is a nice way to spend an afternoon. At Khone Phapheng, there was a fairly large market area, where we were even able to pick up a latte for the ride back to our guesthouse.

We arrived at Tad Lo, in what is called the Bolaven Plateau, at the height of Laos New Year, so the place was packed with people traipsing through the market area (and gambling on the street), swimming in the falls, and even perched at the top of the falls, eating. In the background, Laos music was blaring from the restaurant closest to the falls. There was also truly bad karaoke, fueled by Beerlao and lao lao and we wisely chose not to take part. The Tad Lo falls aren't very tall, so the attraction seems to be the various pools of water, as the falls start farther upriver, and finally end in the picture above. From there, the river is much calmer, and as we trekked over a bridge, through the market, and back to our guesthouse just as the sun was setting, we could see many of the residents preparing to bathe.

We had one truly bad meal in Laos (the rest were just slow to arrive), and it was in Tad Lo, at a restaurant recommended to us by the owner of our guesthouse. Unsurprisingly, the place was run by his aunt. I'm still not sure what they put in the coconut shakes (I suspect canned coconut milk, not fresh), but they were seriously greasy, which is unusual in this part of the world. Fortunately, the nephew ran his guesthouse much better, and although we 'roughed it' (as much as I'm willing to rough anything, that is), the only drawback from our stay in Tad Lo were clothes that smelled a bit like the wood fire our neighbors were using. The highlight was definitely the three Lao teens who decided they needed their photo taken with me. I've intermittently wondered where those photos ended up, and who those guys claim is in the picture with them.

After Tad Lo, we weren't intending to find any more waterfalls, but Tad Suong was on our route back to Pakse so we pulled off and trekked with a lot of other people to see this giant waterfall. We parked at the top of the falls, and then made our way to the head of the falls (above), which is also a huge picnic ground. Here's a tip: if you're planning to hang out with the rest of the Lao people at Tad Suong, you can buy a case of Beerlao and simply put it in the river to stay cool while you relax. In the dry season, you can walk around at the top of the falls, almost to the edge. The figures in orange at the edge of the photo are the monks, who have set up a small temple near the falls.

It didn't take long to realize that we could make our way to the bottom of the falls as well, so we hiked down what felt like two hundred stairs (carved out of the mountain) to get to this view. The falls were breathtaking, and I can only imagine what they look like now that it's the rainy season and there's more water. After months of dry, dusty Cambodian weather, spending time near the cool rivers of Laos and the green landscape was refreshing. We didn't venture into the water at Tad Suong, although we watched quite a few daring Lao youth dive in from rocks close to the falls. The rest of the swimmers hung back in calmer water, striking poses for their girlfriends or families to photograph. We all clambered for a foothold on the slippery riverbank as there were far too many people trying to go up and down the stairs, which ended on a cliff overlooking the pool.

Along with the tourists, it seems that photography is a brisk business at Tad Suong, with lots of enterprising photographers attempting to persuade us to pay them to take our photo. What was most entertaining was watching these guys try to keep their lenses dry when the breeze kicked up the spray from the falls.

Waterfalls, believe it or not, were actually a secondary pursuit. Our initial goal in visiting Laos was to see the 4,000 Islands (or Si Phan Don), which range in size from Don Khong, where we stayed for three nights, to really large rocks jutting out of the water. All of the islands are located in the Mekong river, which we traversed by boat quite a bit during our stay. At their southernmost point, Si Phan Don actually border Cambodia, and we spent a morning making our way to the south side of Don Khon island, where we took small boats to see Irrawady dolphins. We actually spotted the fins of at least a couple members of this endangered species, although snapping a picture was fairly difficult. We also traveled back to Don Dhet (just north of Don Khon) to go kayaking, and then spent a pleasant hour or two swimming in the Mekong. Sadly, the dolphins didn't join us.

We stayed a few nights at a "resort" along the Mekong, maybe 30 kilometers north of the border. Although they had great food, the main attraction was staying on the river, which lulled us to sleep at night. As we learned (or re-learned), sometimes "resort" doesn't mean what you think it means. In this case, it meant: "nice rooms, but keep an eye out for stray water buffalo."

One of our favorite adventures was the day we tried to find the market. According to the "concierge" at the "resort" there was a small market about 7 km away, where we could purchase a soccer ball, etc. to play on the grounds. We set off in the truck to find this market, and... ended up driving to Pakse (an hour and a half). However, before we trekked all the way to Pakse, we cruised some local Lao villages, where we tried out our (oh-so-limited) Lao language talents, tried to persuade people that they could speak a little Khmer, and then exercised our Thai. We also crossed a rickety wooden bridge (pictured above), which was probably ill-advised, but provided a little extra heart-pounding suspense and adrenaline. Even more so when, after crossing, we discovered there was no way back to the main highway and were forced to turn around and cross it again.

The worst part? The market that the resort staff sent us to was actually the dock for all the small boats over to Don Dhet island, which we found the next day when we went to go see the dolphins. It was packed with people, including other tourists, and there were lots of soccer balls for sale. We bought sunglasses instead.

All in all, it was a really great trip, with lots of time spent outdoors. The drive through Cambodia was also really beautiful, as it took us through Stung Treng and Kratie provinces, places I'd not previously visited. Of course, no border crossing in Southeast Asia would be complete without a little corruption, so our return featured some fast talking and negotiation, and then the obligatory rejection of romantic overtures by Kate.

Once we returned, many WR staff asked me if I prefer Laos to Cambodia (a totally loaded question). The answer: I had a lot of fun in Laos, but I prefer to live in Cambodia.

STM Freak Out Syndrome

2010-06-30T09:26:00.002+07:00

I have recently come to the conclusion that there's a little control freak inside of each of us. Some people are better at hiding it, at living in a way that fools the rest of us into thinking they are incredibly laid back and easygoing, unfazed by the difficulties of life. I've also concluded that there is one great equalizer, something that exposes even the most well-concealed inner control freak. It's called "the short-term mission trip."

For the past month (and for the next month), World Relief Cambodia is hosting teams of Americans to teach ESL to our staff. We've been doing this for the past four years, and I like to think we're getting better at it every year. However, there is one thing that I just cannot figure out how to improve. I'm at a loss when it comes to dealing with Short Term Mission Freak Out Syndrome, or STMFOS.

Every person has a unique STMFOS trigger. For some, travel is what prompts stress. No matter how many times I say that arriving at the Phnom Penh airport three hours before your departure time is a bit extreme, or rehash plans for transport to and from different mission locations, some folks just aren't reassured. Others need to know that their living quarters are taken care of—that there is a bed, a bathroom (with an American-style toilet), and food and water. I once answered a phone call from a volunteer who was staying three hours away from the city and wanted me to do something about the power outage at his location. It was difficult to explain that I was not in charge of the main power supply for the country of Cambodia.

This is not to say that these anxieties are unjustified. I sometimes think that all of the worry and fear people express over these easily-controlled aspects of the trip is masking some deeper issues. It might be a long-standing belief that cross-cultural differences will result in embarrassing mistakes, fears of failing at completing the "mission" or facing the unknown in another country.

Many churches are sending multiple teams this summer, to different parts of the globe. Those who go often learn to trust in God's daily provision during the journey, amidst other faith-stretching experiences. Those who stay home have the opportunity to be a source of great comfort to people, to cover them in prayer and in love as they go. Perfect love drives out fear, after all. Even fear over what might be served for dinner.

Out in the Field

2010-06-17T09:36:00.006+07:00

There are many days when my work keeps me behind a desk, staring at a computer. While those days are no less valuable than the ones I spend visiting our projects, they are slightly less inspiring. I've had the chance to visit a couple of our kid's clubs in the past two weeks, in two different provinces. Watching the faces of these kids as they focus on our staff and the puppet shows and dramas they perform is always a treat. It reminds me why I'm here, why our ministry is important, and what we're working for. Also, it's fun, and the kids are really cute. Here are a few photos from the last two weeks.

The Allure of Rural

2010-06-08T09:51:00.005+07:00

I always have a moment, while visiting our work in rural Cambodian villages, when I think, "I would love to live here."

Then I realize there's no indoor plumbing, little electricity, and no refrigerators, and I amend that to something along the lines of, "I'm so glad to be visiting today."

Yesterday, I wandered around a picturesque village in Kampong Cham province with several of our staff, field testing survey questions. The sky was a clear blue, the trees have turned green after the recent rains, and the dirt road was a rusty red. Small houses stood amidst palm trees, in clearings where the forest had been cut back for people to make their homes.

As we walked, I marveled at life in this small community, the hushed feel of the streets beneath the canopy of green, the stares of children as they passed on their bicycles, even the hum and swish of the cows as they walked past. It seemed to be an ideal place to live, and for a few moments made me wish I could capture something of that peace in my own neighborhood.

Until we spoke with some of the villagers.

The first woman we met answered survey questions about the social networks in the village. "People here don't really trust each other," she told us.

Then we went to survey some children, and tried to speak with a six-year-old in her home. The smell of brewing rice wine drifted up from the distillery underneath the house. It was clear that several of the men working on the wine had sampled their own brew. It was 10 a.m.

When the little girl couldn't answer our questions—which was the point of our field test—we moved on. We found a house with a little boy who was willing to participate and the staff interviewed him while I hung back with the translator and another visitor. We quickly realized that too many white faces were doing more harm than good. This also gave us a good view of the drama that was about to play out when a man stumbled into the yard, obviously drunk, and began to wash his feet with water from the well. He bumbled his way around, lighting a cigarette and eventually shouting "AIDS! AIDS! AIDS!" as well as some other nonsensical words. Finally, an older woman dressed only in her shower sarong came to ask us to please leave; the man wasn't happy that we were doing a survey in his house, and as he was the head of the family, we needed to go. If we stayed longer, she told us, he would grow belligerent and possibly destructive.

It was a startling trip, with so much imperfection juxtaposed with what is a seemingly quiet place. Rural poverty is like that. It's easy to look at these villages and see a pastoral setting that is only in need of modernization. But there's so much more going on beneath the surface. In contrast to the gritty reality of urban poverty and struggle, rural need looks easy, simple, even quaint. It can seem much like a visit to a "historical village" where one can marvel at antique technology and the progress we've made to get to where we are now. As I was reminded today, it's not a sightseeing tour or a trip into the past. People in these villages have real struggles and real temptations, the same as in any major city. The settings may look different, but people and their needs are remarkably consistent.

Selfishness: Struggling with Myself

2010-06-03T22:50:00.001+07:00

On Wednesday, I was in Kampong Cham province, where we're preparing to do a baseline survey for some new program activities. It's been a difficult week, with lots to do, and I've been trying to combat my innate feelings of needing to strive and take responsibility for everything with the truth that this is a team effort. Also, the temperatures are still hovering around 38C or 40C (that's around 100F), and it's hard to be reasonable when you're sweating and feeling gross.

On Tuesday, I woke up at 5 a.m. after a mostly sleepless night to drive three hours with our monitoring and evaluation team. We spent the day training staff on survey procedures, and trying to find cool things to drink. In Phnom Penh, it's easy to find restaurants with clean water; in the province, not so much. I had a desperate moment yesterday, staring at a bucket of beautiful ice which I couldn't use without risking illness. Until one of the staff told me to stick my very warm Coke can into the ice bucket, I was seriously considering dealing with the nasty consequences of drinking unclean water, if only to cool off for a few minutes.

It's situations like this that make me uncomfortable.

To be clear, it's not the choice between drinking or not drinking that's uncomfortable. It's that I have to make this choice in front of Cambodian staff. Because while I sat there debating how much I desired to jeopardize my fairly stellar record of good health, seven pair of brown eyes were watching. Yes, it sounds like I'm making myself the center of attention, but it's difficult to inconspicuously ask the waitress if the water and ice at her restaurant are clean. Especially because when I speak Khmer, people tend to look at me. I'm a novelty.

It isn't just the time in the restaurant that made me feel strange. There's one room in our whole, multi-story office in Kampong Cham that has an air conditioner. At 4 p.m. on Tuesday, it felt like a little slice of paradise to sit behind a desk (it's the accountant's office) and cool down. When the provincial leader, who is also a friend, offered to let me use a fold-out bed to sleep in that oasis of cool, instead of bunking with another female Cambodian staff member in a hot guest room upstairs, I wasn't sure how to respond.

Eventually, I said yes, of course, because I'm neither a fool nor a masochist. But I felt weird about my decision.

I feel like I have to constantly check myself in these situations, check my motives. Am I taking advantage of someone because I feel that I'm entitled to something, like better service, or a cheaper rate, or better living conditions? Am I trying to be comfortable at the expense of others' discomfort?

It's very easy to slip into selfishness here, when things that are luxuries in the US come cheaply, or are offered genuinely. It isn't necessarily because it's easy to feel better or more important than the Khmer people. I think it is something of a vicious cycle wherein the thought of what I've given up is enough to motivate a feeling of wanting to recapture part of the life that I left—whether it's having something that my peers have, or finding the comforts of "home" whenever possible. It's not a wrong motive, unless it stands in the way of relationships, or bleeds into entitlement, or whining, or being demanding.

In the midst of these moments of taking what is offered, even when it feels uncomfortable, I'm awed by the generosity of my Cambodian brothers and sisters. Whether it's mainly culture or mainly friendship, their willingness to give and serve is humbling, and inspires me to act that way more when I'm with them, and when I'm not.

And on Tuesday night, exhausted, hot, and preparing for another long day to come, I stopped feeling selfish, and started feeling grateful when I woke up refreshed and energized for what was ahead of me. So now I think that it's mainly a matter of decision-making, of what's right in the moment, and of living a life that balances out being gracious and serving others with caring for myself.

Of course, when I return to Kampong Cham next week, I'll probably have to fight the other Americans who will be with me for that air-conditioned space. I wonder how gracious I will be with them?

Your What Hurts?

2010-05-12T08:35:00.004+07:00

I've been feeling sick the past couple of days, which isn't very fun when it's super hot outside. To combat the illness, on the way to work this morning I stopped at our local gas station/grocery store (I kid you not, this place has everything) for some beverages to get me through the day. I go in the store pretty regularly, so the clerk knows me by now, and this morning, we had a very funny conversation.

Clerk: "How are you?"
Kate: "Eh, my throat hurts."
Clerk: "Oh, is your backpack too heavy?"
Kate (not sure how this relates): "Um, no, it's not."

It wasn't until after I had paid for my drinks and was almost to the office that I realized what happened. We were speaking Khmer, and the words for "neck" and "throat" are the same. Another fine example of how it's possible to have a conversation using the same words, but be talking about two very different things.

Hands and Feet

2010-05-04T14:24:00.004+07:00

Have you ever sat in a room and marveled at who is there with you? I had that experience a few weeks ago. There were no world leaders present, no celebrities in attendance, really, no one you’d know of from newspapers, magazines, or media. It was just a group of women, in a little house in the middle of Kandal province, Cambodia, meeting to learn about AIDS. And they amazed me.

The average age of these women was probably fifty. There were some women there who were in their seventies. When I think of what these women have seen, individually and collectively, in their lifetimes, I’m astounded. They’ve lived through colonialism, through civil war, through genocide, and reconstruction, things I’ve read about and never witnessed. They are a testament to the resilience of the human race, and they’ve done it all while raising families, living in poverty, and with little education.

Before we left the meeting, we prayed for these women. One of them asked me to pray for her feet. I have to say, when I looked at the dirty, gnarled feet she put before me, I was a bit disgusted. But then, when I thought about where these feet had carried her, what they had walked through during her 70 years of life, it was easy to put my hands on those limbs and ask God for healing.

One of the women at the meeting was named Chel. She is 65 years old, and her story was pretty amazing. When she was 62, her husband died. For the next two years, she was constantly sick. Her son and daughter spent all their money on treatments and medicine, even selling their property to pay medical bills. She didn’t get any better. Finally, with nowhere else to go, her children brought her to the church. There, the believers prayed for her. She went home that night and came back again on Sunday, when she became a Christian. After the church members prayed for her, she got better, without any treatment or medication. Now, her whole family are Christians, and she says, “I continually pray to God for strength, and thank him for good things He provides, like my harvest.”

When I sit in meetings like this one, with sweet and honest women like Chel, it’s easy for me to see how the Scriptures about the meek, the humble, the poor and the lowly receiving the Kingdom of Heaven are true. Because a room full of world leaders or media superstars wouldn’t have shared with me their stories of heartfelt transformation. They wouldn’t have teased me about how young I looked, how white my skin is. And they wouldn’t have asked me to put my clean hands on their dirty feet and beg God to do something only He can do.

An Intentional Siesta

2010-04-27T09:06:00.002+07:00

Every March and April, I wonder why I live in Cambodia. It's the hot season, so it feels like the whole country is an oven set to preheat, slowly warming as the sun reaches its zenith. By the afternoon, we're well onto the broil setting, and it's uncomfortable to be outside, to move too much, and sometimes even to sleep.

My life has felt this way a lot in the last month as well. I've been back in Cambodia for nearly three months now, and it seems like the hectic pace that existed when I arrived has only escalated. The gears of my work and life are turning faster and faster, there's more to do, and more to worry over. I'm sure many of you feel it, too, maybe in relationships, your children's lives, or your own work.

In a job where it's easy to feel essential to "serving people" or "helping others," it's hard to stop and rest sometimes. I have trouble during these times taking the Father at his word: Be still, and know that I am God. How am I supposed to rest when there is so much to be done? Of course, God is faithful in His response, and I have to learn to trust that as well: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord will accomplish His purposes—with or without my help—and my responsibility is to pursue stillness, rest, and trust.

In Cambodia, it's common for people to take a siesta after lunch, which is typically the hottest part of the day. When things are most oppressive, that is when it is time to stop and rest. It's a lesson for me to take to heart, that when my life feels like it is too hot to handle, then it is time for a brief rest. It's also the time to remember the end of Psalm 46: The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. We really can trust the Lord with our times of rest, to be our protector, and to work everything out.

I started this reflection before my vacation, and since coming back, it has felt even more true. Before I left, I was tentatively planning on having a volunteer here to help with a lot of the busyness that always comes up in May as we prepare for the ESL teams that come in June. But while I was gone, I received an email saying that she felt that God had other plans for her, and was directing her away from Cambodia.

While I refuse to be angry at someone for being obedient, it's still a bit difficult to accept on my end. I took my rest this month thinking that God would provide for me in ways I expected, and that His will perfectly coincided with my own. I'm a bit at a loss now, both wondering why it is that the Lord would not provide something that would allow me to rest more easily, and struggling to choose to rest in Him when I feel like things just got much harder for me. It would be very easy for me to believe that God doesn't want me to have any help right now, to be shortsighted in how I regard God's ability to provide what I need in the next few months.

A good friend prayed these verses for me yesterday: "In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength… Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him!" (Isaiah 30:15,18). Today, I'm taking comfort in the truth of these words: that my strength comes in trusting a just God, in waiting for His grace in this situation. And that only by truly resting in Him, can I witness his compassion and provision in my life.

I guess, in a sense, I'm choosing to take my siesta, my rest, even while the hot sun is beating down on me.

A Worthy Cause

2010-04-22T22:13:00.001+07:00

True confession: I watch American Idol.

I've only started watching it since I've lived in Cambodia, which seems a little paradoxical, since it's not actually televised live, nor can I text in my vote from this side of the ocean.

(As an aside, no one voted for this blog. No one voted for Tim either last week, so he got kicked off. See what happens when you don't vote?)

Anyway, this week was a Very Special American Idol; it was Idol Gives Back, which is a giant fundraiser of a show, replete with heartwarming stories of global and local change, spotlighting worthy organizations and international issues.

(As a second aside, not once did anyone on the show mention Asia. That made me sad.)

At the end of the show, they announced that something like $15 million (US) had already been raised for their causes. There were some great organizations spotlighted on the show, Save the Children; Malaria No More; The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Each one of these groups is doing great work to meet physical needs around the world, to help children, and to keep people in developing countries (and the United States) alive and healthy. They are, as was repeated multiple times this evening, saving lives.

There's nothing wrong with saving lives. I'm all for it, obviously. But the longer I watched the show, the more I wondered: who gives money through American Idol?

Here's why I'm curious: if you're a Christian, what's the allure of giving through a TV show?

(If you're not a Christian, I totally get it, and way to go you. I'm not so concerned about how much or why you give. But you should keep doing so, if you can.)

If you are a Christian, and you attend a local church, do you feel as happy, as excited, as gratified by giving to your local church, by tithing?

(Perhaps your answer is yes.)

If not, why?

Do you really feel like you're a part of something bigger by texting in a gift to American Idol (or a celebrity telethon to help Haiti)? Does that matter to you?

I'm not trying to come down on campaigns like these; I really respect how groups are able to mobilize and raise money, to help people care about something they might not worry over otherwise. They do good work, and that work means people in need have food, shelter, medication, education, a whole host of things they might not have without these groups.

And I'm really not trying to give anyone a lecture. Whether you give, how much, and to whom you give it, that's between you and God. I don't want to get in the middle of that, and I'm not concerned with your giving habits. I have enough to worry about with my own. I just want to explain something that I've come to realize in the last few years.

This is what I've discovered: if you give to your local church, you are a part of something bigger, a cause, an international issue.

No one stands up in a tuxedo on Sunday mornings and says thank you. Not many celebrities get up to the pulpit and tell you it's worth your time to support the local church. It's far less sexy to tithe to your church than to text in your donation to Idol Gives Back.

But the church has something to offer that a glitzy fundraising show doesn't. And church-supported organizations (like World Relief, World Vision, IJM, Food for the Hungry, etc.) have something to give that these other major organizations don't.

We don't just care about saving lives today. We care about saving them forever.

Yes, in some cases we do the same things: we're working on making sure people have malaria nets, or AIDS education, or to prevent trafficking. But we're also sharing with people in need that we believe they should be healthy, educated, or safe because Jesus loves them and their life is worth something, both on earth and in heaven. We are building up local churches that can meet the needs that will be there when we can't be. Needs like compassion and companionship, prayer and support.

I say this because it took me a long time to realize that there are two kinds of poverty: financial poverty and spiritual poverty. We can give, and give, and give, host telethons and bake sales, send all that money to big charities and never once address the issues of spiritual poverty. A malaria net doesn't ease a broken heart.

But local churches can meet these needs. They can meet them in rural America, in inner cities in South America, in slums in Asia, in the deserts of Africa. Your local church, the one that you attend every Sunday can do this. So can mine, here in Cambodia. And our tithes are worth something then—and believe me when I tell you that it multiplies, maybe even on a crazy scale.

Here's how: you give $25 to your local church. Other people give $25, too. Let's say that money goes to a church-supported organization, somewhere else in the world. It pays a salary to a national worker, who passes out bed nets, or teaches children, or rescues women from brothels. Hopefully, some of them come to know Jesus Christ as a result, start attending a local church, and share their faith with others. Meanwhile, the original worker goes to his own church, and tithes a portion of his salary. That tithe goes to grow his local church, helping them to reach out to other people in need in their community. Those people join the church, share their faith, and the cycle continues.

Your gift has just saved lives, on a temporal and eternal scale.

(And this doesn't even consider how offerings you give to your local church can help build your own communities, or how gifts like your volunteer time in mentorship or service can be a blessing to others.)

Individual transformation, community transformation, national transformation. When we give, these things become possible, for ourselves and for others.

And these things are so much more exciting than a night of good television.

The Busy Life

2010-04-19T12:33:00.002+07:00

I'm not sure that it's entirely appropriate to thank globalization for my slow Monday morning, but I'm going to anyway. There's a volcano in Iceland, with a very Icelandic name (and I thought Khmer was difficult to pronounce), that has freed up my week. We were supposed to host a team from the UK, but their plane couldn't take off, thanks to volcanic ash, so now I'm sipping a cappuccino, catching up on emails, and reviewing photos from Laos. It's disappointing not to have the team here—I was looking forward to meeting them—but there's quite a few other things that need doing as well, so it's great to have time to focus on them.

There was a lot going on in the weeks leading up to our trip, and then vacation itself, which wasn't really a time that I used for writing any kind of reflections. Mostly, we played in the Mekong River, in various waterfalls, drank fruit shakes, and laughed. Which was a pretty good way to spend a week.

In any case, since I'm not feeling very reflective at the moment, I've decided to put it to a vote. I'll list some things I want to blog about in the next few weeks, and you (various readers) can indicate which you want to read the most. It feels pretty democratic, and ensures that I won't forget things (which I'm likely to do). Here we go:

Laos Travelogue: What we did, where we stayed, fun things about our trip (including a bonus Lao corruption story!)
Field Trips: People I met and stories I heard when we recently visited some villages where WR works.
Celebrating Easter in Cambodia: Why it's different and what I learned this year.
Hot Season Reflections: While I'm sweating, what I'm learning.
Staff Retreat Pics and Stories: Kampot is a cool place, and the things we learned there.

By the time I write five new blogs, I'm sure lots of other things will have happened that I'll want to share. So… vote now, so I'm motivated to start writing!

The picture is of sunset on the Mekong River, only a few kilometers into Laos. Just to prove we really made it into Laos, with the car, even.

Lost in Translation

2010-04-06T17:09:00.002+07:00

Everyone was confused by language today. I started learning the Khmer alphabet (yikes!) and our staff translator brought me yet another translation riddle. How would you describe the following phrase?

"Affordable Kitchen Solutions for Quality Living"

When I told him that the phrase was essentially meaningless, and correctly guessed that it was a slogan of some kind, he said, "But how do I translate it into Khmer?"

Our best effort was:

"Not Very Expensive Ways to Solve Problems in Your Kitchen That Will Make Your Life Better"

Of course, there's no literal Khmer translation. And I have a sneaking suspicion that those "affordable solutions" are not really affordable at all.

Over the River

2010-04-05T17:11:00.003+07:00

I'm traveling to Laos next week. I visited Northern Laos in 2007, but now I'm headed with friends to Southern Laos and a place called Si Phan Don (literally "Four Thousand Islands"). We're all pretty excited about the chance to get away for a week and see somewhere new. However, we've had to get visas into Laos, which took some effort-- photos, applications, cash, dropping them at the embassy-- and we ended up with a 3 month visa (not a 30 day visa like we thought).

The other hitch in the plan is that we want to drive a car over the border. We asked someone who did it before, and he told us they would allow only three days for the car before it had to come back into Cambodia. Which is great, but we're staying for a week (hopefully, with the car). So that wouldn't work so well for us.

Someone else said that he was only allowed to drive a certain number of kilometers (mainly into the DMZ, or No-Man's Land) before having to turn back. Also not great, since we want to go a lot farther into Laos than 8 km. Namely, we'd want to stay in a hotel. And actually go into Laos.

When I asked at the embassy, I was told that it was no problem to drive the car across, and we didn't need a permit. Which flew in the face of all this other advice. So today, when someone picked up our visas, I sent him with an official letter requesting permission to take the car across. He came back saying that the embassy staffer told him it would be no problem. Somehow, this seems too good to be true.

I must have looked chagrined over the whole episode, because the staff member next said, "Kate, it's okay, I'll tell you what you should do." He continued, "You find the Cambodian guys at the border and you talk to them about what to do. You just bribe them, and they will help you."

So I guess this is the new plan. But, if I'm not back and blogging by the end of the month, I might be checked into a Laotian jail on corruption charges. Or cruising the Laos highways in our car, putting my 3-month visa to good use. We'll just have to wait and see. A little suspense is a good thing in life, right?

Traditional yet Fresh

2010-03-31T17:12:00.004+07:00

I always used to wonder, when I read the Biblical accounts of Holy Week, where all the people came from. Surely they weren't standing around, waiting for a donkey to come down the street with Jesus on its back. Of course they didn't hang out around the palace, hoping for the opportunity to cause a mob scene. I've come to realize that I was mistaken.

I was in a car accident last May, and at the time of impact, the street was deserted. Two minutes after the crash, a few people had wandered near the scene. Five minutes later, there were fifteen people. Twenty minutes later, trucks pulled over and people stepped out. Thirty minutes later, the friends of the man driving the motorbike I hit arrived en masse. A huge crowd had gathered, because they knew that something had happened, and they wanted to know what was going on.

This is so foreign to American culture. We schedule our political protests and fit them into our calendar. We have a day to remember AIDS, and a day to tell our mothers and fathers we love them. We live by the calendar, so when something important happens, we don't have time to stop and be a part of it. In fact, if someone came up to us today and said, "Hey, you should join in with this amazing thing that's happening at the church right now," we would probably respond by saying, "No way, I have things to do to get ready for Easter."

Imagine if the disciples, when Jesus invited them to dinner said, "We'd love to, but we have some preparations to take care of, Jesus." Or if someone asked them to go to the cross and they answered, "In a minute, I have this big project I'm working on."

This is a week when we immerse ourselves in tradition and remembrance of a very significant, world-changing event. We symbolically walk the path that Jesus took, his steps to the cross, charting his last days as a way of honoring his sacrifice and examining our own hearts. But let's not forget that the first Holy Week was not scheduled, or planned, and no one was given a time to arrive for the Palm Sunday parade. Instead, people were in the right place at the right time, were able and willing to respond to the invitations they were given. They were drawn to walk with Jesus because they recognized that something was happening, something rare. We're a bit cheated, aren't we? We've read the script. It spoils the big reveal on Easter Sunday, when what should be unexpected is instead a celebration of what we knew all along would come.

This year, let's not only carry with us the traditions of Holy Week, but the spontaneity and response that those first crowds exemplified. I think then we will truly shout with joy at the Easter tomb—when we can arrive there with those who mourn and see the miracle of our salvation demonstrated anew.

Land of Expertise

2010-03-18T21:12:00.001+07:00

It's an easy thing to do, pretending to be an expert. Sometimes it happens to me intentionally, when I give the "Welcome to Cambodia" lecture. Other times, it's accidental. When I bump into other tourists and they ask questions, for instance. But it's a dangerous place to be in too long, this land of expertise. Especially when you aren't an expert at all.

I was in a café with a friend, drinking coffee, and doing some work the other day, when a group came in and sat down next to us. Four of the people were visiting Cambodia, and the other three lived here, though I'm not sure how long they've been in-country. We picked up their conversation in snatches, always coming in at precisely the wrong moment.

"Cambodians really don't work very hard," one of them said.

"Yes," agreed another, "if you go into their shops, you never see them cleaning or doing anything. They always have time to sit and talk with you."

(cue startled gasps by Kate)

"It's pretty clear that those who are really poor are that way because they drink or gamble," said one of the women who lives here.

"Well, not in the countryside," one of them corrected.

"No," admitted the first speaker, "but in Phnom Penh, it's certainly the case."

I was appalled. These are the kinds of claims that come from deep-rooted cultural assumptions and thought patterns, from drawing conclusions and asking questions later. They're exactly the kinds of things I fear will happen to our teams, or worse, will happen to me.

Today, I gave a talk on cross-cultural ministry challenges to a bunch of NGO partners. I'm by no means an expert. This fact was reinforced when I spoke with some World Relief staff last week about my upcoming talk. I was trying to clarify what their expectations were, and we chatted about their culture and mine. I'm continually surprised at how much I still have to learn.

We always tell people to take the "posture of a learner" when they visit Cambodia on a short-term mission trip. It's good advice, and often pays big dividends, when they leave with a better grasp of God's heart for the world, and how the church can—and does—respond to poverty.

But it's only good advice if we follow it ourselves. I worry that one day, I'll think I know it all. I pray that my natural inclination to answer questions with definitive statements does not mean that my experience or someone else's is biased. I'm counting on two things to save me: the grace of God, and overhearing more conversations like the one in the café.

Hot Season Lessons

2010-03-16T21:45:00.002+07:00

Once, a long time ago, I posted a list of tips for surviving the rainy season. Today, I present:

10 Things That Hot Season Has Taught Me.

10. Defrosting your freezer doesn't take very long, but if you leave the doors closed for two days before you open it, you might end up thinking it would be more pleasant for someone to have actually barfed inside.

9. Three showers a day is not as excessive as you might otherwise think.

8. Deodorant should be provided free to everyone.

7. There is no good time to go outside. People will tell you that morning or evening are the best, but these are lies.

6. Seek out air conditioning whenever possible.

5. Apparently, motorbike helmets provide sun protection. At least, they provide enough protection that one of our staff members wore a helmet when we had to walk outside for five minutes last week.

4. Laundry dries much faster in the hot season than any other season. This is perhaps the only benefit of hot season.

3. Learn your temperature conversions. You should do this so that when you drive past the airport and the digital temperature sign reads "39C," you can easily convert this to 102F.

2. Fans. In the absence of air conditioning, they are your only hope.

1. Your body can sweat in more places than you think it can.

Hot season lasts until (at least) June. Think of all the lessons I can learn by then!

Smoke and Ash

2010-03-10T14:44:00.003+07:00

Here are some photos of the fire. Credit goes to Evangelical Fellowship of Cambodia (EFC) who distributed these images.

The Superhero Complex

2010-03-09T00:03:00.001+07:00

I went to Bible study tonight, which is a normal Monday night activity for me. The other women there chatted a bit, and we talked about how hot it was today (over 100°, according to the internet, which can always be trusted). We settled in, and had a time of worship together. And then my phone rang.

My roommate, Kerstin, was calling, which was rather odd, since she knew I was at Bible study and had an idea of when I'd be home (and we don't have roommate separation anxiety issues, so that wasn't it either). Of course, I answered, and she informed me that there was a giant fire on the next block, and could she come over to where our Bible study was, in case it spread to our street.

Thus launched a great deal of speculation. We headed up to the rooftop to look for the fire, and found a blazing red sky and a giant plume of smoke. This, of course, meant we had to try to figure out where the fire was actually burning—and there are a lot of houses in this part of town, built right next to each other. It's a scary, scary thing to watch your city go up in flames, especially when you know that the response of the fire department is contingent upon things like corruption, pay, and their ability to navigate crowds of spectators.

We watched, and we waited, and slowly information came in. The fire was not on the next block, but was very near to a temple which is only a few blocks away from my apartment. There are a large number of small wooden houses behind the temple, and many of them have now burned. We smelled smoke and listened to sirens in the distance. And we prayed.

By the end of the evening, the fire had been contained, if not extinguished. We heard that several of World Relief's cell church members had lost homes to the fire. We found out that one of our staff members had lost everything (and was searching for his family). We discovered that others were safe. We learned that it was an electrical spark that started the fire. We wondered how people would find somewhere to sleep tonight. Still, we prayed.

It's a strange thing, to have your neighborhood go up in smoke. I've gotten used to living near poverty, to living near oppression. I hope I've not grown passive, but I'm sure my reaction has been blunted, the more I've seen, the more I've become accustomed to the wrongs that are perpetrated only a few meters away from my front gate. It's a consequence of doing something like this, of living in hard places. We end up seeing things that we might miss otherwise, having stayed in comfortable locales, surrounded by things we've long known.

But I'm not used to fires, and I'm not used to feeling so unsafe, so unsure. I'm not used to being grateful that my passport is in the hands of the government for processing, and that it can't be lost to a fire. I'm not used to wondering if my apartment will be there when I get home. I'm not used to a bright red sky and a plume of smoke.

I think part of it is that I have something of a superhero complex. So often, I hear that it's so great that I'm living here, working here. Even my colleagues think I'm different; sometimes they tell me I'm special. It's a real ego boost. And it has weird consequences. Like making me feel that I'm invincible. Or positioning me on a slippery slope where I think that bad things are what happen to other people, and what I'm here to prevent, or to fix.

The reality is that I'm no superhero. I'm as human and as vulnerable as the 350 families who have lost their homes tonight. It could have been me, sleeping outside, picking through wreckage, treading on ashes. It almost was, if the winds had blown differently, or a different transformer had sparked the flames. And while it's good that I'm here, good that I'm working, good that we're making a difference, bad things are not only what happen to other people. And even if I'm here to help fix bad things, and right wrongs, well, it doesn't mean that I'm indestructible (or that my house is).

So tonight, I'm praying, still, for families who have lost everything, the neighbors I don't know and haven't met. This time, it's not just another problem to be fixed, or wrong to be righted. It's not something with a cause that can be analyzed or complex cultural issue. It's a tragedy, and it happened just a few blocks away.

Stay How Long

2010-03-06T15:16:00.002+07:00

A second location of my favorite coffee shop (The Shop, as you may recall) opened near my apartment about a month ago. I go there quite a bit, and the staff know who I am by now. I popped in for lunch today, and one of the guys asked me a question that's pretty familiar. Here's our conversation:

Dude: "You stay in Cambodia how long?"
Kate: "Nearly 3 years."
Dude: "But you cannot speak Khmer?"
Kate (confused): "I can speak Khmer."
Dude: looks at Kate strangely
Kate (in Khmer): "I went to America for four months. Now I forget everything. But I will study."
Dude (looking unconvinced): "Oh."

Apparently I need to get back to my language lessons. Or start lying about how long I've lived here.

Patron-Client Process

2010-03-01T14:14:00.002+07:00

Cambodia's culture is often described as being patron-client oriented. Life is arranged with a series of benefactors, who provide job opportunities, finances when needed, and serve as "patrons" to those below them. Clients feel indebted to their patrons for their generosity and giving, and patrons are able to take advantage of these clients, sometimes bribing them for services, etc. When something goes wrong, clients can lean on their patrons for assistance. This means, in the words of Irving Berlin (as sung by Bing Crosby in the classic film, White Christmas)"There's always someone higher up where you can pass the buck."

In reality, the situation is quite complicated, and perhaps Bing is not the person to describe it. It's easy, though, to get caught up in a patron-client relationship without even realizing it.

For instance, you might hire someone for short-term labor, say, driving for a program. When that person later has trouble finding work, or they know you might be hiring again, they call you, trying to find out if you will hire them (even when the position is gone, or filled by someone else). Or, you could experience what happened to me today: someone came into my office and requested that we hire a family member for an extremely short-term position. It was difficult to know what to say. The woman is a good employee, and I really like her, but we had worked out all the details for this position already (really, we were contracting the service from a different company), and then she presented this family member option, which is cheaper, but more complicated. And really hard to decline.

I don't know how to say no in these situations. A lot of times, it's easier to say yes, and then deal with the consequences later. But sometimes, I feel constantly like I'm being put in these "patron" positions, and immediately my relationships are transformed from being someone who is on equal footing, to someone who controls purse strings. They aren't even my purse strings-- I'm often trying to use the organization's money for one of our programs. Which makes it extra difficult to turn people away, when cost is an issue and even a little will go a long way to help someone.

Navigating these complex relationships is one of the reasons I'm jealous for the situation I left in the US. When you want something done, you send out a bid, and you take the best, most cost-effective option. When there's a problem, and you need something fixed, you don't call your driver's cousin's husband, you call a professional. Of course, you pay (often a lot) for these services, and there's little relationship behind the delivery. But there's typically no worry, no questioning whether or not you've unknowingly inserted yourself into a situation you shouldn't have, no occasionally feeling taken-advantage-of, no instance of the same person coming back later and asking you to hire him or her again.

It's equally hard to explain this to Cambodians, who feel that it's perfectly all right to approach me (or anyone who clearly has more money) for these kinds of things. And it's true that I love to be able to help, and feel really good when I can use resources at my disposal to do more than just meet our organizational needs. But I seem to be missing some middle ground, some really important cultural piece, and instead of feeling like I'm blessed to be a blessing, I feel as though I've been marked for my generosity. Unfortunately, there are no easy answers, and it's going to take a lot more than me simply discovering what makes me so uncomfortable to fix it.

In the meantime, I'm trying to be wise in the ways I use what's been entrusted to me. I'm trying to understand what motivates people to approach me for things I'm not ready or able to give. I'm trying to figure out how to be a patron without becoming patronizing. It's turning out to be trickier than I thought.

Not a Sneeze

2010-02-25T15:51:00.002+07:00

I haven't formally re-started my language learning. I'm going to venture into the dangerous waters of reading and writing Khmer, so I'll probably hire a formal tutor, and the person I've asked is checking her schedule. In the meantime, I'm taking an ad hoc approach to learning Khmer (or re-learning, as the case may be), and trying to find ways to make myself understood. It's always most difficult on the phone. Here's an example, from a phone call this afternoon about an evening get-together:

Kate: I want to know if you can bring some things for the party tonight.
Staff Person: Yes, yes, of course.
Kate: Great! Can you bring charcoal and ice?
SP: Chocolate? Ha, yes.
Kate: No, not chocolate. I mean, yes, if you want, but we need charcoal.
SP: I don't know this word.
Kate: Um, you put it on the grill, I mean barbecue. It's what you light on fire. It burns.
SP: Cha-coal? No, I don't know it.
Kate: It's black, it's made from wood... I don't know the word in Khmer.
SP: I don't either.
Kate: Um.... I'll ask someone.

At this point, I walk out into the main office to ask someone. It goes like this:

Kate: Do you know the word for charcoal?
Other Staff Person: Charcoal?
Kate: Like, for a barbecue. Charcoal.
OSP: Oh, yes. Kchung.
Kate (wonders if he has just sneezed before realizing it's a word): Kachoo?
OSP: No. Kchung.
Kate: Kchung.
OSP: Yes.
Kate: Thanks!

So then I try it out on the phone:
Kate: Kchung. We need some kchung.
SP: OH! Yes, yes, I know. I will bring.
Kate: Great! Thanks! Oh, and don't forget the ice.

We'll see if the right stuff actually shows up. If not, we'll just have to eat chocolate, I guess.

Women in Cambodia

2010-02-22T12:36:00.002+07:00

As most of you know, I spent the last few months working on a dissertation, and as part of that, spent a lot of time writing and researching the topic of women in Cambodian society. Gender and culture are significantly tied together here (as they are in many places), and being female profoundly impacts choices and opportunities.

Instead of going on about theory or culture, though, I wanted to briefly share an article about this woman, Mu Sochua, who is an interesting example of the politics surrounding gender and, well, politics in modern Cambodia. (It also features a slideshow with some lovely images of rural Cambodia.) I first heard about Mu Sochua last year, when she was being sued by the government, and there was fear that she would be sent to prison. She has done a great deal for the situation of women in Cambodia, particularly around issues of domestic violence and human trafficking.

As an American woman living here, it's often difficult to really understand some of the gender issues that exist here; after all, I grew up with much different ideals and influences. For me, it's both inspiring and hopeful to see a Cambodian woman working to improve the lives of her countrywomen while acknowledging the culture, and its values. She is trying to work within the system, and is a voice for freedom and equality-- it's a voice that deserves to be heard.

Pluses and Minuses

2010-02-16T15:03:00.002+07:00

I'm in my second week of being back in Cambodia, and it's remarkably… normal now. The homesickness is still there, but it's at manageable levels, the kind of lingering feeling of knowing that I'll always be missing out on something, somewhere. It's a feeling I'm used to, even if it's not entirely comfortable. However, in honor of my friend, Susannah, who is currently living in Munich, I've decided that the best way to ease back into life (and blogging!) is to make a list. So here they are, the good and the bad (but not the ugly) things about being back in Cambodia.

+ My favorite coffee shop opened a new branch only 5 minutes from my apartment.

- There is a severe shortage of bagels in this part of the world

+There are tons of cute Cambodian kids running around.

- None of them are my niece.

+ I haven't had to take a snow day since I arrived and the weather hasn't been unbearably hot.

- My sojourn in the US was during the winter, so Cambodians everywhere are commenting on my clean, white skin.

+ Driving a moto again is pretty fun.

- Driving a moto again is downright terrifying.

+ Coming across foods that I forgot I really enjoyed.

- Food poisoning, and being ill for 24 hours last week.

On the whole, it's pretty balanced, and I forgot to include things like, "Spending time with friends I'd missed" and "Being back to work," so maybe it's a little more in favor of the positive at this point. I think there are always good and bad things about relocating, even when it's somewhere you want to be. And life isn't about balancing the equation, is it? We'll always have some negatives in amidst the positives, and sometimes one won't outrank the other. I'm growing more and more accustomed to living in between the bad and the good, and learning which of these values really carry the most weight in my life. In the meantime, I'm drinking coffee and trying to get some work finished. Five months is a long time to be away.

(Oh! And I've now caved to peer pressure joined twitter, so you can follow me there: http://twitter.com/katepieps. I'd love to follow you, too, so let me know if you're there!)

Heading for Home

2010-02-13T14:44:00.000+07:00

Have you ever felt yourself wishing you were somewhere else? I don’t just mean wishing to trade work for the beach or sitting in traffic for a seat on the couch. I mean a heartfelt longing for a different place.

I’ve arrived back in Cambodia after nearly five months in the US, and it’s a bit strange. Cambodia, and life here, is quite familiar after all this time, despite how long I’ve been away. However, I’m more homesick on this re-entry than I’ve been after other, shorter visits to America. Perhaps it’s because I spent a lot of time with family, or fell into a comfortable routine. Whatever the cause, though I’m very happy to be back, I still want to be somewhere else at the same time.

I think it’s within each of us to want something different, usually something better. We’re waiting, hoping, maybe even working toward some situation that we deeply desire. For me, right now, it’s somehow uniting the purpose I feel for my work in Cambodia with the comfort and security of ‘home’. For others, it might mean a better job, marriage, achieving social justice in a fallen world. There are lots of possibilities, and they’re unique to each of us. At the core, though, it’s a divine longing, isn’t it? We want to be away from the frustration, the discomfort, the pain of this life and to be somewhere infinitely better. We’re all homesick travelers on our journey with the Lord. We’re heading for the joy of heaven, we desire face-time with our Father.

It’s one of the blessings of our Christian faith that we can acknowledge these feelings of homesickness, of longing for somewhere else. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that after applauding some very faithful people, the writer of Hebrews says “Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them” (Hebrews 11: 16). Today, I’m taking comfort in the fact that no matter where my feet are planted, Christ has understood my longings for somewhere else and prepared a heavenly home for me.

Change for Sale

2009-11-13T03:21:00.000+07:00

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

2009-10-01T04:40:00.001+07:00

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

2009-09-10T09:51:00.003+07:00

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

2009-09-07T16:23:00.005+07:00

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

2009-08-28T09:21:00.003+07:00

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

2009-08-26T19:33:00.003+07:00

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

2009-08-15T15:43:00.003+07:00

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.

It’s Raining, It’s…

2009-08-11T21:25:00.004+07:00

Another entry shamelessly borrowed from Lake Ave Church's weekly Warehouse Newsletter, albeit with photo this time. When I'm not trying to write ten other things each week, I'll work on something new, I promise. Until then…

As I'm writing this, I'm waiting for it to rain. In Cambodia, starting in late May/early June, the monsoons come, and they last for a few months. Monsoon just means really heavy rain, and it's a fact of life here. It provides much needed water for rice farmers, who depend on it for a good harvest. In the city, we time our laundry to be dry before late afternoon (when rains typically come) and plan trips to the market accordingly. Occasionally, we get caught in the downpour, and arrive home dripping wet and chilled. But lately, it hasn't been raining here in the city. I think the last rain was sometime last week—and it's usually every day or every other day here.

We had a few days when it was overcast and some drops fell. But what we really need is the massive opening up of the sky, a release of the moisture gathering in the heavens (and in the air) and falling in great sheets toward the ground. I've found myself glancing toward the horizon, hoping that the clouds are gathering, wanting to see the darkening, the gray of an approaching storm. Sometimes it has been there, but my hopes go unfulfilled.

Why the wait? When it rains, it feels like everything (and everyone) takes a great big gasping breath, clearing their lungs, expelling the stress of living under the constant pressure of intense sunlight and weighty humidity. For a few moments, it's as though we've opened a release valve of sorts, and it feels wonderful. Perhaps I'm being a bit dramatic, but I'm hot, and my plants are slowly dying. I'm ready for a thunderstorm.

I wonder how much of this is like our Christian life, how much time we spend waiting for the things we expect to simply happen. Dry spells are not unique, as we sit and wait for God to show up on the horizon, for grace to fall into our lives, for the blessings we think are coming our way. I don't have many answers as to how to deal with these dry spells; I'm as much inclined to them as anyone else. I do know, however, that unlike the weather, our Heavenly Father does not limit himself to one season of rain and is not unpredictable or capricious. He's always waiting to bless us, always ready to shower us with grace and love. So let us fix our eyes on the horizon, fix them on Jesus, and carry on through the heat and the humidity, when it feels oppressive and difficult. And let's pray; pray for rain, pray for grace, pray for the presence of the Lord to water our lives.

One Good Turn

2009-08-04T20:54:00.002+07:00

Well, write a letter, and expect a response, right? We finished the summer ESL program (round 4!) last week with a graduation party. Imagine my surprise when I was handed a note by one of the provincial students as the party was drawing to a close. It's so great it deserved to be shared.

Dear Cat!

I am ----- from ------. I would like to thankful for your Program. When finished, you always Party. Because of you, I can speak English but at the future I am well. I thank you can't add detail or explant.

Now, for just a minute, stop in your grammatical and spelling critique (I know, this is tough) and remember that this is someone who has had only a few years of semi-regular English instruction, with little opportunity to practice, other than a couple of months out of the year. And he passed this note to a native speaker and writer who is around the same age and works in the main office of his organization, and is friends with his boss. I have no doubt that were I to be asked to write a similar letter in Khmer, I would fail miserably. Honestly, I'm having trouble just forming the letters correctly. This little note is an example of serious courage and serious thankfulness.

It's also one of the reasons I love working in Cambodia.

My Dear Cambodians,

2009-07-15T20:01:00.002+07:00

For the past two years I have lived in your country, and I have to say, it's been great. Never have I met a more welcoming, hospitable people. You have been gracious with me as I bumbled through cultural minefields, understood my fractured, childish attempts at speaking your language, and have given me wonderful stories to tell. It's because of our great relationship that I feel free to address the following two concerns with you, in the hopes that you will not be offended and our affection for each other can only grow.

First, about your fruits. In general, I like the fruits of Cambodia, and I know you do too. You offer them to me all the time. A mango here, a rambutan there, limes, oranges, bananas, papayas, lychee-- so many things to love. I have tasted nearly all of your fruits, and I love many of them. I even find it amusing that the people of Cambodia seem to want to eat fruit all the time. You could probably teach Americans a thing or two about that. However, I find it crucial to inform you of two fruits that I will no longer eat, in the hopes that you will no longer offer them to me. Durian, a fruit you all seem to love, smells (to me) like raw sewage, has the texture of wet newspaper, and tastes only slightly better than a cross between the two. Please keep it far away from me. Durian's cousin, jackfruit, is only slightly better-smelling or -tasting, and I think eating it feels like someone put a damp sock in my mouth. I hope you will understand why I would not like to have to politely decline either of these fruits (and ultimately eat them to appease you) in the future.

Secondly, I would like to inform you that I appreciate your assistance in educating me about Cambodian traditional seating. However, repeated attempts to cajole me into sitting, on a wooden floor or platform in the "Indian style" with my legs crossed must be addressed. It is not, as you seem to think, "easy" for me to make my legs curl into this position and remain there for great lengths of time. In point of fact, it is quite difficult, even painful, seeing as I have not had to do so since I was a child and my longer legs have some issues with circulation. I've grown accustomed to sitting in chairs, you see, or having the freedom to sit on the floor any way I choose. No matter how many times you tell me that it is "easy for me" to sit in such a manner, while leaning over my bowl of rice on the floor, it will not get easier. Unless, that is, you are prepared to lead me through some stretches or other yoga positions before we eat. Even then, it might be tricky.

I hope you can agree that these issues are reasonable and fair. I'm happy to entertain any replies about ways in which I have asked you to do unreasonable things (repeatedly) in the past two years. Working together, I think we can make our relationship even stronger than it is today.

Hugs and Kisses (in a proper, culturally-appropriate way),
Kate

p.s. By the way, I am not, nor have I ever been, French. No matter how much you want me to be.

Hello Hello Hello

2009-06-27T14:05:00.002+07:00

When I lived in Pasadena, I was rudely awakened one morning to the sound of pounding on my door. I had been working late nights trying to finish up schoolwork, and was not entirely coherent at that point. Nevertheless, I opened the door only to be greeted by a man who shouted "Buenos dias!" in my bleary-eyed face. I think I grunted in response. Upon realizing that I would not be a good recipient for his proselytizing, he muttered "Um, read your Bible," and walked away. I nodded, closed the door, and went back to sleep. I've told this story quite a few times since then, always to big laughs, but I think something even funnier happened a couple of days ago.

Two weeks ago, I moved from the apartment with the Scary Stairs to a much bigger place a few blocks away. The new place has numerous advantages (and some quirks), but one of them is that we now enter the house through the indoor stairs, and our front porches look out over the street. There's no access to the porch, other than through the house (where we keep the doors locked). Or so we thought.

At 7 a.m. on Friday morning, I awoke to hear a man's voice in the house. While there is a couple that lives below us, they have not come into the house without letting us know, and the man never comes alone—always with his wife (it's a Khmer privacy/propriety thing, which I'm thankful for). So as I became increasingly aware of what was going on, I realized that The Voice kept repeating only one word, "Hello, Hello, Hello." My bedroom has a window that looks over the dining room, so I peeked my sleepy face out to find… a man! He was standing on our front porch, peering through our window (thank goodness for the bars on it!), trying to get our attention. As soon as he saw my face, he started to speak Khmer.

Now, my language proficiency is increasing, but 7 a.m. is decidedly not my best hour for Khmer. So I wandered downstairs attempting to figure out a few things. 1) who this person was; 2) why he was standing on my front porch; and 3) how he had arrived on the porch.

When I finally made it down the stairs and tried to talk to him (briefly wondering if I should unlock our door and let him in—early morning safety decisions are tough, I tell you), he indicated that I needed to go all the way downstairs to open our gate for someone to come in. Um, sure. Apparently I am very obedient early in the morning, because I did what I was told and found… yet another man, who wanted to come upstairs and visit us.

The second guy, at least, had a purpose. The windows in our apartment are great, but they don't have any screens. We asked for screens when we moved in and the landlord told us they would have to be specially made. No one mentioned that the man who was going to make the screens would show up at 7 a.m. (without warning) to measure the windows. Still, there he was. We somehow managed to have a conversation in which I learned what the cost of the window screens would be (though who was paying for them was a bit ambiguous) and in which I agreed that he could return the following day (at a more reasonable hour). He's been back again this morning (Saturday), around 9:30, and accompanied by the woman from downstairs (our landlord-liaison), and is supposedly making another appearance at any moment to actually add the screens.

This time, I'm awake and ready for him. Although I still haven't figured out how the other guy made it onto the front porch to begin with. That's an investigation for another day.

Stories We Tell

2009-06-22T20:46:00.001+07:00

I am a professional storyteller. I answer questions, talk about my experiences, and share about the history of Cambodia. It requires a lot of stories, many examples, and some creative thinking. I help put out newsletters—those require stories as well. Some of these are told unconsciously, some require more planning, but all are in pursuit of educating, moving, or even persuading people. Still, sometimes I pause as I’m writing or thinking about what to tell and consider: what stories should I tell?

Cambodia is an interesting place; a country at a crossroads, really. There are stories here of devastation, of trauma, heartache, and disaster at the hands of brutal governments. There are stories of recent wounds, of an HIV/AIDS pandemic, of poverty, of mothers and children dying from preventable causes. And there are stories of hope, of a church that is growing, of lives that are changing, of transformation happening. Which are the stories I should tell?

At a glance, the answer is easy: all of them. Yet, I find myself more and more questioning my motivations in storytelling and what I hope to gain by sharing other people’s stories the way I do.

On one hand, I know that it is important to educate people about the history of Cambodia, about the problems that the country faces, and about why Cambodia is the way that it is. People need to know; there are so many who simply have not heard about the Khmer Rouge, about years of civil war, about this small nation sandwiched between two more well-known countries.

On the other hand, I firmly believe that communicating the needs of Cambodia means being sensitive to the way such communication shapes ideas and feelings about the objects of that communication. Amidst a culture of fatalism, telling stories of need, stories of hurt, stories of desolation perpetuate the idea that Cambodia is a country that is forlorn, desperate and helpless, full of weak people who cannot save themselves. Perhaps I am exaggerating, but all too often I see pictures of big, sad-eyed children, or hear people say, “Well, it’s just so sad, isn’t it?” that I wonder if what I do is really helping or not.

Sometimes I think it boils down to three questions.

Do we tell stories of the past to inform, stories that might help people understand but might evoke sadness, pity, or even guilt?

Do we tell stories of the resilience of the Cambodian people, stories that remind the audience of a tortured past and demonstrate how far Cambodia has come?

Do we tell stories of the future of Cambodia, stories that offer hope for the future and a glimpse of the potential that exists here?

I suspect it is a mixture of all three.

I wonder, also, what it is that people want to hear. Do we want to feel sad, to have our heartstrings tugged, or are we so accustomed to these feelings that they wash over us without truly impacting us? Do we want to hear about the past and the present, about transition and change, to be simply updated on what is going on? Do we want to hear stories of hope, stories that might push us to take risks or invest in something as unknown as the future of a still-unstable nation?

My own Kingdom vision is to be more than a reporter, more than a storyteller, to be someone who invites others into the process. I don’t merely want to update, to inform, but to ask people to support, to visit, to love Cambodia—the difficult parts and the delightful parts. Perhaps it is because of my own struggle to love a nation that has so much potential and so much failure at the same time. I want to tell stories that impact; I want to be a person of impact.

Yet, at the end of the day, I can look around me and see the subjects, the objects of my stories. I can look into their eyes and ask if I have respected them, honored them, and loved them by telling their stories. I think God is calling us to be people who tell stories; telling our personal story, telling stories of His faithfulness to others, telling the story of salvation. Still, we have to choose wisely. Which stories do we tell? Moreover, how do we tell them well?

Love Love Love

2009-06-19T12:13:00.005+07:00

Once a month, I submit a reflection for a weekly newsletter sent out by my church in California (Lake Ave. Church). In lieu of an original blog post, I thought I'd share what I submitted this week.

I was eating lunch in the villages with our Khmer staff a couple of months ago when they gently reprimanded me. We were eating something called dtroukouen, or morning glory. It's a green vegetable, pretty much a water weed, and it's usually stir fried with garlic in oyster sauce. This simple dish is one of my favorites, even though it sounds disgusting. As we came up to the table, I said (in Khmer), "Oh! I love dtroukouen!"

"No, Kate," they said to me (in English). "You don't love it. You can't love it."

And they were correct. I can't (in Khmer) love dtroukouen.

You see, I used the word srolein, which means "to love." As in, I love you, Je t'adore, Te amo, etc. But when you talk about food in Khmer, srolein is incorrect. You simply don't love food. You can only cholechet it.

In its own right, cholechet is a pretty interesting word. It means, literally, to bring something into your heart, or to like or prefer it. You can cholechet food (and people, by the way). You're supposed to like food. But you aren't supposed to love it.

It was a startling reminder to me of how much language affects the way we think about things. And by things, I'm talking about how we describe our relationship with God. I mean, I can tell you that I love God, but you already know that I love a water weed stir fried in oyster sauce. So why would you think that I feel strongly about the relationship I have with the Creator of the universe? Love, used colloquially, is the same word in English; we don't differentiate our love for food, cars, or big TVs from our love for the Lord. I know it's a matter of degree, and that no one would really think that I love dtroukouen as much as I love Jesus, but take a minute and consider how often you tell people that you love something (other than your family, friends, or significant other).

Still thinking? Run out of fingers to count?

I'll be honest. I do it a lot. I particularly love music. And I love tacos. But if you take those things away, I can live without them (a blander, quieter life, it's true). Yet it's not only how I describe my relationship with God, but how I think He feels about me that's impacted. We tell each other, "God loves you." It's true. God loves you. But not the way you love nachos, or 24, or the Lakers. His love is not simply a preference for us, or a desire to spend an hour with us on Tuesday nights. His love is ah'ja, as the Khmer say, the best, highest, most awesome love there can be.

In our attempt to describe the love of our Father, we've had to use a word we've cheapened with overuse. What would happen if we used the word "love" a little less often? What if we really believed that God loves us—a love like we've never experienced before? I think it would change us, change the way we love others, change the way we feel about receiving love. I think it would be pretty ah'ja.

How It Feels

2009-06-09T00:06:00.002+07:00

As English speakers, we tend to use a lot of superlatives. You're the best, we say to people who help us. That movie was the greatest, we remark casually to a friend as we leave the theater. These kinds of statements (which I am guilty of making) diminish our ability to convince people that we've really had a significant experience. It's like we're constantly the Boy Who Cried Wolf (or Wolfiest?)

Anyway, all of this is to say that I had one of the scariest experiences of my entire life a week ago.

I was driving with our new Partnership Intern, Katie, from our apartment to a house where we were house-sitting for a few days. The house is only a few streets away, and the roads are all familiar. It was about 10 p.m., and we had been out for a few hours (I had my hair cut) and had just picked up a bunch of Katie's stuff for the week. I was turning left at a darkened intersection when Katie gasped. It all happened quickly. I spotted the motorbike, slammed on the brake, and the moto crashed into the side of our car (an SUV). He had been speeding, without his headlight, and even now, he hit the car so fast and so hard that I can only recall a vague outline of his face. For a few long moments, I was afraid I had killed a man.

Praise the Lord that he got up. We could smell the alcohol soon after the crash; our windows were rolled down; this probably saved Katie and I from being cut up by glass when the side mirror came through the open window. There was blood and broken glass all over the road, and crowds were forming. I called a friend to come, and refused to get out of the car (or move it, as some passers-by urged me to do). In Cambodia, an accident can quickly turn into a mob scene, and I was incredibly frightened of what would happen next.

Turns out the driver and his passenger were in a gang, and shortly after my friend came, the rest of the gang rolled up on their motos, claiming that they had "caught the car who did it, and [we] wouldn't get away." Some police came (not the traffic police) and told me I could leave, but we had to wait for the insurance adjuster to come first. When he arrived, he told us it was too late to do any negotiating and we would have to wait until the next day. The car went to the police station to be evaluated, and my friend drove us home.

It's one of those circumstances where culture comes into play in weird ways. I know, in my head, that the protocol for car accidents is very different here. There are negotiations, and fault is not based on any kind of scientific measurements (no CSI here). Yet as we pulled away, I said, "I guess we pray for justice," thinking that we could pray that the police would see that it was not my fault and I would be cleared of responsibility. And my friend said, "Well, you have to be careful. That guy probably has no money and he's injured. It's his fault, but how will he pay for the damage to the car or his doctor bills?" I walked away unharmed, the car was taken away in the care of the insurance company. The guy I hit? No protection other than what the gang provides.

I felt awful in that moment. I felt awful for hitting him in the first place and awful for wanting it to be his fault. Awful that this kid (he was pretty young) was out late drinking and carousing with his friends when he should have been home sleeping. Awful that his parents would get a phone call that he was seriously injured. Awful that I had damaged a work vehicle. Just awful.

I've had to examine my motives since then. Do I want to be cleared of fault because I will feel less guilty? It was an accident. There was nothing that could have prevented it (on my side) and nothing about it can be changed. Is it so that the financial repercussions will be less? The insurance company has covered everything. And lastly, most convicting: Do I want to be cleared of fault because of my own pride? Do I want "justice" in order to maintain a good driving record and my own assurance of my driving skill?

I sometimes toss these words around, "justice," "equity," "fairness," because I think they are important, because they make societies run smoothly. But the justice I should be seeking is the kind that comforts the broken, the kind that provides for those in need. I shouldn't want justice because it makes me feel good, or look less guilty, or because of my reputation.

In the end, they said it was the other guy's fault. They also said that I turned improperly (not at a 90 degree angle). Since then, I've had to drive numerous times, and each time is scary and makes me feel vulnerable. I am more sensitive to the dangers on the road, more attuned to the fact that I am always a heartbeat away from injuring someone, from the circumstances turning on me once again.

But isn't that always the case? Aren't we always only seconds away from something going wrong? In Cambodia, on the crazy roads, the answer is yes. More and more, I'm realizing that we truly rest in the grace of God, in His protection. "For in Him we live and move and have our being," says Paul (Acts 17:28). It's true, that verse. So when our Cambodian driver today made us pull over and pray before starting our hour-long journey, I bowed my head, folded my hands, and said "Amen." And then I continued to pray as I rode nervously in the front seat, watching in fear as he narrowly avoided collisions, pedestrians, and ramming the car in front of us.

Absence Makes...

2009-05-21T22:41:00.006+07:00

Ouch. My sister just informed me that I haven't posted anything here in almost a month! That is unacceptable, I know. My only excuse is the plethora of Cambodian holdiays in the last two months-- a week for Khmer New Year, three days in May for the King's birthday, and then all the catch-up that time off implies. In any case, I'm still here, sweating and speaking a strange language. Along with other things.

One of those other things is regularly updating a site we've created for ESL volunteers this year. It's not as personal (or as much about me) as this blog, but it will provide some cultural info for those who are interested: www.eslcambodia.wordpress.com.

Until I can write a real update, I will leave you with a picture of the newest member of my family, in honor of my sister's (completely justified) nagging. This cutie pie is Tori, my niece. She's the reason I am fighting the urge to jump on a plane for a weekend visit.

Pandemic Pandemonium

2009-04-30T15:00:00.004+07:00

Epidemiology was not my college major. The closest I got to the study of medicine was a psychology class I took in one of the med school buildings. And while I am trying to become a "doctor," the closest I got to "coding" was training people to watch movies. Not exactly a life-or-death activity.

Then I moved to Cambodia and began working with a relief and development organization whose main emphasis is (after supporting the church): health education. This means I hear a lot about preventing treatable diseases, transmission of AIDS and childhood vaccination. I even have to tell people about some of the health problems in Cambodia and occasionally provide advice on what medicines to take when volunteers come down with some minor illness. As far as medical care goes, this is pretty much as far down the road as I want to go.

But the whole world is up in arms over swine flu (and rightly so, I say), and I now live in a place just poised for a scene from the movie "Outbreak." People live in close quarters, they spit on the ground, they stand close to you, and "clean" is a word we use to mean "relatively safe to touch." My whole approach to germs has changed, from "eradicate" to "stave off as long as possible." And while swine flu hasn't yet arrived on our doorstep, as an organization that thinks about these sorts of health problems, we have to do things like prepare.

So today I learned where the TamiFlu is, and that we have 500 medical kits (gloves, masks, etc.) to use when giving someone the treatment. I know things like when the fever appears, and how many days the swine flu cycle is, and somehow, I am trying to do things like wash my hands often and avoid excessive germiness.

Sometimes I forget that things here are different than the places where I used to live. And then there are the days when it all comes rushing back to me. Today is one of those days.

Decision Making

2009-04-28T19:41:00.002+07:00

I had a conversation today about the way decisions are made sometimes in Cambodia. Not big decisions, obviously, but the small ones, such as who goes first when playing a game. I think sometimes that even those little things tell a lot about a culture. Cambodians, like Americans, use the "rock, paper, scissors" game, calling it "bau, sing, song." So even English-speaking staff or friends might say, "We bau, sing, song for it." It actually sounds kind of cute.

Another technique, though, is called "black and white," although the words, oou laum bpek don't translate to that term. This is done using the palm (white) and back (black) of your hand. If you're light-skinned like me, it's hard to imagine where "black and white" comes into play, but for the darker-skinned Cambodians, this makes perfect sense: the back of the hand is darker than the palm. Unlike bau, sing, song, oou laum bpek is played with a large group of people, and used for consensus-style decision making, but with a twist. Everyone shakes their hand back and forth, and settles on one or the other. The minority group (of either "white" or "black") are the winners, and the decision goes to them.

This idea, that the "minority" rules, is a foreign one to an American like me. Raised with democratic values, taught that the majority rules (to please the most people), the decision to award the win to the minority is one I have a tough time with. Yet it perfectly illustrates Cambodian culture. In the US, although we have a small governing body (in proportion to the population, anyway) at the national level, the Constitution is set up so that each citizen should have representation in decision-making. Recently, I've seen that in action, as people in our partner churches have offered to speak up to their Congressmen or Senators on behalf of some funding decisions that were made about World Relief—and we're grateful that they have thought it a worthy cause to pursue. Although in this case it is not the appropriate step to take, it is the perfect illustration of the American value that your voice deserves to be heard, that the citizens should influence the leaders. That the paper should cover the rock, if you will.

Meanwhile, in Cambodia, a small, elite group makes decisions for the population. Although Cambodia follows the parliamentary procedure (and in case it's not clear, I think this is a valid form of government), sometimes the way it is expressed here results in much of the power being held by a few, not by the many, with little opportunity for ordinary citizens to speak up and influence policy. The American, pro-democracy voice in me often shouts that the system is unfair, that people should have more political power here, that the government should make decisions for the majority.

But sometimes, it takes a small game, a little insight into a vastly different culture, to quiet that voice, to help me realize that the values I was raised with aren't always in play here. Instead, sometimes it's a game of oou laum bpek when I want it to be one of bau, sing, song.

Folk Stories

2009-04-20T20:38:00.002+07:00

Cambodian life is returning to normal after Khmer New Year, the biggest holiday in Cambodian culture. People travel to their home villages for a week (sometimes more) of temple visits, games, family time, and parties. Pretty much all non-essential businesses (and some essential ones) close in the city, and it's a ghost town until the party winds down. Today, in fact, was our first day back to work in a week. A break in the middle of the hot season was nice.

In honor of traditional Cambodian holidays, I thought I'd share a traditional Cambodian folk tale that my Khmer tutor shared with me. When I started laughing, I was told very sternly that this was a traditional tale, and not to make fun. I'm sure the same could be said of Yankee Doodle or George Washington and the cherry tree. Here we go...

One day, an old woman was walking to the market. When she was about halfway there, she saw a dead rabbit on the side of the road. The woman picked up the rabbit and put it in her vegetable basket and continued on her way. Suddenly, the rabbit jumped out of the basket and ran away. When the woman looked in her basket, she found that all her potatoes and carrots had been eaten! She was very sad and angry because she had nothing left to sell at the market.

While walking home, the old woman saw a very fat rabbit by the side of the road. She knew that it was the same rabbit as the one she met earlier that morning. When it ran away, she chased it! The rabbit led her to a grove where there were many wild fruits growing. The woman was happy and forgot all about the rabbit because she could sell the fruits in the market.

The End.

And in keeping with the theme of the last post, I will mention that when I had to translate this story into Khmer, we spent 10 minutes discussing the proper term for "vegetable basket," since there are approximately 8 or 9-- all vary depending on the size and shape of the basket (handle, no handle) and how it is carried (on your head, in your hands, flat, etc.). Now... who can guess the moral of the story?

Language Lessons

2009-03-31T18:18:00.002+07:00

Every Tuesday and Friday I have a language lesson with Anna, who is the daughter of a friend and a great teacher. We've been working through an aptly-named book: "Cambodian for Beginners," and I have been pretty successful at mastering introductory conversation and spurning marriage proposals. After that, though, it's a bit more difficult to chart my progress.

Khmer (or khmai) is an interesting language for many reasons, including its many vowels, new phonetics, and naming principles. Just today I was reminded that the words for top, over, above, and up are pretty much the same (neu leu) as are the words for bottom, under, below, and down (neu krhaom). So if you wanted to say something was "over the top," you're out of luck. Despite using one word for all these pronouns, there are completely different words for long (yuu = time; wegn = distance) and short (klay = distance). This does not include the fact that you can be tall (kapua) or short (tiep).

I also discovered today in our review of fruits and vegetables, that the word for grapes is dom being bai chuu. Forgetting the rest of that word, let me tell you that the last part, chuu, means "sour." I'm not sure how you could express that someone is eating "sour grapes," since they are already the same thing. The word for shopping cart, interestingly enough, is roteah, which is also part of the word for train (roteah de pleung); just imagine the fun of grocery store lines with shopping carts the size of a train car! The words are made different because the de pleung in the word for train means, "with fire" or "with electricity" (because the word for fire and electricity is the same thing). When there is a power outage, I tell people that I don't have fire. Even when I'm lighting candles.

This doesn't even begin to cover the homophones in the language. The words for dog, far, and delicious (chagaii, chingai, chingein) are nearly identical to my ear, which can be problematic if you tell someone you want to go very delicious or that your meal is quite dog. You should be careful when you're tongue tied, since the word for tongue (andat)is pronounced similarly to the word for turtle (andaut). I'm sure you wouldn't want a turtle stuck in your mouth. Of course, sometimes the word is exactly the same, like the pronouns he and she (gowuht). Have fun figuring out if HE told HER the info or if SHE told HIM. The same is true for the words remember and wait (jahm). A sentence in which she can't remember him could easily be mistaken for one in which he couldn't wait for her.

Other vocabulary words are simply exact meanings crunched together. If you have a sore ankle, you would explain to someone that you injured the corner of your leg. Similarly, the corner of your arm (elbow) could also be hurt, say in a motorbike accident. Your knee, despite its 90 degree bend-a-bility, is in no way a corner of your body. Neither is your shoulder, come to think of it. When you take off your shoes (sbeik jeung), you remove the skin of your feet. Ouch. Your socks, though, are sraoum jeung, and gloves srouam dai. In other words, cylinder foot or cylinder hand. The names for your fingers aren't numbered either, being simply may-dai (the boss, your thumb), dai jong-croh (the finger which points), dai kandal (the finger between), dai neeung (the finger of a girl, your ring finger), and dai g'oohn (the baby finger). Sadly, the word for arm, hand, and finger are all the same, as is the leg (except for the thigh, which is called plauv, the same word for road).

And we haven't even gone over grammar yet. Oy.

All of this is the reason why some weeks, two lessons is not nearly enough, while others, it's far too much to handle. Even when we finish the book (which will be soon), I'll only be ready to upgrade to "Cambodian for Beginners II."

Buy Now!

2009-03-29T14:35:00.002+07:00

I've been a bit remiss in posting pictures here lately, and I apologize. Hopefully this will make up for my previous lack of photography.

The hospital in my neighborhood has been around about a year now, so they're celebrating their anniversary with some specials. This one is my favorite.

Apart from the obvious, what other plastic surgeries are there to buy twice?

Sherlock Cambodia

2009-03-20T09:12:00.002+07:00

Sometimes, life in Cambodia is a little slow. There are always things to learn, things to see, but sometimes it's hard to process them all at once and understand everything a tired brain is trying to think about.

And so, one must turn to mysteries. I love mysteries. I love solving puzzles. If it weren't for the gun-toting and dead-body inspecting, I would consider a career as a detective. Since I've decided to go the non-police-work route, this means investigating those little conundrums that pop up around me. Today's installment: The Case of the Unknown Baby.

The Mystery:

About a week ago, a baby appeared in my landlord's house. Baby is very small, obviously newborn, and spends most of the time sleeping under a little netting thing, covered in blankets (despite the 90 degree weather).

The Facts:

My landlord's daughter is pregnant, and has been for some time.

When asked, she indicated that her baby was due to be born in April.

The Unexpected Baby is cared for by a young woman who is not the landlord's daughter.

The daughter, until yesterday, was suspiciously absent from the premises.

The Obvious Question:

Who does this baby belong to?

Well, intrigued readers, I am happy to report that I have solved the mystery. Sort of. The baby does not, in fact, belong to the daughter. Although I saw her yesterday, she was sitting in such a way as to disguise whether she was still pregnant or had recently given birth. This very morning, however, I left for work only to see a very pregnant woman with her husband and mother discussing some new landscaping taking place in our little driveway.

Of course, this only prompts more questions!

First, who is the woman with the baby?

And…

Why are they landscaping a paved courtyard?

It seems an amateur sleuth's work is never done.

Minor Inconveniences

2009-03-11T09:32:00.001+07:00

I was explaining to someone yesterday that it's unacceptable to demonstrate anger here in Cambodia. The culture is one which values saving face, being in control of your emotions and keeping your fury to yourself. It's why you rarely see people screaming at each other in the streets, and probably why drinking, drug use, and spousal abuse are so high. That's a lot of stress to keep bottled up.

Only a few hours after making that statement, I found myself at home, attempting to turn on my computer to check my email. I'd had our tech guy install some antivirus software earlier in the day, and thought everything was fine. So imagine my surprise when my 3 month old computer would not start, claiming some kind of logon failure, and beeping at me like a petulant child. I was not pleased. I will say that it was a good thing it was 9 p.m. and too late to phone anyone for help.

Fast forward to this morning. I packed up my old and new computers for the office and climbed carefully down the stairs, only to find that between yesterday evening and this morning, my back tire had gone completely flat. I had a meeting at 9 which I was going to be on time for, except for this mishap. $11 and one new tire later, I was on my way to the office. Thank goodness for understanding staff members.

Whereupon I opened up my new computer and found it fully functional, virus protection installed, and no sign of last night's ugliness.

At no time did I yell at anyone... even in my own home I grumbled but did not scream (it was late, people were sleeping). But oh, man, did I want to. Even if I'm better at controlling those emotions (or the expression of them) all that stress has had to go somewhere. My question is where?

Rock Star

2009-03-05T23:25:00.001+07:00

I've had a couple weird weeks where I haven't been in the office as much as usual. This break in routine is good… it's nice to be away from my desk and out in the world. Particularly when this means I get to interact with our field staff and what we term "beneficiaries," those people who we seek to serve and help with our programs. It's hard to consistently communicate passion for our work when I'm sitting miles away from the people we're trying to help.

Anyway, I was out in the field with some visitors. Among other things, we attended a support group meeting for people with HIV/AIDS, and briefly chatted with one of the group volunteers and one of the patients. The volunteer blew me away with her story. She began working with HIV patients when there was still an enormous amount of stigma and discrimination in her community. Her husband banned her from using their motorbike to help people. She was ostracized and degraded, her own family thought that she should stop helping the poor and the sick and spend her time elsewhere. Yet Sokha continued to work for those who needed her most. Now, there are 19 people in the village that she cares for, and she is the leader of a cell group. Many of those living with AIDS are members of that cell and have become Christians because of Sokha. Her husband now accepts and supports her. Most of all, as we sat there with Sokha, we could see the results of her sacrifice in the face of Sok, the other woman we interviewed.

Sok told us she was so sick that she could not get out of bed. The doctor refused to see her, because he knew she was HIV positive. No one would talk to her, her family were outcasts. Her husband, also infected, could do little to help. So it was Sokha who tracked down another doctor for Sok. When he, too, refused to come to the village, Sokha told him the symptoms of Sok's illness and asked him what medicines she should give to Sok. At one point, Sok looked at us and said, "Without her, I would be dead. She has done everything for me."

I sat there, listening, totally humbled by this conversation. Sokha is, quite simply, a rock star. She gives out of what she has, which is very little. Yet Sokha has transformed a community from one that condemns AIDS patients to one that supports and encourages them. It's when I meet people like Sokha that I realize how much farther I have to go in my own sacrifice for the Lord. Sure, I've moved away from my home country, given up a few conveniences, certainly traded away some comforts. I haven't had my husband or family tell me to stop, haven't had anyone stand in my way to keep me from serving. No one has looked at me and said that my sacrifice has kept them alive.

It's not that I want the recognition or the accolades; no, I'm very happy to carry on in the background. Watching someone like Sokha—who has her own struggles, fears, and heartaches—give up so much to serve those in her neighborhood made me wonder how far I've really extended myself. Have I acted in ways that God desires? He's quite clear on what true sacrifice looks like: "Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter— when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?" (Isaiah 58: 7). Even though I'm far from where I started, God's mandate is not specific on geography. The hungry, the wanderers, the naked… they exist in all places. The admiration I felt for Sokha during our conversation became a deep conviction for the ways in which I had turned a blind eye to these issues. Now, though, it has morphed into an aspiration; rather than feel guilt over what I'm not doing, I want to look for ways to be poured out, to be of service.

What I've realized is that Sokha didn't set out to be a heroine or an example. She simply did what was right, showed love to those in need of it. Turns out, that's something that I can do too.

Name Game

2009-02-26T23:01:00.004+07:00

My office is, ironically enough, not only a wonderful workspace but also home to numerous craft supplies. When we have visitors, they often bring some kind of "kid-friendly" items which, if they aren't distributed, end up in the top drawer of my file cabinet (this is also true of bags of 1000 rubber bands). When staff bring their kids to work, I'll often dig through the drawer to find something that might be of interest. Yes, I am shamelessly trying to buy the affections of Cambodian children through gifts. So far, it's worked well.

Most recently, one of our accountants brought her daughter to work. I gave the little girl a coloring book and some markers. We did the cute "Cambodian introduction" thing where she had to say hello and call me "Ming," which is kind of a cross between "Aunt" and "Miss." It's a sign of respect, and I, too, use it when I'm talking to someone older than a sister but younger than a grandma.

Today I was telling our staff about how I met a bunch of people at a training and they had trouble with my name (it's a typical problem...my name ends up pronounced somewhere between "cat" and "cake"). The accountant suddenly looked at me and said, "Oh!" It seems that when I went through the Cambodian introduction process with her little girl, I told her that my name sounded like "cat." I then tossed in the Khmer word for "cat" (chmah, which sounds close to the word for "name," which is chmooah).

Apparently, when the youngster was recently asked who gave her the coloring book at the office, the little girl replied, "Ming Meow."

Which is, I think, much better than Catwoman.

Brilliant Ideas

2009-02-23T11:28:00.002+07:00

Every so often, while driving the streets of Phnom Penh or the highways of Cambodia, I will be forced to pull to the side of the road to allow a diplomatic convoy to pass. They station soldiers and police about every 50 meters on the road to make sure that traffic comes to a complete stop. Then, amidst a whirl of sirens and blur of SUVs, the convoy passes and things return to normal. Often other vehicles will jump in at the end of the string of cars. There appear to be no rules about joining convoys.

I always assumed that these convoys were for security, as undoubtedly it is easier to protect the traveling VIP when moving at high speeds without traffic. As I thought about it in the city, though, I'm not so sure. After all, it's often pretty difficult to get around, what with the cars, motos, tuk tuks, cyclos, and people cramming the streets. Now I wonder if this "convoy" thing is really just a time-saving activity to allow the elite to get where they are going without much hassle. I imagine it drastically shortens the trip to, for instance, the airport.

I'm also curious as to how one arranges such things. After all, it would really make things easier if I could get a convoy pass a couple times a week when I have to go across town. Although I think all the people stuck in the traffic jam left in my wake might be a bit frustrated. I'll just wave as I go by. That should keep everyone happy.

Experiential Learning

2009-02-16T19:33:00.004+07:00

I was rereading my journals a couple days ago. I've been stuck at home for 2 days. Not because of anything dramatic (though I have been a little sick), but because my floor is being re-tiled and someone needs to "supervise." So while the tile boys do their thing, I perused my old thoughts and prayers. Now before anyone gets excited about all the juicy tidbits I'm about to drop here, I'll say that it's always interesting to see how one's prayers and thoughts grow over time… and how they don't! What most interested me were the thoughts I had about my first trip to Cambodia.

I see lots of volunteers come through (and we had another team here just a couple weeks ago), so I hear lots of first impressions, lots of initial thoughts, and lots of misguided assumptions. In rereading my own thoughts, I am certainly guilty of them as well. This reminiscing about my own early perspective has coincided with revising our volunteer orientation manual… so I've been inundated with the "Cambodia Introduction" process. It's a little scary to be reminded of the way I thought and what I did (or didn't ask).

As part of my work, I answer many questions, and many of the same questions (and rarely—although I won't say never—do I outright make up answers). Some of them are relevant for orientation manuals (currency exchange) while others are… not (how long it took to get used to driving in Cambodia). I once answered the same question three times in a row in the span of 5 minutes. Not only am I a friendly fact source about Cambodian history, current events, and culture, I'm also the "appropriateness police"—reminding people when their outfits are unacceptable, to please not point their feet at that monk who is growing more and more offended, and oh, by the way, that question is way out of line and can't be translated anyway. Why keep answering these inquiries when it exhausts me or I've said the same thing five times in one day? Well, sadly, I understand the purpose.

None of the "Cambodian experts" we have on staff got that way by being quiet. We ask questions (even when they are dumb), and we ask them of our Khmer friends, neighbors, and church buddies. Just the other day I asked someone if it was all right for me to do something, or if I was crossing a cultural line that I couldn't quite see (the answer was, fortunately, no). So we became experts not because we're any smarter or better or innately understanding of things, but from living and breathing in the culture, from experiencing the kind of things that happen here, and from trying to make sense of the unknowns by talking with others who have been there.

Where, then, is the disconnect? When does asking questions turn into tedium? First, I think it's when people assume they know the answers. Often, one of our visitors will make a statement about The Way Things Are, followed by that lovely transformational phrase, "right, Kate?"—instantly hoping to soften the assumption by dressing it up with a question. I hate it when I have to "answer" by saying "well, not really." The second problem is that a lot of people ask a question and don't listen to the answer. Lots of the tougher "why" questions here are countered by some up-front information; Cambodians are very relational… that informs the way they live, work, shop, eat, everything. Thinking through the implications of one statement can inform later questions. Third, sometimes people don't think before they ask. Although I know a lot about Cambodia, that doesn't mean I'm the expert on Malaysia (and why I sometimes have to make things up). This is also where insensitivity rears its head. If you wouldn't want someone to walk into your house and ask you how much money you make, or what your daily schedule is, you can assume that others don't want to answer that either. Deep down, though, I know that people mostly have good motives. I know they want to understand everything about this culture… about the people… about what they are to do with what they see here. Unfortunately, that's not what it looks like all the time.

We learn from experience. We store up all the things that happen to us, cross-reference them with what we know about the world, and draw conclusions. Maybe we change our behavior, maybe we communicate differently, maybe we soak it all up and do nothing. Cambodia can be a great ultimate experiential learning… experience. Because there is so much that is different, so much to see, so much to process, people leave trying to make sense of what it is that is going on outside. So the questions stem from our internal balance being off, our need to be familiar and comfortable before we can feel productive. It is, as many have said before, about stress.

Where the stress transfers to me is when I realize so many of our volunteers are asking the wrong questions. Although a trip to Cambodia should never be completely self-focused, so few people leave asking themselves (out loud, anyway) "what has this changed in me?" "What has shaped my view of Cambodia?" "Why did I have so much trouble with the culture?" "Why did our village experience bring me to tears?" The introspection is just as key to understanding the experience as the cultural anthropology. At the end of the day, few people remain in Cambodia. If all the questions don't get answered, if there are cultural things left unknown, it's okay. The bigger issues of what this trip will change at home, of why it is a significant experience, of what can be learned… those should be sorted out, worked through, and talked over. That learning process might take a lifetime, but would be worth so much more than knowledge of just historical facts. Those are the questions I would love to answer, especially since I'm asking so many of them myself.

Empty Handed

2009-02-11T20:11:00.002+07:00

I should be used to this feeling by now. It's not strange to me anymore. I'm sure there's a word to describe it somewhere. Not insecurity nor inadequacy, certainly a far cry from insincerity. It's somewhere between incompetency and ineffectuality. Could I be a little more vague?

I spent the morning with a visitor witnessing several of our projects in a poor village near Phnom Penh. I've done this fairly often, I'm used to the routine, prepared for the questions. I'd even been to this particular village before and met some of the people there. Pretty much nothing about the day was a surprise… and maybe that's where this feeling makes me particularly uncomfortable.

We sat on the floor of a small house, surrounded by women who are part of an education group. They learn about preventing HIV, and today they learned about treating childhood asthma and preventing pneumonia. Seven of the women are HIV positive, and 5 of them are on Anti-Retroviral medications (ARV). Two of the women said their husbands are also infected. It's a sobering reality to share floor space with such stories. These women know their husbands were unfaithful and are living with the consequences—living and dying with them, I should say.

One of the women, a 23 year old, was actually part of the last visit I made to this village, and was interviewed for a WR video. I have heard her story, but even this time, was brought to tears as she recounted her tragic past. Sold by her older sister into prostitution at 17, she was beaten by the brothel owner and raped by his "customers." When she was finally able to leave, the owner talked her into coming back. Eventually she left again, and made her way back to her parent's home. That was about a year ago, and now she lives with her family, whose neglect of her health, theft of what little she has (or what is given to her), and disregard for her is a constant torment. From a life in bondage, this woman has moved into a life of pain. She discovered that she was HIV positive after our staff found her very, very sick and insisted she be tested. She became a Christian, and now is training to be a volunteer with the Hope program. She said that she is happy that she has new friends who are training with her.

As we sat there, across from her, watching tears fall down her cheeks and Nari (the staff leader) comfort her, I wasn't sure what to do. This story is heartbreaking—and I've heard it before, all too often. Sometimes I feel like that little boy trying to plug the dam in Holland with only his thumb. How do we stop the tide of hurt, of pain, of sorrow? Of all the things I have to offer her, there is not much that is immediate, that brings this young woman out of her situation and into something hopeful. To give her money is to ask her family to steal from her, and it's not sustainable. What does love look like here? How do we be "Good Samaritans" when the wounds are to the heart?

I promised to pray. I held out empty hands, wishing that I had something more to give, anything that would help. I know that prayer is something. I know that it is powerful and effective and that I shouldn't feel like I'm offering a consolation prize when I commit to pray. In these moments, though, it seems like such a small gift, a band-aid for a gaping wound.

Perhaps what is most humbling about these situations is that I have no control over the outcome. This woman's emotional (and physical) wounds can only be healed by God. He does promise hope for those who are suffering; to "comfort those who mourn and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair" (Isaiah 61:2-3). If we take Him at His word, holding out empty hands in prayer is to weep with those who are mourning, and in doing so, to let ourselves be transformed by their pain. I guess this is where the feelings of incompetence and ineffectiveness are realized. It isn't my job to bring healing or transform lives; that responsibility belongs to the Lord. I am to serve them, to abandon my own desire to be useful, and commit myself to that supposedly meager offering of prayer. Ultimately, I suppose it gives God the glory—for who else could transform death into life? Certainly not me.

Road Warriors

2009-01-30T21:37:00.003+07:00

Some of you wonder if, when I talk about the bad traffic and dangerous road conditions in Cambodia I am exaggerating. While certain facts or stories may be a bit embellished, for the most part, I try to be exact. This week, while driving in the provinces, I narrowly avoided hitting a baby cow about to dart into the road. There have been other near misses, in other vehicles, on other roads. What I regret is that I've never captured these on film to adequately document the phenomenon and could rely only on my storytelling abilities.

And now I don't have to.

Thanks to my alert sister, this news story found its way to me. Apparently the Google car (who knew there was such a thing?) had an incident involving a deer. Now this is sad, but it is a great reason why the Google car has no place in Cambodia. I'm not sure that Google maps could afford the damages every time they nicked a cow or water buffalo. Not to mention kids on bicycles, motorbikes loaded down with stuff, or horse-drawn carts. In any case... this is a taste of driving in Cambodia. Without the constant adrenaline rush and heart-pounding terror, of course. You have to pay extra for that.

Facing Fear

2009-01-26T09:49:00.004+07:00

I arrived back in Cambodia just before the beginning of a holiday (not surprising, as holidays happen here about once a month). This time it was Chinese New Year. I know some of you are thinking, "wait, wait, she doesn't live in China!" and you would be correct. However, a large portion of the Khmer population is part Chinese, and so the holiday is celebrated here with lots of fake paper money burning, sacrifices to ancestors, and a day off school. Also with firecrackers. Which is the subject of the first funny story of the Year of the Ox.

Last year, during Chinese New Year, I was consistently surprised by the firecrackers going off in the neighborhood. So this year, having forgotten that the holiday was even approaching (let alone here), I said to my house cleaner on Saturday morning, "Hedia, they are doing some construction or something. There is this constant banging, so don't let it frighten you. I have been jumping at the sounds all morning." Just then, another BANG sounded. She looked at me curiously. "Kate," she said, with a great deal of patience, and not a little amusement, "That's a game."

Aside from being annoyed/scared by the noises coming from outside my house, a greater fear-inducing problem exists (potentially) inside. Some of you may also remember that there have been several instances in which a mouse has been spotted in my house. During those dangerous times, I was vastly reassured by the presence of my very own mouse assassin (and roommate), Deanna. However, she has returned to the US, leaving me vulnerable to mouse attacks once more. Since my return, I have been on the lookout for any signs of furry creatures. Several pieces of circumstantial evidence point to the existence of a mouse-like intruder, but I haven't actually spotted it yet. The question remains: to trap, or not to trap?

Cambodia (Reprise)

2009-01-23T15:53:00.002+07:00

My friend Katie wrote this week about her to-do list after arriving back in the Philippines after time away. I think it's safe to say that we're sharing similar experiences. I've been sitting at my computer all day, trying to craft email responses, complete arrangements, and make a plan of attack for the next few weeks. I've failed utterly.

I'm not sure if it's the fatigue from traveling or simply the transition from a month of being "away" and working in a different capacity. I've actually done very little "online" work, having to communicate face-to-face with those I would normally phone or email. The break was great for me; a chance to put some distance between myself, my work, and Cambodia. On the other side it has made me grateful to be back, excited about the coming months and the work ahead, and, I must admit, a little bit lazy about some of the follow up.

In fact, as I sit here contemplating my own laziness, I'm finding it difficult to even put my thoughts together for this little update. My body is still adjusting to the time here, and my brain is stumbling to catch up. I know I'll be spending a good portion of the weekend clearing my to-do list in preparation for some of the things that await next week.

All in all, I suppose this means I am "back," at least in the physical sense. The swelling in my feet has finally gone down, and the aches and pains of sitting in an airplane seat for 12 hours are fading. Mentally, it will take me a few days to catch up with what's going on and to reconnect myself to life here. I'll push past the listless feelings, the fatigue and the transition, and life will resume. In the meantime, I'm going for a massage. Might as well clear up the aches and pains first.

Heading Back

2009-01-21T16:12:00.002+07:00

Just a brief update as I wait at the gate for my final flight of this journey. I'm now surrounded by the familiar tones of the Khmer language as there are several Cambodians waiting to board the plane as well. I've been "stuck" in the Korean airport all day-- which isn't so bad considering they have free wireless and a Starbucks... but I can think of better ways to spend 11 hours.

I've told a couple people that this time the trip back and forth is interesting for me. There is sadness in leaving-- friends and family I see all too rarely-- but no sorrow in going. What awaits me when this plane lands is a comfortable (for the most part) life, full of familiar faces and yes, even joy. I'm returning to a full list of things to do, in fact, a meeting at 8:30 tomorrow morning! Yet I can't help but wish the stretches in between seeing all those beloved friends and family were shorter. I missed getting to spend time with a few folks while I was back, and that's disappointing. Yet I know I was missed in Cambodia too. I guess this is another instance of the aches and pains that come with growing in and out of new homes.

Nine more hours, then, and I'll be back in familiar territory. Further away from things that are dear to me, but very close to new places and people that have captured my affection. In some ways, being in transit is easier... it's very isolationist, being a stranger in a strange land, all anticipation and longing at the same time. Or perhaps this is just what I feel now because I've been traveling so much. With that, I'm going to board and say good bye to Korea, Starbucks, hot showers, and modernization for some time. It's a bittersweet farewell, though, and in just a few hours I'll be waving hello to friends, humidity, and sights and sounds of Cambodia that have come to represent, in some way, comfort.

Update Overdue

2009-01-14T05:31:00.002+07:00

Because of my travels, I've not had much time to organize my thoughts. I've now visited 6 states, been on 12 planes (with 4 more to go!) and lost my luggage for 7 days. Once I'm settled again, have time to sort through all my emotions and impressions, I'll be back. Until then, just know that the arm warmers have enjoyed their tour of the US. As, of course, have I.

Warm Arms

2008-12-12T10:48:00.005+07:00

All right, to properly introduce you to what I like to call The Glory of Arm Warmers, I went over to the market and bought some. Here they are:

Take note of the crazy stripes. Now, how about a close up?

Attractive, aren't they? The woman who sold them to me indicated that they are, indeed for the protection of my delicate white skin against the harsh Cambodian sun. The fashion benefits are just extra I guess.

Advocacy/Whining

2008-12-09T21:19:00.002+07:00

When I was a kid, it didn't take long in our household to discover that whiners didn't get what they wanted. In fact, it was a surefire way to get exactly what you didn't want-- sent to your room or some other undesirable outcome (like a heaping pile of spinach). So I grew up, and I became a person who doesn't like to whine, who is afraid of complaining too loud, and who sometimes doesn't protest enough. Maybe that's too harsh. In any case, it can sometimes take a lot for me to speak up about something, especially if it involves a confrontation of any kind. Perhaps this is why I fit in with Cambodians.

This week I've been thinking about when it might be appropriate to whine. Tomorrow (Wednesday) is International Human Rights Day. Although the US doesn't "celebrate" it with a holiday (unlike Cambodia), people around the world will pause and hopefully think about what it means to support "human rights," what those rights might be, and how they've been forgotten, neglected, or even trampled over in years past. Hopefully, people will also think about preventing these problems in years to come.

In contemplating how to address these problems, the word "advocacy" comes to mind. I've spent time with people who aspire to be "advocates," and I think some of that ethos has rubbed off on me. I want to stand in the gap, to be a voice for those who have been silenced. It has only been recently that I've wondered how often that voice might sound a little whiny.

After all, if you really want to dig in and speak for people who can't speak for themselves, it will probably sound a lot like this:

"It's not fair!"

"It's not right!"

"Stop it!"

Which, at the end of the day, sounds pretty much like a childish squabble over who gets the toy.

These words have come up in relation to a very minor injustice, something that doesn't even look like advocacy; at least, it is not the typical "global issue advocacy." In this small situation, I know the right place for me is to be standing in the gap, pressed on one side by what is right and on the other by what is easy. I feel a lot like I'm whining, calling out something that is unfair, and that in the end will have little impact on any global crisis. I'm finding myself a bit more sympathetic with people like Nathan and Jeremiah, Mordecai and Daniel, men who had to speak up when faced with a person or a problem that was untenable. I've had to sacrifice a bit of my pride, to swallow the aversion I have to being a "whiner" in the hope that by speaking up, the right outcome will emerge. Is this whining? Is this advocacy?

Perhaps what is different about advocacy (apart from being a term with fewer negative connotations) is that it is done in service to others. Whining seems to be something we do for ourselves, when we don't get our way, when things are more difficult than we'd like them to be. Advocacy is for those who aren't getting what they want, for whom difficulty is a lifestyle. Done carelessly or selfishly, advocacy can resemble whining quite a bit. Done right, I think advocacy sounds less like whining and more like a call into something better, something purposeful, something that will free others from oppression and bondage.

In the end, this is what God did for us. He says to us: "All day long I have held out my hands to an obstinate people, who walk in ways not good, pursuing their own imaginations- a people who continually provoke me to my very face" (Isaiah 65:2-3). As advocates, we hold out our hands to obstinate people, rebuking self-serving attitudes, exhorting selfish actions, and inviting change. We regard the oppressed with our Father as the example: "Before they call I will answer; while they are still speaking I will hear" (v. 24). We act fairly, we act rightly, and we stop oppression. But instead of screaming, crying, and flailing, we do it mercifully, prayerfully, and humbly. After all, if we are truly advocates, we are not seeking our personal agenda, we are seeking God's agenda: justice and peace.

Arm Warmers

2008-12-05T22:52:00.003+07:00

I've been out of the US for awhile, but I just have to ask:

Are arm warmers the fashion in the US too?

I meant to take a photo of this phenomenon, but haven't had a chance (attribute it to my inability to drive my motorbike while photographing). I'm essentially talking about knit cloth that girls wear on their arms. Sometimes striped, sometimes in crazy patterns. And while some would suggest that this is simply a variation on the elbow-length gloves that serve to protect one's skin from dust and sun, I think it's a horse of a different color. For one: I've seen these unsightly things on women who are not only driving, but walking around the store or market. For another: well, the gloves are not usually such a bold fashion statement, being as they are white or nude in color.

The whole thing reminds me of a childhood fascination with legwarmers (ostensibly due to a ballerina phase) which popped back up amongst undergrads at USC in the last few years. I'm wondering if Asia is on the cutting edge of fashion here (and given the stripes-on-plaids outfits I spot daily, I'm doubtful), or if this is simply another deluded Cambodian fashion trend akin to sparkly, sequined baseball caps (in pink!) jauntily perched atop the heads of young men about town.

If it is a fashion trend, I suppose I'll have to get a pair before I'm back for Christmas. Unless I'm a trend behind and it is, in fact, stripes and plaids that are this season's Ugg boots.

AIDS Day

2008-12-01T19:49:00.006+07:00

Today, December 1st, is World AIDS Day. I'm not sure who started it, but I think it's an important day, as I'm sure you'll hear from Bono, The Gap, and Starbucks. For years, AIDS had a stigma, and in the US it still does, despite the fact that now the populations greatest at risk are, like those around the world, the poorest. Considerable amounts of money have been spent to combat the disease, to educate, to medicate. Even so, the AIDS problem rages on.

I'm fairly sure most people don't like to think of AIDS. After all, it's a disease passed on in ways we don't like to talk about and connected with issues we like to pretend don't exist. Many times it is easier to condemn those who have the illness rather than face the fact that their situations predispose them to exposure to HIV/AIDS; a child born to poor, unfaithful parents in the slums who sees drug abuse as an everyday fact is not likely to learn that there are other choices and healthier behaviors. We forget that AIDS is, as we teach thousands of Cambodians every day, as much a community problem as an individual one.

One of the most powerful ways that I have seen community response is here in Cambodia through the work of the church. It is hard to describe what it means to those infected with HIV when they are the subject of intentional care. When church members overcome fear and stigma to reach out and help them with something as basic as cooking a meal when they are sick. It changes lives, and leads many of those infected with HIV to the church and to Jesus.

I recently had the opportunity to pray with a group of men and women who were infected with AIDS and the community members who had taken it upon themselves to care for these individuals. When we asked them how we could pray for them, I anticipated that they would ask for money, better access to medications, or something practical. Instead, they all asked unanimously if we would pray that their village would grow in the knowledge of Jesus Christ. Somehow, in the midst of caring for other's needs, and in meeting together to learn about community response to HIV, they developed a passion for reaching their neighbors.

While I find this kind of community action incredible and poignant, it certainly does not need to be an isolated example. The reason it is World AIDS Day is because we can all do something to reach those with AIDS, or those at risk. Be a mentor, serve at a soup kitchen, volunteer at a drug counseling center. Be around those people who live with the threat of HIV and AIDS, and watch your compassion grow. Serve those people in the name of Jesus, sharing the gospel through your actions. Pray for their salvation, and be ready for your heart and love for them to grow. What is important is not the size of the benefit concert you hold (though, if that's what you want to do, go for it), what is crucial is that you do something.

If you're still at a loss, you can start by filling out this petition, improving access to life-extending antiretroviral (ARV) drugs for the poor. After that... talk to others, look around. There are opportunities for those who are willing to help.

This little guy's mother has HIV. He's too young to be tested.

Christmas Party

2008-11-26T19:40:00.003+07:00

Many of you know that human trafficking is one of the most troubling issues facing Cambodia. According to the US State Department, Cambodia is a "source, destination, and transit" country for men, women and children into forced labor or other work. One of the primary ways that women are exploited is in prostitution. Other women have no other option than to go into commercial sex work due to lack of education, debt, or even family pressure. This Christmas, some of our World Relief staff, including those working in our trafficking prevention program, are partnering with Destiny Rescue to give these women an alternative.

Will you join us in praying for this unique outreach? Even if we reach just one woman through this event, it will mean one life exposed to the freedom that is ours in Christ. One life that can be transformed. Pray with me-- pray with us-- as we work for the Gospel and transformation in Cambodia.

Counting Votes

2008-11-21T20:09:00.002+07:00

In lieu of a sensitive, thought-provoking and well-written blog post on my life, I thought I'd update about the voting that took place a few weeks ago. Turns out people actually like me! And your liking has translated into something good (i.e. other than simply elevating my self-esteem): those 19 votes made it possible for me to trounce other entries in this online competition (which is probably more about having fun than winning, but...). In the spirit of teamwork, you should know this makes all of us winners (now don't you feel good?!).

Your prize is my gratitude, and the chance to view a more recent photo of me, in what is called the Hall of Fame. Since I don't play any professional sports (for good reason), this may be my only chance to say that. Also, by viewing said photo, you will realize that Cambodian children don't follow me everywhere (see photo to the side) and that I have, in fact, cut my hair at least once in the last year or so.

Apparently this competition is ongoing, with new themes every month. I'll do the site engineer, Angela, a favor and offer up chances to compete (if you're a blogger), or you can request that I participate again and give you another chance to vote for me and boost my self-regard even higher (yes, it's possible). As my Cambodian friends say, "up to you."

Musical Moments

2008-11-16T21:34:00.003+07:00

For most of us, music is something that defines our preferences. The genre we listen to, what we purchase, all of it makes a statement about who we are and what we like. Some people can be derogatory about others' tastes, and others make it their goal to collect as much music as possible. Whatever your approach to listening is, it's likely to be for pleasure, rather than for educational purposes.

In countries around the world, songs are used to communicate history, to unite people around a cause, and yes, even for entertainment. The literacy rate in Cambodia is still at just 74% of the population, and even lower for women. In this country, songs are a powerful way to transmit information. They are easily taught, learned, and remembered. Just think about how many song lyrics you remember (and how many you wish you didn't!). A couple of months ago, trapped on a bus, we watched as a group of women sang and danced to a song about Revlon "Charlie" perfume. Another Cambodian man lauded some brand of liquor as girls danced around and sang about how great the drink was.

On a different note, World Relief staff in Cambodia teach songs to children about hand washing and clipping their fingernails. With adults, we teach songs that proclaim the ways AIDS can be transmitted. Only a week ago, I listened as an adult education group sang about a man who traveled to Phnom Penh and met a beautiful woman. However, this woman gave him AIDS, and now he has learned that he cannot judge people based solely on their appearance. The final verse was a plea to Cambodian men and women to care for those living with HIV and AIDS since we know they are suffering.

Of course, for all this noble song writing about the perils of marital unfaithfulness and AIDS, there are plenty of songs in this culture taken from Western pop hits. Richard Marx, Britney Spears, and that obnoxious "Beautiful Girl" song from last summer all have translations in Khmer (and karaoke videos besides!). There are also worship songs in Khmer, traditional Khmer folk songs, and yes, even Khmer rap.

Also last week, Cambodians celebrated the annual Water Festival. Thousands of people lined the riverside in Phnom Penh to watch boat races, attend concerts and enjoy time away from work. In reading about the event over the weekend, I discovered that there are many "Water Festival Songs" written both past and present. This year, several of the songs were dedicated to all-female racing teams, with lyrics about how the women don't have boyfriends, but they might "take a walk" with one man after the race (i.e., go on a date or even something less innocent). However, the one that has stuck with me was one about a Deaf Husband and a Crippled Wife. The song ends extolling the virtues of a faithful marriage, but I have no idea how it arrives at that point. According to the newspaper, the lyrics are something like this:

"I ask him to tie up the cow/He ties up the buffalo instead."
and
"She sticks out her bow leg/She trips my elderly father."

Head Phones

2008-11-06T20:47:00.003+07:00

I have an iPod. It's great. I love it. The iPod headphones, however, are not great. They've started to get a little worse for wear. So when Deanna decided to replace her broken headphones, I tagged along and bought some too. For $5, I figured it was a good deal (since when I tried to replace them in Thailand, it was going to be around $50 for new ones).

We got home, opened up our packages, and I discovered that my headphones were pink (which was okay) and jeweled (which was a bit more ostentatious than I wanted). Then I discovered that my headphones were not created equal. Literally. One side is longer than the other. I have decided that this is because I am supposed to wrap one around the back of my neck (to avoid choking, perhaps?). Deanna maintains it is a manufacturing defect. Whatever. Mine have jewels and have lasted longer than hers did. I think she's jealous.

Love Notes

2008-11-02T15:56:00.002+07:00

Over the summer, we had some volunteers from the US offer extra training to our staff. In order to make that possible, I had to hire an additional translator. We do this fairly often, and so I'm used to hiring temporary workers and when things are finished, we say goodbye with the promise to hopefully work together again in the future.

This year, we hired a male translator who was really helpful, but with whom I had pretty limited interaction. He was out in the provinces quite a bit, so I basically contacted him to give him details on when to meet us for travel, and where to pick up his paycheck. In no way would I have considered this person a friend, or even an acquaintance. So, imagine my surprise when he came in to pick up his final pay and sat for 30 minutes, asking me all kinds of questions. Catching on to the fact that he seemed to think we could mean more to each other than employer/employee, I did my best to make sure he knew that I had work to finish, and offered to let him know when I would be going back to the US (although I was careful to note that it would not be "for a long time").

Since then, he has sent me an SMS at 11:30 at night (way too late for the average Cambodian), phoned "just to say hello" and sent a few other messages my way, most of which I have ignored. I thought I spotted him at a restaurant last week, but didn't say hello, figuring the easiest way to avoid him was, well, to avoid him. Then I had to dodge 3 phone calls and read a humorous SMS regarding why I didn't say hello. I didn't think it was a good idea to text back "well, dude, i'm avoiding you."

In the midst of a busy week, my phone beeped one morning. Picking up the SMS, I found the following:

"Good morning. How a[re] u? Last night i dream about u and than i say i love u. When i get up i didnt see u."

It's certainly not a marriage proposal, but I think it might be the creepiest SMS I have received to date. I'm now curious as to whether Cambodia has anything resembling a restraining order.

Vote Kate!

2008-10-24T21:16:00.002+07:00

It's time for a little shameless self-promotion. At the behest of my sister, Liz, I checked out something called "A Month of Stuff..." Her friend, Angela, runs the site, and I signed up thinking it might be fun. The site features interviews with different bloggers, posting the responses of a new person just about every day. And folks, today is my day.

The catch with this "month of stuff" idea is that it isn't just interviews... it's a competition. If you know me "in real life" you know that I hate to lose. Especially when I have the chance to do something about it. To win, I need YOU, dear reader, to support my interview by commenting on the entry. It can be as simple as "Kate is Great!" or a similar statement. However, you'll amuse me and show off for my blog if you come up with something fun. Of course, no pressure. It's the number of comments that count, so you can send others over to help the cause. Voting closes at the end of the month, so time is of the essence! I can promise that the more people who comment, the happier I'll be, and the more often I'll blog in return. So, really, everyone wins.

In sum. Your mission, should you choose to accept it: Read this. Comment. Be a winner.

This blog, however, will not self-destruct. In fact, normal reflections should resume sometime soon. Thanks for your support!

Peace Train

2008-10-18T21:14:00.003+07:00

Whether or not you are a Cat Stevens fan (or whatever he's calling himself nowadays), a member of the NRA, or a veteran of a foreign war, let's establish something: peace is a good thing. It's a good thing for big nations who have struggling economies, and it's a good thing for small nations that have a history of guerilla warfare, genocide, and political instability. No matter if you are voting Democrat or Republican, a Christian or an atheist, you probably agree that the last thing this world needs is more war.

Last week, Thai and Cambodian forces clashed again in a border dispute that has been growing more and more tense since July. Shots were fired, 3 Cambodians died, and the country grew nervous. The Thai side is better equipped, better trained, and better funded, but Cambodians have been fighting in these jungles for most of the last century. This was, to my knowledge, the first time Cambodian lives had been lost over this conflict. Though the border is far from Phnom Penh, we got calls warning us to stay in at night, to avoid traveling unnecessarily, and to be wary of Cambodian attacks on Thai citizens living in the city. A few years ago, Cambodians rioted over remarks supposedly made by a Thai actress that Angkor Wat, the jewel of the country, should be in the hands of the Thais. There is not much love lost between the people of each nation.

Even now, despite a cease fire and a relaxed atmosphere, the threat of war remains. Leaders are meeting to discuss the problem and troops are still stationed at the border. Will you join with me in praying for peace? Cambodia, a nation taught by experience that violence is how to solve major problems, needs to see diplomatic solutions. The people here have had their fill of bullets, mortars, and bombs. It is time for these people to see peace.

Totally Devoted

2008-10-15T09:33:00.002+07:00

I don't talk about it a lot, but the main reason I came to Cambodia is not my love for the people, my desire to do good, or my need to live abroad. It is, in a word, obedience. I felt called to come, in a way that was undeniable and inescapable. That doesn't make a lot of sense to people who don't believe in God, and even to some who do. This idea that my life is not my own, that it belongs to Someone Else who intends to use it for a glorious purpose-- well, that's just crazy talk, isn't it?

When I thought about making this move, I also thought a lot about not moving. After all, left to myself, with no other obligations to satisfy, I would be happy to sit in a chair at the beach, working my way through a stack of novels, listening to good music and drinking coffee for most of my life. Occasionally, I would probably eat some kind of Mexican food. Nevertheless, that is not the life that God planned out for me. Instead, I am here, sometimes uncomfortable, lonely and part of something different. In the end, the desire to live rightly before God, to follow the call, and to walk in obedience overrode my selfish inclinations and fears.

It is from this position of obedience that I'm now thinking about that decision again. I don't regret it, I wouldn't change it, and I can't go back. I am already here, already changed, already moving forward. I have been, however, thinking about this idea of "obedience." In 1 Samuel, when Saul is rejected as king, Samuel says to him "Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as much as in obeying the voice of the Lord? To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed is better than the fat of rams" (1 Sam. 15:22). This has been a verse that I've thought about a lot over the years. I want to obey, to do right in the eyes of the Lord. I've done that in the big things (and am working on the little ones), but lately I've felt like there is something more.

As I've been praying about some things this week, God is revealing to me that straightforward obedience is not enough. Perhaps that is because, despite obeying, I have done it begrudgingly, expectantly. Although the Lord rewards obedience, it needs to be with a right attitude. Our obedience certainly opens up a host of other blessings, but we cannot obey with that as our aim. Instead, we have to obey for the sheer delight of doing what the Lord says. That, to me, is tough stuff.

When David speaks to Solomon regarding the temple, he says this: "And you, my son Solomon, acknowledge the God of your father, and serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind, for the Lord searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts. If you seek him, he will be found by you; but if you forsake him, he will reject you forever" (1 Chronicles 28:19). We are not to serve the Lord only in obedience, but in devotion. When Paul writes about marriage, he exalts singleness, writing, "I am saying this for your own good, not to restrict you, but that you may live in a right way in undivided devotion to the Lord"(1 Corinthians 7:35).

There is more to serving the Lord than just doing what He says because we are afraid of the consequences, seeking the blessing, or unsure of how else to live. He searches our hearts, understands every motive. Even our obedience is subject to this scrutiny. I'm not sure I understand yet what it means to be devoted to the Lord. Certainly it will take my life, most assuredly my finances, and likely some other things I am hesitant to give up. God is calling me in deeper, asking for more than mere actions done in service to Him.

Obedience provides freedom; when we are doing what is right, what God has asked from us, we can walk without guilt, without fear, without remorse. Yet, I think maybe the key is how Paul begins that phrase: not to restrict you. Obedience feels restrictive, a code of right and wrong, option A or B. Undivided devotion? In those words I sense the opening up of possibilities, an unleashing of unimaginable options. It goes beyond simply right or wrong and becomes less a choice and more a posture of the heart. Obedience will serve us, but devotion... that serves the Lord.

Holding Steady

2008-10-08T11:22:00.003+07:00

It's a busy time for me right now. By the end of the month, we will have welcomed at least 20 visitors to World Relief Cambodia, many of whom are leaders in our partner churches, and 2 of whom are English nobility (no, I'm not joking). In the first two weeks of November, we'll have another 15 people here, and a major leadership retreat for around 80 people. I'm responsible for coordinating a lot of these visits. It's a job I enjoy. I like working with people, telling them about the work we do, dreaming about the possibilities that exist when we collaborate.

Even so, there are more items on my to-do list than hours in the day. And all of these things are work-related, apart from the regular activities that come from maintaining a life (i.e., food, laundry, connecting with friends here and abroad) and being part of a church (e.g., attending Bible study and Sunday service, praying for outreach opportunities, and working with the youth group). I'm trying not to get swamped in the wave of things, and recognizing that it's simply a season of work. There are truths to be gleaned here, in the midst of the activity, if only I can look for them.

In many ways, it is a strange feeling to be so busy. Cambodia, after all, is a pretty laid back place. I think my first year here was really not about "productivity" but instead about being grounded here, learning what it felt like to walk around in this culture, and finding my bearings. Now that I'm more settled, I can actually start to "do" more. It's tempting to start to measure my success here by what is accomplished rather than what I've learned. Despite having a to-do list, I struggle to remind myself that this work, my life, is an exercise not in removing things, but in building a Kingdom-- one that will endure.

One of my favorite quotations has seemed more relevant this month. Richard Foster wrote:

"We may not see the end from the beginning, but we keep on doing what we know to do. We pray, we listen, we worship, we carry out the duty of the present moment."

While I want that time to reflect, to process, to learn, I'm sensing that this is a time to keep moving. Booking hotel rooms and planning meals does not seem to be filled with eternal significance. Yet, in the doing, the serving, the obedience, there is purpose. So I will carry out in the present moment what is required, and do it joyfully and wholeheartedly-- for the most part.

Pchum Ben

2008-10-01T14:27:00.005+07:00

It was a holiday in Cambodia last week, called Pchum Ben. It's a big deal in Cambo, especially for the majority Buddhist population. It's a sobering time for Christians, but, apparently a lot of fun for at least one village. If only I'd known about this, I would have used my own water buffalo ride as practice!

The Pchum Ben holiday began in ancient times— it was even celebrated at the time of the Angkorian empire. During this fifteen day lunar festival, Cambodians gather at temples to honor their ancestors. With a prevailing belief in Buddhist teachings (though strongly animistic in their practice), many Cambodians believe in the concept of reincarnation. While many people are recreated into the human or animal world after death, those who have bad karma are condemned to live in the spiritual world— a type of earthbound purgatory. The Pchum Ben festival takes place during a time of the year when these spirit ancestors are believed to be roaming the Earth. It is a time for their living relatives to gather in remembrance and also to offer food to these tortured souls. Additionally, it is a time for those who are alive to meditate and pray to reduce the bad karma of the spirits and help them escape the misery of the spirit world through reincarnation.

For modern Cambodians, the festival takes place over fifteen days, and the final day is the most significant. Prior to this last day, families are scheduled to “host” a service at the temple for their ancestors. Family members gather at the temple, recording an “invitation” list of relatives who must be remembered. It is believed that unless they are invited, spirits cannot receive the offerings. Families prepare special food for their ancestors, and also leave bai ben (sticky rice balls) in the shaded areas of the temple for those who have been forgotten or who no longer have living relatives to offer sacrifices for them. The monks prepare the ceremonial reading and burning of the invitation list— as a notification to the spirits of where to find their relatives. Then the monks lead the family in chants, meditations, and prayers for their relatives. The ceremony is an opportunity for the living relatives to earn merit for those who are deceased.

On the fifteenth day, the temples play host to a large communal feast, as everyone is invited to the temple to participate in the ceremony for their ancestors. It is also a significant day in that the most miserable of the souls, priads, are only able to receive prayers, food, and be reunited with living relatives during this day (traditionally the darkest day). On the final days of the Pchum Ben festival, temples are crowded with people who are sacrificing and praying. Additionally, many disabled or homeless individuals gather near the temples to receive money or offerings— it is seen as a way to make merit to give money or food to them.

For Cambodian Christians, this festival can be a time of difficulty. If their families continue to celebrate the holiday, there can be great pressure to participate and offer to the spirits. This is a time when they need encouragement to stand firm in their faith. As the Psalmist said, “Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, O Lord, the God of truth. I hate those who cling to worthless idols; I trust in the Lord. I will be glad and rejoice in your love, for you saw my affliction and knew the anguish of my soul” (Psalm 31: 5-7). Pray for our brothers and sisters in the faith to remain true to the only Lord, Jesus Christ.

Part of this post appeared in our WR bimonthly partnership newsletter. If you'd like to receive newsletter updates via email, please click here.

Moving Forward

2008-09-18T17:06:00.005+07:00

Well, it had to happen sometime. Despite being fashion-forward and not a little funky, the Pink Helmet was retired a few weeks ago. The visor had been a little mangled for quite awhile, and instead of replacing it a second time in only 3 weeks, I opted to get something a bit more safe. After watching a woman fall off a motorbike and scrape her face on the pavement, I suddenly became very interested in having full face protection (including chin and jaw).

Despite the plethora of options available, I have chosen a standard issue black motorcycle helmet. It's basic, it's a little boring, but it's also been great. The Pink Helmet, may it rest in peace, has been relegated to emergency and guest use only. If you come for a visit... you might even get to borrow it.

In other transportation news, my motorbike has seen some improvement. The Phnom Penh traffic police have been cracking down on motos without mirrors (accounting for about 50% of all motos in PP). I was pulled over and had to pay $1. I quickly realized that simply putting the mirrors onto the motorbike would save me a lot of trouble, so $1.50 later, I now have two mirrors. Although they are absolutely no help at all in traffic, they are successfully helping me avoid the traffic police.

In other news, we now have several new American neighbors and are busy dreaming up ways we can challenge our Khmer neighbors in sporting competitions. Suggestions are welcome. Finally, the event we all feared would take place finally has. On Saturday, despite having been up and down the stairs to our apartment for a year, I took my first tumble (down the first six stairs). It was highly embarrassing, highly painful, and I'm not looking to repeat the experience. A few bruises and some shaken confidence are the outcomes of the fall. Thankfully, none of our new neighbors were home to witness this (although the landlady and her nephew came running out-- the stairs are metal, and I wasn't quiet during my rapid descent). We're thinking of installing a harness to prevent future incidents.

Water Buffalo

2008-09-16T21:55:00.003+07:00

One of the iconic images of Cambodia is a kid sitting on top of a water buffalo. It's adorable. Every time I visit the provinces with our WR translator, Engchy, I ask if I can ride one. Each time, he suggests that I jump up on some random animal we pass while driving. That's hardly something I would feel comfortable doing.

This afternoon, we visited a church training on HIV/AIDS. When one of our staff mentioned that I wanted to ride a water buffalo, the pastor went to find one of his own animals out in the rice fields. Thirty minutes later, I was sitting on it!

Celebrity Culture

2008-09-09T21:01:00.002+07:00

I hear from a lot of people that I meet that I'm pretty special, unique, or rare. Sometimes this has to do with the fact that I live in a different part of the world. Occasionally it's because of something I've said or done. Once in awhile it's due to my sense of humor. These kind of comments always make me feel a bit encouraged. After all, it's very American (or Western) to want to stand out, to be an individual, to be known. Isn't that why we revere our celebrities and send paparazzi after Ordinary Joes and Janes... they can play a convincing character, or have some unique backstory. We are captivated with people who stand out.

I am happy to report that in Cambodia, the same thing is true. People who stand out are the recipients of lots of undue attention. Guess who stands out the most? That's right... girls with brown hair, blue eyes, and white skin. No matter where I go, someone is bound to stare. A couple of weeks ago, I almost ran over a man who was standing in the middle of the road, staring at me driving my motorbike. People remember me after minor interactions; my neighbors have a fascination with my comings and goings. At first, it was overwhelming, now it's expected, and it's always, always, nervewracking. You can practice this at home by having someone watch your every move. Not someone you know and like, but someone you barely know and can't communicate with. See how much you like it, and how your behavior starts to change.

Most recently, the staring has escalated to an entirely new level. Deanna and I decided that for reasons of health, the environment, and our general enjoyment, we should purchase bicycles. I haven't owned a bicycle since my last year in college... 5 years ago. So I was a little rusty at the bike riding, but soon got the hang of it again ("it's like riding a bike" is not just a saying, I suppose). There are many, many Cambodians who ride bicycles. Hundreds of kids cycle to the school next door in the mornings and evenings. People ride up and down our street selling various things on their bikes. A bicycle, we assumed, is no big deal to Cambodians. Apparently, this is only partly true.

Construction workers have paused in their labor to watch us ride by. Children have stared in astonishment as we've passed. Moto drivers have snappy comments to toss at us. Suddenly, we are a bike-riding spectacle. I've been considering selling tickets, and am wondering if the addition of some sort of firework would increase or decrease the attention. I should be clear that these bikes, for as great as they are, are not flashy. Run of the mill, silver, with a basket on the front. Just like nearly every other bike in Cambodia. So I can only assume that they are staring at the bicycle riders. I am thinking of learning to say in Khmer, "It's only a bicycle!" Then again, that seems a little rude.

I was hoping that there might be some sort of spiritual parallel here, about being examples of our faith even when we do something simple. Or maybe it's that people should see the way we act and be captivated by the way our love for Christ is exemplified in these actions. Yet, as much as I want the staring and the noticing to have a deeper meaning, I also want it to stop. Perhaps I am a reluctant example, an unwilling spectacle and I need to get over it. On the other hand, I am simply a person, no different than the people I ride by, trying to do something as normal as go to work. I am not really that special, unique or rare; at least, not when I'm riding a bike. Then again, maybe I just need a celebrity friend to teach me how to cope with my fame.

Beauty/Ashes

2008-09-04T21:19:00.001+07:00

I’ve been watching the plants in my apartment die slowly for the past few weeks. They started off well enough, really beautiful, making everything look cozy. Deanna and I painted pots in different colors, rearranged places for our plants to live, and were thrilled with the way everything looked. However, they went the way of many of my previous plants, succumbing to my incredible inability to keep things alive. True confession: I have a black thumb. The ones we’ve saved from their sad fate (and some that haven’t been saved) have been relocated to the front porch, where we were hoping direct sunlight and more rain would enliven them. It’s still touch and go.

Sometimes I feel like these plants trace the development of so many other things in my life. Relationships I’ve neglected are turning brown and fading quickly. And then there are those that I care about, but require me to rely on a tricky cocktail of fertilizer, sunlight, and weather to keep flowering. The orchids (and these friendships) sometimes require more effort than I’m capable to provide.

It’s not just people that I’m reminded of when I think about my struggling garden. When I’ve been looking around Cambodia lately, I’m seeing the same things. My priorities are shifting and rearranging as I’ve been here for a time. I want more depth in my friendships here, less of a social group and more of a community. My passions for certain solutions are fading as I’m exposed to weeds like corruption and fatalism.

Watching the death of my plants, of my relationships, of my worldviews, I’ve realized why it is that only a few of these things are still living. I’m a person who likes to see results—I appreciate when I can look around and feel like I’ve accomplished something (you should see how satisfied I am when the dishes are done). It’s the plants, the people, the ideals that survive which claim my attention and my care. I’m not interested in bringing something dead back to life. I want to bask in the glory of my success.

Here is where the big and scary change comes in. I want to leave things for dead in my life; my plants, my passion, my friendships. Yet the God I serve is one who restores life from what is dead. Right now, as I’ve looked around at my dead plants, I’ve also found that upon second inspection, some are still alive. I’m finding that even when I’ve killed something off, through my lack of communication—even inattention—relationships (and plants) are flourishing, blooming when I least expect it. Things I prayed about ages ago and buried are suddenly answered. More interesting is the transformation when this happens. I used to think it was creative solutions and large-scale efforts that would make things better. Instead, springing up is a desire to see the local church equipped and mobilized to create true change, lasting change.

In many respects, death and restoration are the story of this place. Cambodia is a country entrenched in death and mourning; for 30 years people have lamented the Pol Pot regime and genocide, and struggled through a civil war, poverty, and disease. Yet out of that time, out of the destruction, there is new life coming; the Church is growing, and little by little, hope is blossoming here.

It’s no coincidence to me that in this season of restoration—of relationships, of purpose—God is reminding me of the passage I spent so much time praying about before I moved to Cambodia. “…provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor” (Isaiah 61:3). We are no longer those who grieve, surrounded by death. I don’t have to live amongst ashes, in mourning; God wants to provide beauty and joy instead. He wants us to be plants, too, sturdy, righteous oak trees, a statement for all about how Christ has brought us—and all of the things we left for dead—back to life.

Ethnic Identity

2008-08-25T11:08:00.002+07:00

I've never been confused about my ethnic identity. That's not a slam against people who have been... there's just nothing to be confused about. I am as white as they come; blue eyed, brown haired, susceptible to sunburns. So lately, I've been getting some confusing feedback from people in Cambodia about my ethnicity.

First, after I pierced my nose, one of our staff members told me I looked Indian. Even with some funky earrings, I'm not sure how that's possible.

Then, when I had my hair pulled back with a scarf, someone said I looked very French. Also that I should be driving down the road in a convertible. That's not really an ethnic thing, but still... odd.

When I took a group of volunteers to Siem Reap, a seller at the market asked me if one of them was my mother. That's a pretty normal question, except in this case, the volunteer in question was Korean. A very nice woman, lots of fun, but, um, no, that's not my mom.

Today, when I walked into the office after being gone for a week, modeling a new haircut, I was only slightly surprised by my latest ethnic identity. Grace, our office manager, looked at me and said, "You look like a Thai girl." She proceeded to tell me that so many Thai girls look beautiful because they have a Thai mother and white father. I think there was a compliment in there somewhere...

It's not that I mind being mistaken for some other ethnic group. Most often, these comments stem from some change in style, and usually follow after some statement about how beautiful I am (good for the self-esteem, these Cambodians). My absolute favorite comment, however, happened recently, and is not at all related to my ethnicity, but my humanity.

I took part in a training course in Bangkok last week. One of the trainers was a man from Nepal (bearing a strong resemblance to Tom Cruise, not in an attractive way) who seemed to think that my colleague and I were hilarious and great fun (very astute, this man). The trainings ended around 5, and we used the evenings to shop and explore Bangkok. However, he seemed to think that we should be spending a bit more time with the other students. "It is very hard to find some people after the trainings," he said one morning, "They are like angels, flitting off to someplace else."

It seems that not only am I Thai, Korean, French, and Indian, I am also a celestial being. Or, perhaps, he just mistook me for one of the women on Charlie's Angels. Wasn't one of them named Kate, too?

Making Headlines

2008-08-05T17:17:00.005+07:00

Cambodia is not a well-known country, geographically speaking. Some people think Cambodia is in Africa (Cameroon?), South America (Columbia?), and one college-educated young woman asked me if it was in Orange County, California (um, nope). Lately, however, little, lost Cambodia is making big world news. There are a couple of reasons for this: elections and war. You know, everybody's favorite newsmakers.

Elections

I'm not a terribly political person when in the US, but here in Cambodia, I'm not sure how anyone can have any kind of political fervency. Two weeks ago, Cambodians voted parties into seats in the National Assembly (kind of like the House of Representatives). The party with the majority of votes would rule the country outright (as opposed to forming a coalition government; in the last election, it took 3 years to iron out what "coalition" meant, and even then it wasn't really fair). Since the Vietnamese occupation in 1980, Cambodia's Prime Minister has nearly always been Hun Sen, the dominant force behind the Cambodian People's Party (CPP), and a man who controls nearly everything that happens (politically anyway) in Cambo. In the last election, CPP was forced into the coalition government with other parties, but somehow came out (through lots of underhanded means, I'm guessing) as the ruling party. This year, they weren't leaving anything to chance; they wanted to win outright.

The elections took place on July 27th, and were relatively peaceful. The campaigns leading up to the big day, however, were crazy! Trucks of people cruised up and down the streets, blaring campaign songs and speeches, waving flags, and stopping traffic. Many of these people are volunteers for the party, but sometimes they are paid to campaign (around $2.50 per day for some parties). Plus, they got a free t-shirt and a hat. I nearly signed up (no, not really). By the day of the election, despite careful monitoring by lots of foreign agencies, there were still problems. Many people's names were spelled incorrectly on the voting register, or someone had already voted in their place. In the end, it seems that Hun Sen and his CPP comrades have won again, garnering about 90% of the vote. It must be nice to be unbeatable.

War?!

Cambodians are not exceptionally fond of their nearest neighbors for lots of reasons-- land stealing, hostile takeover, and historical border disputes, to name a few-- but recently things have gotten pretty interesting in our little corner of the world. Not to worry, I am miles from any "conflict zones," but circulating amongst the Cambodians are rumors of impending war and poisoned fruit (seriously. Cambodians are notorious gossips, and there is a tale going around that fruit from Thailand--and possibly Vietnam-- is poisoned). The issue is this: an ancient temple (called Preah Vihear Temple) was the site of a border dispute. The land was given to Cambodia (reluctantly, on the part of the Thais), and then the temple was named a UNESCO World Heritage site, making it a tourist destination, and fairly economically valuable.

The Thai people weren't happy, Cambodian riot police were sent to protect the temple, Thai soldiers went to face off, and Cambodian troops were dispatched. At one point, a few Thai soldiers crossed the border, and this resulted in their capture. Since then, soldiers have been stationed at the border, smoking cigarettes, playing cards, and waiting for peace to be brokered. Recently, a second temple (Ta Moan Thom) has been the site of conflict, but it seems to be easing. Some have said the land borders are closed, but I'm not entirely sure. Things seem to be de-escalating, and some have suggested that the conflict was really due mainly to provoking strong nationalist sentiment on the eve of the election (a good threat; one CPP slogan was, "A vote for CPP is a vote for peace"-- which could be indicative of impeding war, or prevailing peace as a result of the voting). Either way, the tension doesn't help the ever-present anti-Thai sentiment, and also isn't a huge help to Cambodia's burgeoning economy.

As an outsider watching these things, it's hard to know what to suggest. War over a temple certainly seems funny, in fact war at all doesn't make a lot of sense to me (call me anti-American, but I'm not a huge fan of widespread violence). There's nationalist pride to consider, land ownership issues, economic benefits, and let's not forget political posturing. In the case of the elections, there's lots to be said for freedom and fairness, and also for stability and a climate open to the work of NGOs (as in, work I help with on a daily basis). The biggest problem I have is that I can't understand some of these things. I grew up during a time of peace, in a place where we believe (typically) in the fairness of our voting process. A history of war and genocide, unfamiliarity with a democratic system, and a lack of education that leave me susceptible to propaganda and flimsy arguments are not my back story. So I've been sitting on the sidelines, wondering what to think, watching and waiting, and trying to understand. At the end of the day, think what Cambodia has truly gained is an international audience. Hopefully, now that people know more about this place, they will pay more attention to what's going on--and cry out against things like senseless war and injustice. Perhaps that is the secret to helping things change.

Power Outages

2008-07-31T23:49:00.002+07:00

Here's the thing about a developing country: sometimes the basics are not so basic. Cambodia does not generate enough electricity to power the whole country. Some is bought from Vietnam, some is produced domestically, and when there isn't enough, well, the power goes out. In the hot season (March/April/May), Cambodia routinely (as in every day) shuts off power to different parts of the country, or even the city. The blackouts can be anywhere between a half hour to five or six hours, any time between 8 am and 11 pm. This makes everything hotter (life without a fan is awful), more inconvenient (get whatever you can out of the fridge as fast as you can), and a little suspenseful (when will the outage be today?). We've grown accustomed to power outages, keeping flashlights handy, learning to do things in the dark, even simply announcing it (oh, power's out again) instead of groaning. Even though it isn't the hot season anymore, it's been pretty warm the past few weeks, and we've had sporadic outages.

Yesterday, we (Deanna and I) came home for lunch. I went into the bathroom, and as I turned on the light, we heard a pop, and the light went out. It wouldn't turn back on, and I realized that the light in my bedroom wasn't working either. In fact, the power was out altogether. Chalking it up to poor timing-- thinking I had unwittingly chosen the exact moment of a power cut to hit the light, we went about the lunch routine and sweltered for an hour before heading back to the office. It's not uncommon for the power to go out somewhere between when we walk in the door for lunch and the moment we decide something needs to be microwaved. Life is cruel like that sometimes.

By the time Deanna went home at 4:30, the power was still out. It was out when I got home at 5:15, when our friends came over for dinner at 5:30, and as we were lighting candles to help brighten things in the ever increasing twighlight at 6:10. While it isn't unusual for the power to go out for such a stretch, what was odd was that the neighborhood was responding unusually. When the power is out, everyone gathers outside to talk, we hear the whir and hum of generators, and once, after a really long cut, the whole complex cheered when the lights came on. As we peered into our neighbor's homes, we noticed they were turning on lights and watching television. Curious.

With a glance at each other, we examined the lone fuse box for the apartment. It's not a very complicated system, I guess, because there is only one breaker switch. As neither of us are engineers, electricians, or particularly adept at construction of any kind, we had not expected that flipping the bathroom switch would blow the fuse for the entire apartment. Oops. A quick flip of the switch, and the lights came back on. Just in time to illuminate our embarrassed faces and ensure that our friends had a hearty laugh at our expense.

Looking Happy

2008-07-24T14:21:00.004+07:00

Tourists love the Russian Market. To be fair, I also love the Russian Market. But I think that's more to do with it being the location of my favorite DVD seller and close proximity to the best lime soda in Phnom Penh. Anyhow, on a typical day at the market (especially a weekend), you can find people from lots of different locations browsing the stalls, buying things they don't need, and haggling.

One such couple caught my attention last week. I'm now able to bargain for most things in Khmer, which is nice, because I get a better price. I've been helping all our volunteers negotiate for things, since now that I can bargain better, I can experience the thrill of haggling. They watched me negotiate for something for one of the volunteers, and asked if I had any "tips." I laughed and told them to be friendly. Later, I found them browsing the fruit. They asked what was good, and I helped them purchase a couple of apples. Then the questions came. Here are the highlights:

"So how do you know the language?" the German woman asked.

"Well, I live here, so I had to learn."

"What do you do here? What made you move?" her English boyfriend (?) queried.

"I work for a Christian NGO, we do a lot of health education and community health work...I really liked Cambodia after visiting, and decided to move back." (something of an understatement, but hey, these were strangers)

"This is great, we've really been wanting to meet someone who lives here. It seems like such an interesting place." Boyfriend was the one most interested in the experience, but German girlfriend nodded along.

"Yeah, it has its ups and downs, but Cambodia is a great place. I really enjoy living and working here." By this time, my volunteers were approaching, and we were out of conversation points. In fact, it was getting kind of awkward. However, they decide to throw in a stunner.

"Well, you look really happy. It's so great to see someone who is really happy here."

I've never had a complete stranger tell me something so kind before. It was especially odd, given that it was about 100 degrees, I was sweaty and dirty, tired, and a little stressed. I didn't feel unhappy, just... it wouldn't have been my prevailing emotion. I was surprised at how good it made me feel, at how genuinely convinced they were of my contentment. I wish I'd had more time with them, even (strangely) wanted to ask them to have coffee, to try to understand what it was they saw in me that was so "happy." Sadly, they've departed Cambodia and I've returned to my busy schedule. Nevertheless, it was a small blessing to me, there by the fruit stand in the market. After a year of ups and downs, in the midst of a summer of challenges, two people were able to see my joy in being here, the thrill that comes with doing what I should be. I think it must be so great to see someone who is really happy here. I'm glad that someone was me.

Linguistic Foibles (Part Deux)

2008-07-14T21:42:00.004+07:00

Sometimes, when I'm speaking Khmer, I inadvertenly say something funny. The other day, a shopkeeper thought I was negotiating a $225 furniture set for $25. We had a good laugh, once he got over the shock. However, sometimes language mishaps go both ways.

KonPleang is a 40-something Cambodian member of my church. She lives in one of the slum villages, and speaks not a word of English. I ran into her unexpectedly while working the other day, and she greeted me with a big hug and smile. She is one of the sweetest ladies I know. Yesterday, she wore a shirt to church with some English writing on it. In bold letters, the shirt proclaimed: "True F***in' Canadian."

Which is, quite simply, both explicit AND incorrect.

Rainy Days

2008-07-08T20:31:00.003+07:00

Abbie and I after 5 minutes in the rain.

This is my second rainy season in Cambodia. Therefore, I feel qualified to dispense some advice about rainy season behavior. Here are Kate's Tried and True Tips for Surviving the Rainy Season:

1. Wear dark colors. Bonus points if these dark colors also include water resistant or quick drying fabrics.

2. An improperly worn poncho is as effective as no poncho at all.

3. Rain hurts at high speeds. Be careful out there.

4. Someone should invent a windshield wiper for motorbike helmet visors.

5. Time your trips appropriately. It's better to be heading home than going out when the monsoon hits. No use traipsing around like a drowned rat in public.

6. Get home quickly! The roads flood-- which means you may get stuck and/or splashed by an SUV driving by at an inappropriate speed.

7. It's always the hottest right before it rains.

8. Laundry should be done in the morning if you want to hang it outside. Otherwise, you'll just do it again later.

9. Rain makes things colder and smellier, depending on the thing in question.

10. If you think it's going to rain, it probably is.

Dream On

2008-07-07T10:30:00.005+07:00

It finally happened. My work life-- coordinating our stream of ESL volunteers-- has finally spilled over and infected my brain. I woke up last night from a dream in which a volunteer was asking me questions. On a daily basis, my job is to answer many questions from volunteers regarding teaching, health, general Cambodia info, World Relief trivia, and personal stories. These questions, however, were a little weird. Especially since they were about raising her adult-aged son, whom I've never met-- not something that's part of my aresenal of useless knowledge.

I'm not sure what's going on in the complicated neurological pathways of my mind. In the past, I've had some pretty interesting dreams-- once I was a spy, I've had TV characters show up, and I even practiced my own wedding. I think this dream might be an indication that come August 3rd I'll need a break. It could also be my brain's way of telling me that these volunteers are leaving their imprint not just on Cambodia, but on me as well. In the meantime, I'm hoping it will be safe to sleep tonight. I'm overdue for another wedding rehearsal.

New Look

2008-07-03T21:04:00.004+07:00

Here's a secret: I love the David Bowie song, "Changes." I can't explain it, I'm not a huge Bowie fan in general, and it's kind of an odd choice for a favorite. Nevertheless... there it is.

I've been humming this song a bit as I reformatted the blog this week. Not much is different, layout, some new links on the sidebar, a new photo. I've been feeling like it's time for a new look for awhile. The old layout felt a bit cluttered, and I always had trouble reading it. I was in the mood for something crisper, cleaner, a bit more minimalist.

Anyway, look around a bit, let me know if you like it, and enjoy the ch-ch-ch-changes.

Rampant Injustice

2008-06-23T13:29:00.003+07:00

In the last week I have decided that there are two kinds of injustice. Obviously, this is pretty reductionist, and feel free to contradict me-- but first, hear me out. The first kind is Big Injustice: poverty, racism, sexism, genocide... the big ticket items. The second type is personal injustice: things that happen to us that don't seem fair. You may be thinking, "well clearly we're in a battle against Big Injustice, Kate. The little things are just bumps in the road. Unfair, but you know, in the face of Big Injustice, the little things are just an annoyance." Right, well, that line of thinking makes you a better person than me. Why? Because last week, I found myself pretty annoyed by all those little things, and a big one, too.

To start with, my home internet connection died without any explanation last Friday night. Poof, gone. Internet is a luxury item, I keep reminding myself, but it doesn't help soothe my irritation when it was nearly a week and we were still attempting to reconfigure the wireless router without the aid of a technician or anyone who has a clue what they are doing. Power outages compounded the problem, as twenty minutes before the tech was supposed to arrive, we lost the electricity, and it stayed off for 6 hours. This doesn't really count as injustice, unless you count random power outages and surges as such, but it is something that's unfair.

The second injustice, again, of the personal variety, we discovered last Saturday. A can of Pringles went missing. Then, on Sunday, we attempted to eat some snacks that Deanna carried back from her recent trip to the US. We found the box torn open (not neatly!) and half the cakes gone! My landlords (or, more likely, their grandchildren) must have come into my house through the connecting door--which, until I recently realized it was somewhat of a hazard in case of an emergency, was locked-- and opened our treats. Again, snack food is not on par with stealing someone's home, possessions, or freedom. It does, however, reveal that my neighbors are not to be trusted. And it makes me feel cheated, and resentful, grappling with how to address the issue without stepping over some invisible cultural boundary.

Lastly, the big ticket item (literally). I was pulled over by the traffic police last weekend, with a truckload of volunteers in tow. To be fair, I did go through an intersection just as the light turned red, as the left turn arrow began to turn green, and along with a few motorbikes. Of course, in my decision-making to go (versus to stop and have volunteers fly around the back of the truck), I failed to factor in that this is a known hang-out for the police. I pulled over, showed the officer my licencse while requesting that he give it back (sometimes they make you pay) and we started our negotiations.

The initial offer: 3 days of traffic school, for the foreigner.* Unless, of course, we can compromise (read: come to some agreement on how much money I will pay him).

The compromise: $20.00

My counter-offer: 5,000 riel (approx. $1.25)

Second offer: $10.00

My counter: 10,000 riel (approx. $2.50), or go ahead and write the ticket.

His reply: Fine, $5.00.

The end result: somewhere just over $4. (since I claimed I didn't have any money, despite carrying around a large cash advance for the visiting teams.)

*Note: every time he said "foreigner," I thought he was saying "for dinner," and could not figure out if I was being asked on a date, or for money to pay for his dinner. Either way, it was a no.

The whole thing was just annoying, since Phnom Penh is not known for its strict enforcement of traffic laws. In fact, we saw many people making the same move I had, just without the watchful (and greedy) eyes of the police on them.

This last incident, I think, is actually indicative of Big Injustice. It's no secret that Cambodia is corrupt, that the police do not do their job (and now I am evidence of that fact). Echoes of my mother's lectures on "civil societies" were sounding in my head after my run-in with the police. We obey the law because we anticipate that the penalties for not doing so are worse than the inconvenience of a red light. We obey the law because there are consequences, things that make it wrong to disobey. Here, the consequences are flexible, because the enforcers are not motivated or taught to be strict. Here, the consequences vary, based on who you are, how much money you have, on who else is available to take the fall. The worst part? This is the case from the lowest traffic offense all the way up to the highest, most public crimes. Just look at how long justice has been delayed in the Khmer Rouge tribunals. Nearly 30 years have passed, the perpetrators have died, and still the court system is only trying the case.

I know the US isn't perfect, I know that people are wrongly accused, wrongly convicted, that it is not an impartial system. In fact, I ran a red light in the US and got out of that ticket too. We live, though, with the expectation of justice, with the idea that when we are wronged, when others break the law, there will be a consequence. In the absence of that... well, snack food goes missing, and traffic is a mess, and eventually, somewhere along the line, there's poverty and genocide, and a host of other Big Injustices that are really hard to understand.

There's a spiritual parallel here, I'm sure, if we wanted to dig it out. "Justice is mine, says the Lord" and all of that. At the moment, I'm annoyed by injustice, big and small, wishing for things to be better, wondering if there was a way to fix it, and hoping I'll see change in my lifetime. I'm also humbled by my coworker, who when told the story of my neighbors and the snacks said, "well, just bless them. They will never get to try that food unless you bring it to them." Instantly, I felt like a jerk, whining about my lack of imported snacks. In the face of injustice, what else are we to do? We bless those who hurt us, turn the other cheek, and continue to fight for the poor, the oppressed, and for justice from the Lord.

New Normal

2008-06-19T16:29:00.008+07:00

A friend of mine told me a few months ago that once I hit the one year mark, things would "just click into place." At the time, I was struggling with homesickness, wanting to be in two places at once, and just general discomfort with life in Cambodia. Needless to say, I didn't totally believe her.

Fast forward. I was driving down the road today, after taking some volunteers to visit one of our field projects. A year ago, I rode in the car on the way to Vietnam to take care of my visa. What a difference a year makes! It struck me today, as I cruised down the road, conversing with one of my favorite Cambodian staff members, that I finally feel comfortable in Cambodia. Click.

It's been hitting me in other ways, too. I'm performing a lot of the same tasks that I did for last year's ESL program. Yet this year, I'm so much more confident about decision-making, more able to do things on my own, answer questions, and just generally be in charge. In fact, I've started bragging to my colleagues about how I can do things without their help this year, and how relieved they must be. Click.

I still receive emails related to ongoing activities among the grad students at USC. For a year, it felt like my life was running on two tracks-- the one that I was living in Cambodia, and the one I might have been living in Los Angeles. Today was the first time I read one of those emails (literally, I usually delete them!), and felt like that life was really, truly, in the past, instead of an alternate reality to the one I am experiencing. Click.

As I'm examining how, well, normal it is for me to be in Cambodia, I'm shocked at how I can trace the simultaneous development of my emotions. I'm finally feeling like myself in Cambodia, though there have been glimmers along the way. Of course, I've changed and grown, but those essentials, the things I had forgotten, had put away in the midst of transition--important stuff, like confidence, extraversion, and a personality that I'm only now reacquainting myself with-- they are blooming again, as I'm able to be Kate. For so long I felt like "Kate who moved to Cambodia." Now I simply feel like "Kate, who lives in Cambodia." The subtle semantics of that sentence, and even that little comma, are somehow important to me, to how I feel about my life here.

I've heard--and whether it's true or not, who knows-- that the worst part of grief for someone we've lost fades after a year and a bit. There's a lingering sadness, but it's the year (and that extra bit) which is necessary for our world to settle into a new kind of normal. Maybe I've been grieving for the loss of my own former life, maybe that's a lie. Sure, it's still hard, there are things I don't understand, don't like, and really miss about the U.S. I expect those things now, have learned to live with the twinge that accompanies hearing about something I've missed, the pang of homesickness that comes at odd hours, and can roll my eyes and shrug at the things I'll never understand about Cambodia.

I've come to think of it a bit like a puzzle. Where there was only a blank space, slowly something is taking shape. The pieces are falling into place-- communication, understanding, comfort. As they snap into the frame, the picture of who I am and who I am in Cambodia begins to look less distinct, more intertwined and, ultimately, more exciting. Click.

Horseback Riding

2008-06-13T15:01:00.004+07:00

Many of you already know that "summer" in Cambodia means the start of our English as a Second Language (ESL) program. This year (as was the case last year), I'm coordinating the program, which runs for 8 weeks and will see about 80 students and 40 or so volunteer teachers take part. It is, for lack of a better phrase, a ton of work. Hence any short updates, lack of email response or craziness you hear from my general direction. It's not you, it's me.

Setting up the program was interesting this year, as it involved extending our curriculum (through the help of a wonderful volunteer), and about 3 weeks before the start of classes, I realized a crucial error I had made. I had no curriculum for 3 advanced classes. And so for 2 weeks, I wrote and revised what I hope is an adequate curriculum for the students. We'll see. So far, so good. Yet even as these classes are just beginning, I'm already thinking ahead, of what could go better, of what needs to be changed.

Today, while checking my gmail account, I noticed the targeted advertising on the side. Nearly all of it concerned ESL. The first one caught my eye: ESL Summer Camp! The ad went on to read: "Learn English on a Canadian ranch. Horseback riding and outdoor fun!" My first thought: That's what our program is missing. Horses!

So here's my question: how might it even be possible to combine Canadian ranching with English lessons? I'm glad I'm not in charge of that program.

Linguistic Foibles

2008-06-03T11:03:00.004+07:00

Until 1953, Cambodia was a French colony. The French left a lot of things behind in Cambodia-- some not so great, in fact-- and one remainder is a bit of the language. Some older Cambodians still speak French, though many French speakers were killed during the Khmer Rouge regime's brutal genocide in the 1970's.

For my part, I spent four years in high school learning French. I never really used it outside of school, nor after I graduated (eight years ago now). While I've been trying to learn Khmer, the impulse to throw in a French word that I do know is sometimes overwhelming. I'm always tempted to ask for things at a restaurant and then toss in a s'il vous plait at the end. It's nice to know the language center in my brain is alive and well.

So all of this leads to a funny story. My apartment is on the second floor of a house, and the house is arranged in a kind of complex-- the homes are similar to townhouses, and arranged in two long rows, facing each other. This means that the neighbors all gather outside and know who each other is. I'm recognizable as the only foreigner, so I get lots of smiles and waves, especially from the kids. Recently, one of the other women in the complex was spending time with my landlords, and asked me (in Khmer) if I was French. I said no, I come from America.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, while my sister and brother were visiting, she approached us and began counting to 5-- in French. We humored her and I counted to 10 (some lessons last from high school, I guess!). Apparently this interaction has made us friends. She's also tried to speak to Deanna in French within the last week or so. Yesterday I was retrieving my motorbike from inside the house (where it's parked at night for safety) when she addressed me (she was sitting in the house with my elderly landlord, a very serious man who is a little weird). She began asking me questions (in Khmer) either about what month I came to Cambodia, or what province I came from in Cambodia (the words are similar, and without context, it's really tough to differentiate). I must have looked helplessly at the landlord, because he began to shake his head solemnly. Then, in a universal gesture, he pointed to his head, pointed to the woman, and frowned. I took this to mean, "She's crazy. Run away."

So, instead of doing what I wanted to do-- namely, laugh loudly at the whole situation and get my camera to capture a photo of his face-- I smiled, shrugged, walked my motorbike to the front of the house where Deanna was waiting to go to work, and related the story with glee.

I have no idea to say "crazy" in Khmer or French, but apparently I'm getting better at sign language.

One Year

2008-05-30T08:40:00.003+07:00

I'm taking a break from skyping with my sister, planning ESL curriculum, and checking facebook to do a bit of reflecting. Despite the fact that it feels alternately like I've just arrived and always lived here, the truth is that I have been in Phnom Penh for 1 year and 8 days (hours and minutes just seem tedious, and really, I'm not keeping track or counting down). Some days, I feel like those 373 days have been the most extraordinary of my life, and other days I still wonder what it would have been like to spend them somewhere else, in a different hemisphere.

I have to remember, though, that I chose this. One year and 10 days ago, I got onto an airplane with three suitcases and a whole lot of fear, with tear stains on my face and a sniffly, red nose, and officially decided that my life would be different. I consider everything up to that point—packing, selling my car, even buying the ticket--to be an unofficial decision.

I gave up on a dispassionate view of poverty and moved in down the street from people who can't fathom the wealth I have. I left behind conversations in which I feel understood and validated, choosing instead to navigate the inconsistencies and frustrations of second languages. I jumped over the international date line, and learned that phone calls are something I treasure, simply because it means that for a few minutes, I am connected to someone on the other side of the world. I left easy friendships for times of solitude, I gave up religion for faith. It's been a weird year.

I was with a friend a few weeks ago, and we were joking about how we can tell who is new to Cambodia and who has been here for awhile. She remarked, "It's all those people who step off the plane so ready to change the world, sure that they are going to turn everything around." We laughed and agreed it took about six to eight weeks for reality to intrude and these people to realize that it's simply not that easy. Of course, that initial optimism is something inherent in all of us working in ministry here... it's only the expression that dies out. We harbor the hope-- secretly--that what we are doing is making a difference, that the aches and pains in our souls (and sometimes bodies) are a part of something bigger, better, and transformative. For the most part, it is. That is why we stay.

I've turned down marriage proposals (made half in jest) and become comfortable with being the object of fascination. I learned how to make rice in a rice cooker, and that bread goes moldy in about 3 days here. I've explored the healing power of American snack food, and marveled at how many tasty fruits God made (Eve was clearly tempted by a mango). I am used to seeing far more temples than churches, to the smell of incense instead of air freshener, and the sound of horns honking and monks chanting. I have hated and loved Cambodia, been exhilarated and frustrated by it. In other words, I have lived here.

The experiences have changed me-- how could they not? Yet, I am not sure the time is right to mark those changes, to declare myself wholly altered. It has, after all, only been one year. A year so fraught with change that I've woken up in the night wondering where my good friends are and why I haven't seen them in so long. A year in which I have realized that the faces and smiles of my coworkers and (new) friends are so inexpressibly precious to me that I wondered if I could leave them behind; at the very least, I discovered I will never forget them. A year of struggle and triumph, of transition and tears, a year in which I never quite knew where my heart was. A year which has ensured that the rest of my life will look different-- though just how is still not clear.

I've done something I thought was impossible, which was leaving. Then I did something even more unlikely, which was staying. And I didn't break or fall apart, lose my mind or my senses. I grew to love Cambodia, for its beauties, in spite of (perhaps because of?) its faults, and certainly due to the potential here. I love how Cambodia has cared for me, nurtured me into a new worldview, how it is a place that God had planned for my life, even if I didn't know it 3 years ago. I love how God has demonstrated His sovereignty, His power, His love and even His purposes for me here. I love who He’s made me to be—and that He’s put me here to be that person.

373 days. Sometimes I still feel the way I did on that first day, when I wrote in my journal, “I can’t believe that this morning, I woke up in Cambodia.” I can’t believe that I am part of something bigger, better, and transformative—and that that something is my life.

Idols

2008-05-25T17:35:00.000+07:00

After hanging out in ancient temples, walking through markets filled with wooden statues, and watching people sacrificing and worshipping false gods, I can't seem to shake this scripture from my mind.

"All who make idols are nothing, and the things they treasure are worthless. Those who would speak up for them are blind; they are ignorant, to their own shame. Who shapes a god and casts an idol, which can profit him nothing? He and his kind will be put to shame; craftsmen are nothing but men. Let them all come together and take their stand; they will be brought down to terror and infamy. The blacksmith takes a tool and works with it in the coals; he shapes an idol with hammers, he forges it with the might of his arm. He gets hungry and loses his strength; he drinks no water and grows faint.

The carpenter measures with a line and makes an outline with a marker; he roughs it out with chisels and marks it with compasses. He shapes it in the form of man, of man in all his glory, that it may dwell in a shrine. He cut down cedars, or perhaps took a cypress or oak. He let it grow among the trees of the forest, or planted a pine, and the rain made it grow. It is man's fuel for burning; some of it he takes and warms himself, he kindles a fire and bakes bread. But he also fashions a god and worships it; he makes an idol and bows down to it.

Half of the wood he burns in the fire; over it he prepares his meal, he roasts his meat and eats his fill. He also warms himself and says, "Ah! I am warm; I see the fire." From the rest he makes a god, his idol; he bows down to it and worships. He prays to it and says, "Save me; you are my god."

They know nothing, they understand nothing; their eyes are plastered over so they cannot see, and their minds closed so they cannot understand. No one stops to think, no one has the knowledge or understanding to say, "Half of it I used for fuel; I even baked bread over its coals, I roasted meat and I ate. Shall I make a detestable thing from what is left? Shall I bow down to a block of wood?" He feeds on ashes, a deluded heart misleads him; he cannot save himself, or say, "Is not this thing in my right hand a lie?"

"Remember these things, O Jacob, for you are my servant, O Israel. I have made you, you are my servant; O Israel, I will not forget you. I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you." -- Isaiah 44: 9-22

I think that sums it up better than anything I can think to say.

Church

2008-05-12T23:02:00.000+07:00

Too often, I think about what "the church" should be, or how the church isn't what it could be. There's lots of people who've been hurt by church, who don't understand it, who don't know it. But over the last couple of days, I've remembered why I love the church:

1. The church can be poor. It does not have to be a financial powerhouse. My church in Cambodia is small. It ran on $9,000 last year, and gave away $2000 of that in outreach. My pastor does not receive a salary, and while we currently under-give as a body, God provides each month for what the church needs to keep running. This week, we were able to be thankful that one of the Cambodian women in my church got a good job with an international school that will enable her to give. Her testimony was especially moving as only a few months ago, she was out of work and feeling quite hopeless about the situation.

2. The church is global. Last week, we had a pretty serious tragedy impact our staff and volunteers-- a traffic accident that killed two, wounded many, and (briefly) imprisoned the driver (one of the staff members I totally admire). The response in prayer and giving from American churches has been overwhelming. It is such a great reminder that we are not alone in Cambodia, but others are walking with us... even in the midst of tremendous suffering.

3. The church is active. In the midst of this tragedy, we have heard stories of how volunteers and Cambodian church members have been praying continuously and even traveled some distance (on meager budgets) to encourage and uplift those who are injured. They are truly ministering to those who are in need, even when it requires sacrifice.

I think this issue is doubly relevant as tomorrow I will embark with my siblings to Siem Reap, home to Cambodia's famous Angkor Wat temple (along with many others-- including one featured in Tomb Raider). Climbing over these ruined temples, forgotten and collapsing religious sites of years ago, I will remember that the church I am a part of is--first and foremost--alive. It isn't held in place by a building, a statue, or two hundred tons of stone. No, it is outward-focused, relevant to everyday struggles, and in pursuit of something precious. Despite the fact that it can be broken, sinful, and selfish, the church is trying. Just like its members.

Happenings

2008-05-04T14:26:00.000+07:00

Deanna (my roommate) just yelled to me that the current temperature is 91 degrees, and with the humidity, it feels like 107 (literally. She found it on a website). With the fan blowing on me, I've cut a little of the heat away, but I can tell it's likely building up to a heavy rain in a couple of hours. When that happens, it will be nice and cool. Until then, my hair is up and I am in a tank top and shorts (not okay for outside, but definitely okay at home), drinking a lot of water.

Why, you might ask, was Deanna yelling to me, when I am approximately 5 feet away from her (though, technically, in the other room)? Well, the daughter of my landlords is getting married tomorrow, which means that today is the cho rho, or blessing by the monks. The family comes to this portion of the event, and they have put up pink and gold cloths all over their house, to welcome guests and bless the couple. There is also music and singing blaring through the house from a loudspeaker set up outside.

There is a huge tent in front of the house where they will place tables for the meal tomorrow, and for the ceremony in the morning. The festivities will probably begin around 4:30 or 5 in the morning, with a procession of fruit at about 7. Then, while Deanna and I are at work, they will do the actual ceremony, with lots of breaks for eating. I've been invited to the evening meal, which starts at about 4:30. The Khmer have a much different approach to weddings than in the US. Whereas we come up with budgets and guest lists based on what we can afford, they invite as many people as possible, and no gifts are accepted. They want cash. So my invitation is quite strategic on their part. Even though I live upstairs, they don't know me very well. However, they know I have money, and they are expecting a pretty big gift (at least $20). The goal is to have the cash gifts cover the cost of the wedding, with whatever is left over used to make purchases (say, a new motorbike?) the couple needs.

It is going to be an interesting two days. We'll be going to bed early, in preparation for our 4:30 wake up call. Oy. To my knowledge, this is the last unmarried daughter.

In other news, the countdown is on. In t-minus 5 days, my brother and sister will arrive in Cambodia for 2 weeks. They are the first in a string of visitors lasting until approximately August. When they leave, a friend from college is coming for a couple days, a summer intern should arrive in that time frame as well, and during the first week of June, our summer ESL teams begin arriving. This means lots of trips to the airport for me (not too bad, since there's a Dairy Queen at the Phnom Penh airport... and when it's 107 degrees, ice cream is a pretty good thing). I'm excited to have friends and family here, and the prep is underway for all the teams. It is always interesting to see people's first impressions of Cambodia, especially now that I have been here for so long. Things I have started to take for granted regularly surprise or shock visitors. It reminds me to keep things in perspective and to continually examine Cambodia with fresh eyes to better serve those here for a short time.

So that's "the happs" on this side of the world. With the dulcet tones of wedding music in my ears, I'm off to find more ways to cool off. This might mean relocating to an air conditioned location. I'm also wondering where I can find ear plugs here.

Pics

2008-05-01T14:35:00.000+07:00

So I've started and stopped 3 different posts in the last two weeks, and all because I got distracted while writing. The remedy? You get two pictures of things I find funny in Cambodia.

Exhibit A:

Yes, he's riding on the roof! We don't see that as much anymore (for awhile it was outlawed), but during Khmer New Year last month, it was not uncommon to see 5 or 8 people riding on top of a van, headed to the province. Not all of them, like this gentleman, are napping, though!

Exhibit B:

This is the friendly neighborhood ice cream man! Okay, really, he's selling shaved ice. He "shaves" the ice on a metal board on the top of the bike, puts it in a cup, flavors it, puts a stick in it, and hands it to the kids. They were eating green and purple ices when we were there. I have no idea what flavors those are... but probably not apple and grape. Could be anything (they have corn flavored ice cream in the market. Yum.).

Also, happy International Labour Day!

Yikes

2008-04-21T11:35:00.000+07:00

I love Google Alerts. Really, I do. It passes on interesting articles directly to my email inbox. And while I'm not being paid to advertise for them (as if they need my help!), I just want to mention it because it will let you know that I was certainly not looking for this article that dropped into my box this morning.

Now, landmines are not a laughing matter (except in certain cases, like when watching the UN anti-landmine video, which takes place on a soccer field. Though there's disagreement on that particular example.), and I'm not generally given to laughing at horrible tragedy. I'm not certain that a landmine beauty pageant is funny (stop now, go read the article, and then come back), but it certainly is... no, I don't have an adjective for this. It's frightening, as it seems the women are competing to earn prosthetic limbs. It's weird, that anyone would think this was a good idea. It's potentially liberating (?) as maybe it teaches these women that they are still beautiful even after an awful accident.

Then again, I just watched Miss Congeniality last night, so my whole perspective on beauty pagents is off right now. But I really do like Google Alerts.

Solved

2008-04-12T16:29:00.000+07:00

The mouse is dead. Of course, this didn't happen without a lot of hilarity. Mainly in the form of other people laughing at my expression regarding the mouse. Grace, who works with me, taunted me by telling me the mouse followed me to work; the woman at the store who sold me a mousetrap laughed as I shivered in the aisle at purchasing poison. And then there was a memorable conversation with the neighborhood.

First, the trap. I bought a glue trap (which is completely inhumane, blah blah blah). I have very little compassion for this mouse. Also, everyone else told me to get a cat, so I think this is the least awful way for the mouse to go. As you can see... the glue trap is quite colorful.

Note that the mouse has little electric-looking shocks coming off of him. When I showed the trap to the neighbors to let them know that we had a mouse problem, they became very concerned. After trying to decipher why they were upset, I realized they thought that we were going to electrocute the mouse. I'm not even sure how you would go about killing a mouse in that fashion. I assured them that we were just going to get it nice and stuck.

And in the end, the mouse was nice and stuck (and dead!) and we (mainly Deanna) removed him from the laundry room and the apartment is mouse-free once again. I'm now free to eat as many snacks as I wish. I did, however, see a mouse at the office the other day. Do you think they are following me?

Mousehunt

2008-04-09T19:33:00.000+07:00

I was going to blog about something real and relevant about how I'm feeling and what I think about Cambodia. You know, something other than silly marriage proposal stories. And then my life was rudely interrupted by something small and furry.

While cooking dinner this evening, a mouse ran past me and behind the refrigerator. Perhaps you don't know this, but I am not a fan of small, furry animals. So, of course, my reaction was to freak out. Not necessarily screaming, but definitely not actively pursuing the mouse. Poor Deanna (my new roommate) has been a champ, agreeing to look for The Invader and try to get rid of It. The last sighting was when That Creature ran into the laundry room (after almost touching me while I was spying on the stairs-- the only time I screamed), and we're hoping It surreptitiously slipped out the back door while we were eating dinner. When we looked again, The Enemy was gone.

When I lived in California, I killed crickets like crazy. I've squashed cockroaches here, and put up with lizards, spiders, and other giant flying insects. Yet this mouse is another story entirely. I don't like it one bit, and we are getting a trap tomorrow. I'm willing to blame habitat destruction for this unforseen event; there is a school being built behind the apartment, and all the foliage has been cleared, likely leaving our new houseguest homeless. That certainly doesn't make It welcome, though. I should also add that every noise that comes through the walls (and there's a lot... I think the neighbors are moving furniture) is making me think that The Intruder is loose and creating havoc. It's not a nice thought.

So now I am hiding out in my bedroom, hungry for a snack, but too afraid to face The Monster in the Kitchen. I realize that it's pathetic, but it's just the way things are. Until the problem is taken care of, no more serious reflection. Or, apparently, snacks.

Illegal

2008-04-07T10:15:00.000+07:00

On the heels of my last post regarding unsolicited marriage proposals, I opened my email to find an article about Cambodia's new rules regarding foreign marriage. Obviously, the problem they're attempting to address is quite serious, but it does give me a new answer to parking attendants, moto drivers, and any other potential grooms: "Sorry, dude, but I'm not allowed to marry you."

Read another article here.

Oops

2008-04-05T19:54:00.000+07:00

Perhaps I spoke too soon. When I headed back to my new favorite coffee shop to avoid the power outage, soak up the a/c, and attempt to finish my taxes, I ran into my new friend, Lyhov. He gave me a friendly greeting, watched over my motorbike, and when we left, I once again found myself turning down a marriage proposal. I think.

Lyhov and his fellow parking attendant (no name, sorry) were impressed that I told them "see you later" in Khmer, and then Lyhov gestured to his friend and said something to the effect of "Do you want him to be your husband?" I replied, "No, thank you." (I mean, it's not the most romantic proposal... the man was wearing a surgical mask at the time!) Apparently the friend thought Lyhov was shortchanging himself, because he got involved, asking me if I wanted to marry Lyhov, or to make him my "special" (read: boyfriend). When I (briefly) studied persuasive tactics in college, we studied this particular strategy: ask for something outrageous and then move to a smaller request, which won't seem so difficult to fulfill. Too bad I am wise to those games! Instead, there was only more practice at declining oh-so-tempting marriage proposals for me.

In non-marriage related news, I saw someone else on the road wearing the same helmet that I have (and thought, wow, what a great helmet!). I think this makes me a helmet trendsetter, and I'm quite proud. A few weeks ago, someone commented that the Pink Helmet is quite stylish, and wasn't I special for owning one (and yes, they were serious, thank you very much). Just in case you were worried that I 1) wasn't wearing a helmet or 2) was wearing an unfashionable helmet. Safety and fashion... all rolled into one. I guess that ends up being attractive to some people. Like parking attendants. Sheesh.

Quickly

2008-04-02T09:31:00.000+07:00

Yesterday I was leaving a coffee shop and the parking attendant was chatting with me. Although my Khmer is still pretty limited, I can do short, basic conversations-- names, ages, I live in Cambodia, work for an NGO, I only speak a little Khmer--this usually earns me mild approval and even some respect from people I meet. Lyhov was no different.

So we were proceeding through the intro information, when he asked me a question about my house (bptea... a word I recognize). I didn't quite get his meaning, so he tried again, something to the effect of "Do you live with your husband (padei)?" I shook my head no, starting to laugh, and replied "K'nyom aht rivpkah" (I'm not married). His next question--and I should have seen this coming-- "Why don't you have a husband?"

My vocabulary is not nearly large enough to even begin to answer that. At least he didn't ask me to marry him.

Annoying

2008-03-31T13:59:00.000+07:00

I’ve been a little homesick lately, but I think it’s less about missing people and places as it is missing constants, and feeling annoyed with the way things work here. So please allow me this brief interlude of complaint, and then we’ll get back to our regularly scheduled enjoyment of all things Cambodia.

First, the power outages. I know I live in a developing nation right now, and I need to deal with some inconveniences, but really, is it too much to ask that the power not be shut off daily for hours at a time? The supply of electricity in the city is not enough to meet the demands since the recent construction of larger buildings with big air conditioning systems. If you’re wondering, air conditioners use quite a bit of power (to the tune of an extra $2 or more a day here), and nearly all of the newest stores and restaurants cool their buildings considerably. In any case, the rest of the city has to deal with unannounced power outages at all times of the day. One day, the electricity went out around 12:30 and didn’t come back on until nearly 5 p.m. On Saturday night, from 8:15 to 11 p.m. we were without power... it wasn't easy to fall asleep without the fan.

I know I should not be so snarky about the loss of power. I should be grateful to have it at all. I guess what really unnerves me is that some people never lose power… the way the grids work, some houses are assured of a constant stream of electricity, and the center of the city (business districts, hotels, tourist locales) rarely loses power. Meanwhile, those of us on the outskirts, the ones who can’t afford or don’t want to live “downtown” have to live with spontaneous outages interrupting our daily lives (and fruit shake blending!), and for me that means living without a fan as the heat climbs up to 95 degrees, with 75% humidity. In other words, sweltering. (aside: I ran into a tourist today who asked me: “How long does it take you to get used to the heat?” HA!)

And the construction! They have started building a school behind my house, so there’s no end to the pile driving, dust-flinging, noise-creating havoc being wreaked only a few meters from my door. I can’t hang my laundry outside anymore, and until recently couldn’t even open the window. They begin every day about 6:30 (even on Saturdays) and pound until 6 p.m. The worst part? They’ve only just begun.

I’ve been unnerved by how inconvenient life can be; the grocery stores are on the other side of town, and even though I get fruit and veggies from the small local market, I am unwilling to buy meat there, since if I go in the evenings, it’s been sitting in the heat all day (they butcher the meat locally and only in the morning). I went on a hunt for a product that is readily available in the US (canned air to clean the ever-present dust out of my computer) and spent 2 days at 6 different stores before I found it. I really miss driving by Trader Joe’s or Best Buy… the easy things. Of course, wishing for those kind of businesses would make this place very un-Cambodia, and I’ll have to make peace with leaving them behind.

I have to interrupt my own rant to say that while I was writing this, one of our staff just came into my office and offered me some food. At first it looked like fried fish, but after some broken Khmer/English dialogue, I think it was fried mango. There’s no way to be sure. I took as small a piece as I could, and tasted it. Not as bad as some of the things I’ve tried, but not something I’ll purchase for myself. Of course, as soon as I mentioned that it was good, she offered me a lot more. I declined. This happens about once a week. Other staff are eating raw mangoes in the main office, and those are delicious. I guess I should make it abundantly clear that I am not annoyed by the mangoes in Cambodia, nor the generosity of the staff. Those things make me very happy.

It took me awhile to write this post, and my annoyance has calmed considerably since I started. Part of that is because I’ve had good time to spend with friends here, and I think I’ve accepted (well, at least a little) some of the things that have been getting on my nerves. Mostly, as my one-year anniversary approaches, I think these are the issues that continue to remind me that I’m not at “home” yet, and that maybe I never will be. In any case, at least I can drown my annoyance with mangoes (though not the fried kind).

Easter

2008-03-23T15:17:00.000+07:00

I walked into church this morning and said "Happy Easter" to one of the Khmer guys at my church. He said, "What is Easter?" I said, "It's the day we celebrate that Christ rose from the dead." He said, "Oh, okay. Thank you for telling me."

This guy is a Christian, and has been for maybe a year. In Cambodia, Easter isn't a big holiday, with sales and candy and eggs. No rabbits, no baskets, and no big meals. It's strange to feel like it's just another Sunday-- in fact, I've made dinner plans to have pho (a Vietnamese soup) tonight with friends; not exactly traditional Easter dinner (but oh so good).

Today I'm thinking about what it means to celebrate Easter only once a year, and why this young believer was probably confused-- for him, every day is a day to remember Christ's sacrifice. Tomorrow is no less of an Easter than today is. And in a place like Cambodia, with monks chanting in the background and spirit houses with burning incense outside, it's good to remember that Easter is not just for today.

A friend has pointed out that a culture built around festivals, like the Cambodian culture, should perhaps be encouraged in celebrating a day like Easter. It provides a solid foundation, a focal point for our faith. Given that I am surrounded by other festivals I can't celebrate, maybe she is right. So now I'm not sure. Maybe it isn't one or the other, but something in between. Having a focal point for our beliefs, while renewing them each day. Easter becomes a signpost on the journey, declaring that we are ever in transit toward our goal of being more like God, celebrating our victory over death and our process toward life eternal.